True Love

Christine Malvasi

"What the hell---flower wallpaper?" He wanted a manly room, with ducks flying above the bed, quacking over the earth tone carpets and lampshades carved into the shapes of power tools.

"They're fleur-de-lis---signs of royalty. They're as pretty as the irises of my eyes, right dear?"

He had lost. Whenever he tossed sleeplessly in her comforters, he would suffocate in flowers.

That night, his wife's snoring sounded like a car being turned inside out.  He stomped towards the kitchen to drown out the Hurst Tool in his bed. He kissed the refrigerator, forgetting flowers and grinding metal as he felt the coolness on his face. He stared at the stacks of his wife's Tupperware-alphabetized according to casserole type. He left the door open. She hated that.

Copyright ©2001 Christine Malvasi. All Rights Reserved.

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January, 2001 Issue #57

128 Words

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