Fran’s bra sits on the bed like a war relic piled next to it is a stack of Omni magazines bending like the tower of Pisa ready to topple any second. The jar of Hellmann’s Mayonnaise we got into is prone on the olive green carpet.
No one can tell we made love last night.
Fran smashes my coffee cup on the counter and shocks the good- ghost right out of me. Chips of ceramic are lying in my plate of Eggos.
“Why the hell did you do that?!” I bark.
“I wanted to see if you were awake.”
The calendar by the wall phone has a B29 on it. Someone has forgotten to flip it to the next month. It still says June 1986.
“I feel like I’ve been tossed by a big Brahma bull: the kind we saw at the fair last year,” I tell Fran. She’s brushing the smashed cup off the counter and doesn’t seem to hear. Then a pain bites into my side. I rush to the bathroom and piss like a clam urine the color of beet juice.
In the ER the doctor tells me I ruptured a blood vessel in my bladder “Err, what do ya think caused that?” I ask, thinking back to last night.
“Sometime these things happen,” is his best answer. Fran can’t stop laughing driving home. The windshield is splattered with bugs. Now back, I pick the empty jar of mayo off the sick green rug and run my finger along the inside of the jar. “Still fresh,” I say, removing my finger from my mouth. Fran grabs the jar from my hand with determination. “I’ll make us a salad.”
(note: the image is from http://paulscharner.at/_lccms_/_00030/unmade-bed-drawing)