Gone South

“Is it Holy Week already?”

Sarah’s contemptuous remark elicited laughter from her showering husband. Inside the bathroom, while she brushed her teeth, she could still hear what she specifically considered as lyrical chanting.

(During Holy Week, part of the the local Christian traditions is reciting passages in the Bible pertaining to the life and passion of Christ. It took various forms, from the original hymn-sounding to the more creative interpretations using other genres.)

“It’s not that bad,” Larry commented, whistling the same tune to provoke her further. “I could imagine the original singer is right next door.”

“Hmmph!” she disagreed without espousing her negative view.

Larry wiped himself up with a large towel while he watched her covering both ears. Her act was a bit comical because she could not stop the melodic sound, noise if she was asked, that penetrated their thick walls.

“You can turn on our sound system and belt out a song or two,” he suggested.

“I have a sore throat,” she lamely reasoned out. The truth was that her singing corresponded to the sound of a bleating goat, as her husband remarked not too long ago.

“Ready to call it quits? Your contest, I mean.” Larry prayed that she’d be first to stop the foolishness of it all. Jimmy’s wife would surely follow suit.

“She might be a better singer but I am more fluid with my movements,” she hinted that her prowess with dancing was unmatched. “I saw her a while back and she’s hopeless.”

Larry pondered for a while as his toothbrush stayed longer in his mouth, the foam formed a white moustache that made him looked older. He discovered an opening on how to make his wife and Jimmy’s to reconcile their differences.

“Let’s have a party,” he said, the germ of an idea beginning to take shape. “We’ll invite our next door neighbors.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Sarah reacted angrily. “You’ll let that woman enter my house?”

“Come on! You’re being childish.” His ‘oops’ was too late because she pounced on it immediately.

“Is that so?” she said, hurt somewhat. “Kiss your kiss goodbye. You won’t get any until you apologize. Me? Childish?”

He could only watch her leave the bathroom, stomping her feet as she left, more or less like a child throwing tantrums.

Larry scratched his head harshly. His choice of words was notoriously suspect. He’d be lucky if she continued cooking for him. She knew his weakness too well.

“Honey, I am sorry.” he called out from outside the bedroom door.

No reply came. The door was locked.

“Honey, I need to go to work. I need my clothes.”

There was audible rustle inside the room, a bit of banging and some gibberish language.

The door opened slightly; his hopes rekindled.

But it was not so. His personal belongings came out one by one, not by their own volition. They were thrown out by motivated hands.

“Honey, please. I said I am sorry. You’re being …”

She showed her face for him to see, “What?” and completed what he was about to say, “childish?”

(to be continued)

BLOGGING   LIFE/STYLES   MY STORIES   WHISPER   ZONE

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