MissionSparrow: You know how miserable it is watching other people suffer from mental illnesses? Watching them struggle to get through each day, struggle to contain their pain, struggle to be the person everyone expects them to be, it’s hard. It hurts. And it takes its toll on you eventually. Enjoy.
Sighing, the woman dropped her purse on a nearby chair. Her hair, so carefully pulled back into a slick bun this morning, was static and shorter ends framed her tired face. She paused by the table, her lips trembling, staring at the calendar on her wall. Finally she mustered the courage to face that red-head slumped at the table, clutching his unlit cigar. Her husband.
“Hey honey,” she sighed again, before saying, “How was your day?”
Glancing over at her, the man smiled a little and said, “Fine …fine.” He tapped the cigar idly against the table, his face going vacant. The woman gave him a tired smile, and paused beside the sink for a glass of water.
Setting her cup down, she said, “Do you know what day tomorrow is, honey?” The man was silent for a moment and his wife brought her hand to her chest as if preparing to catch the broken pieces.
The man tipped his head back thoughtfully, and said, “Our anniversary?” His wife’s face lit up, “You remembered,” She cheered slightly, “Can you get time off work for going out to dinner?”
The man moaned, dropping his head back onto the table. “I’ll …I’ll see what I can do, but this mission, it’s kind of …” He caught sight of his wife’s teary eyes and fell silent, watching her. She sighed, moving around the kitchen, picking up dishes and setting them back down without purpose. Finally, she came around behind him.
“Mind if I take the shower for a bit?” The woman asked, leaning against the back of his chair.
“Sure. Anne, you should …you should, you should …ugh, where was I going with that?” The man shook his head dismissively, and stood as his wife left the room.
He stacked dishes, listened to the shower running, and hummed.
He swept the floor, listened to the shower running, and mumbled a song.
He washed the windows, listened to the shower running, and sang.
He collapsed onto the couch, listened to the shower running, and groaned. Forcing himself off the couch, he wandered down the hall and knocked lightly on the bathroom door.
“Anne?”
Barely speaking above the shower, his wife said, “Go away.”
“Are you sure?”
“Just leave me alone, Chu-chu.”
The man bit his lip, turning away. He walked to the living room, sat on the couch, and stared at the blank TV. Tomorrow was their five year anniversary. He should …he should celebrate. Hanging his head, he stared at his shaking hands, watching tears hit them and roll off. Tomorrow, he will have been married for five years. Tomorrow, his brother-in-law will have been dead for two years.
“Curse him,” The man said, clenching his wet hands, his voice shaking, “Curse him! I want her back …give her back, Damian. Give me my wife, give me the woman I love, give her back!”
The man curled in on himself, crying. His sobs rose and fell, filling the small living room. The only other sound was the soothing pitter-patter of the shower down the hall, washing the pain away.