Skip to main content

STORY: A DIARY OF TWO STRANGERS CHAPTER 1


I strolled out of the room in anger wondering why we fell in love in the first place. Hell shouldn’t be as tough as my marriage was. I could hear her sobs filtering through the bang of the front door. She was hurting but my heart was burning, maybe twice as hell itself. She had nagged life out of me. She had complained away my innocence. She makes me feel so guilty of nothing precisely. I am a good man until am home; she tries to paint me into a monster, the worst kind. Perhaps I made a wrong choice marrying her. I deserve to be happy, not having to put up with her complaints and obsession of attention. Oh gosh! She upsets my stomach.

I plunged the key into the car, drove for a mile and half or so or more, I really didn’t care. I am far away from her, that’s all that mattered. I stopped the car and strolled into a deserted park, a gentle breeze bidding me welcome, it embraced my chest and sought to douse the fire burning within it. I looked the moon in its face, like a fluorescent bulb it hung up there, “it was so bright tonight”, I thought. The full moon’s glow made a mockery of my scuffle with Melly. Ha! That reminds me, that was the name I used to call her, that was when she was sweet and loving. Now I called her Melenie, her name in full, with no enthusiasm. I hissed out loud at the night’s silence, at the thought of who she had become, dry, barren, uninteresting, always looking pale and sickly. I had endured enough; she is a parasite sucking on my life force.

I had left the office in the evening rush tired but happy. I boarded a bus craving to be home, in bed soon, but I met with a heavy traffic, I cursed under my breath and punched the Iron wall of the bus. Yet, I suffered through the annoying sounds of honking cars, the whispers of insulting bus drivers and the petty gossip talk of the retiring traders sitting next in front of me. My hope was anchored in getting a quiet night at home...

I got home quite late in between anger and resentment for the city buzz and the rickety bus. I tried to be optimistic that tonight won’t be difficult to live through. That my house would carve me out peace; no complaints, no hassles, just dine and wind in bed. I sighed. I knocked twice and paused, the door cracked open with a croaking voice saying, "welcome" as she turned back in. I could instantly feel a lump in my lungs, her welcome was as my spittle, both were hard to swallow. I dropped my bag looking like a stranger in my home... I sat quietly like a first time visitor. She was quiet, I was quiet, the room was quiet, and so was the proposed children's room, empty and quiet….. as Melanie’s womb itself...

She dropped my meal on the glass dining table with no gesture to come sit. She looked at me as though she whispered in my ears, "want it or not it’s there anyways.” She didn't ask how my day went or what took me so long? She went back where she sat before I intruded on her private quiet world. She sat on the pale green sofa looking pale herself. She was now looking at the right wing of the room watching blankly at the screen. I sat there looking at her, why do I feel I don’t belong here? Why is Melenie as cold as the morgue itself? At what point did I lose my adventurous, fun loving Melly and when would she be back?

 In between my thoughts and starring at the scented rug mat, I saw the necklace I bought her on her 27th birthday lying helpless there, it had been sawn in two, the pendant nowhere in sight. I asked, “What happened to that,” pointing at the necklace. She didn’t look away from the television screen but replied, "It’s lost its worth!"

 The anger arouse to my eyes as I asked again, “Lost what?" She didn’t flicker a bit where she sat but placed her eyes in her palms. “Melenie how could you? You are such an ingrate, that was a gift, that was a limited edition, that cost me. I had to call in special favours to get you that. I had to be in debts to get it.”  By my last two words, the demon nesting around us let all hell loose. "Please me?" She blurted out with tears readily available to push her objection through. “When did I ask for jewelries? When did I complain about money, have I ever asked you get me a present?”

 I staggered, trying to recollect if she never asked all that from me. “I wasn’t married to jewelries, I married you! I never said my vows wearing any of this,” she pointed at the remains of a once perfect gift. “The day I said ‘Yes’ to you I had a scarf, orange and yellow flowers imprinted all over it. I said my vows with you and not with gifts. Good gosh! How I wish I can relive that moment again. It was the only time I felt as a woman, one complete and not completely broken.”
“How heroic you must feel, replacing yourself with these garish stuffs. I need you but you keep telling me you are trying, trying to what? Trying to kill me? Trying to bury me? Trying to starve me of your time? You are never home! Even at home you are at work.”

“What do you mean Melenie? This is outrageous! I have a job, I have other responsibilities, I have got other relationships that need my attention, what is wrong with you? You are such an ungrateful woman. Other women would have traded the promise of eternal bliss to have what you have…”

 The swift movement of her eyes startled me, the tears, flowed freely, she held her averagely long hair, something I used to fondle and smell years back. “Ungrateful? Other women? Is that what this is about? I am ungrateful to you?”

 “Yes you are! Who work all day long, 24/7 to clothe you, me! Feed and cater for your petty existence? Me! Who loved you when your family rejected you, me! It’s me, me, and me! Don’t tell me about being there, because as my wife you never were. How interesting you talk so highly of yourself, does it occur to you I had a cut right here on my palms for more than a week? Yeah, I got that cut while trying to keep both of us alive, if you were grateful, I could have seen that cut as a medal of honour and cherished it like a battle scar. You sit at home daily, draining happiness from me. You don’t give me happiness and you intend to see I die an unhappy man. does it occur to you that I am not always here because someone has to provide?”

 She could barely stand anymore; I didn’t intend to go that far but, Man! I am getting tired of her nagging routine. “I don’t give you happiness?" She muttered from her now wet lips. But now the anger had gotten to a height I couldn’t stop, besides why should I? I have kept mum long enough. “Yes you don’t, how about giving me a child for a start?”

I turned my back on her exiting the scene, she had first grabbed at her chest, seeming to rip out her heart but grabbed her stomach rather, as if to bring a child out of it, like an evidence to refute my last words. She went down on the floor with a howling cry. I could care less if she wept...

I banged the door so loud, the neighbours should have jumped out of bed… but they didn’t...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

STORY: A DIARY OF TWO STRANGERS CHAPTER 2

... I turned my back on her exiting the scene, she had first grabbed at her chest, seeming to rip out her heart but grabbed her stomach rather, as if to bring a child out of it, like an evidence to refute my last words. She went down on the floor with a howling cry. I could care less if she wept... I banged the door so loud, the neighbours should have jumped out of bed… but they didn’t ... T hinking about it in this lonely park, I resented this night, “why did I have to come home tonight?” I said out loud.

VACANCY: YOUR MARRIAGE NEEDS YOU

 It is when a man understands submission that the little moments of quietness, the uneasy moments of saying, “I am sorry” and the walking away from a nagging wife saves his marriage. “Do not try to dictate to me! You are always trying to teach me what to do” the 73 year old man barked at his wife, before me and few others. The woman went quiet all through that night. As that scene played over and again in my heart I observe that we cannot attain to a place in marriage where submission fades. In marriages where submission is shown the front door, the bags of one of the couple would soon follow. Where submission is denied access to thrive, the man tends towards autocracy and the woman becomes manipulative and rebellious. Heated arguments, battery, excessive anger, unforgiveness and ultimately divorce; implies both partners are not submitting to one another. I am not blind to certain people and cultures that have great exaggeration and misconception of submission and its applicati

MYTH OR TRUTH: ONCE SAVED ALWAYS SAVED PART II

WHAT THE APOSTLES TAUGHT Grace is Christ's finished work... until ourselves become the finished work... In part II we shall wholly consider what the apostles taught the early church, by the careful layout of their warnings. But before we do, I want you to keep in your heart the thought that warnings becomes a necessity where hazard is a reality. Let's begin from Hebrews.