Wielding, Withering, Seething
Annie has been engaged to Chadwick for two years and has no interest in any other human beings but him. It is 2:13 am, and Chadwick has not called since 6:20 pm, when he informed her he wouldn’t be eating dinner at home. In that moment, she thanked him for calling, before slamming down the receiver and glaring bitterly at the insipid pot roast and lumpy potatoes, growing cold and desiccated on the stove. And now she is watching Blind Date, drinking Raspberry Smirnoff with a straw, and fantasizing about hitting Chadwick with a coat rack. She wants to flick him repeatedly and with substantial force, square in the center of his forehead. She is picturing smacking him, flat against the back of his big head, hearing her open hand resonate against his unsuspecting skull. The sound would almost make up for her troubles, she thinks. It could alleviate the torment of thoughts infecting her mind, her inability to sleep knowing that he’s not lying next to her, snoring in the same rhythmic pattern she has memorized over the years. Where the hell is he? Dinner has long ended, bars are closed. She is not even sure which buddies he could be with, since she’s strategically eliminated most of them. Annie hopes it isn’t Frank. Oh how she hates Frank, who always wore wife beaters, no matter how cold it got. Frank posed a severe threat, always trying to put ideas in Chadwick’s head—ditch the ‘ol ball and chain, come and party with the guys like old times, just tear it up, yeah—but above all else, he was trying to convince him not to marry Annie. Too much time and energy had been invested into getting this engagement ring on her finger, for a derelict like Frank to fuck it all up.
Yet somehow Annie senses Chadwick’s having a night of harmless fun with his friends, and has lost track of time, thus forgotten to call. Granted, his excuse was always “I forgot,” but Annie chose to believe him. After all, that’s what an understanding fiancé does. She believes in her man. And Annie knows Chadwick loves her. He said so. Not only does he love her, he needs her. She made sure to it that he did.
Annie pours more Smirnoff into her highball glass, spikes it with rum and slurps it down in gulps. She looks over at the television and scoffs, newly aware of what she’s been watching. The couple on the show is tossing a football around at the park. They seem to be enjoying themselves, until the pigskin comes straight at the girl with the speed of a torpedo missile, and bounces clean off her skull. Her date jogs across the grass and hovers over her in quasi concern, as she lies in fetal position, clutching at her dome.
Annie vividly recalls her first date with Chadwick, nearly five years prior. She smiles to herself when she thinks of how shy and insecure he was when he first asked her out; it was absolutely adorable. His demeanor then was such a stark difference to what it is now. Now he’s secure and comfortable, in terms of his appearance, their relationship, everything. He is a little too comfortable, Annie thinks, bordering on the indolent. She often had to remind him of how to behave, or at least how she would like him to behave. She thinks back to their exchange earlier that day, when Annie walked into the bathroom and found Chadwick staring at himself in the mirror, twirling a Q-tip in his ear.
“Chadwick, are you aware that you left a hair-ball in the shower drain this morning?” Annie admonished.
“Yeah,” Chadwick replied lamely. He didn’t shift his gaze away from his reflection in the mirror.
“Don’t ever do that again,” Annie said flatly.
She did not feel she was asking for too much, but Chadwick begged to differ. He often called her a nag whenever she got on his case. Annie was only trying to make him better. What was the crime in that?
While helping herself to another glass of Smirnoff, Annie hears her stomach gurgle. She realizes she is pretty hammered by now and quite hungry, given that she hasn’t eaten since lunch. Looking over at the dinner she prepared earlier, she heaves herself up from the couch and meanders towards the kitchen. Not bothering to use a plate, or utensils for that matter, Annie begins her ravenous assault on the pot roast and mashed potatoes. Though the food tastes like dry bark, she cannot stop eating. She eats with gusto, knowing that she spent a little over two hours preparing this meal. First she is proud, then nauseous. Is my cooking always this bad? Annie wonders.
Suddenly realizing she won’t fit into her wedding dress if she continues eating at this rate, Annie drops the fistful of meat she’s clutching in her right hand. Her face burns with shame, as she further realizes she already doesn’t fit into her wedding dress, because she is, what some might describe as portly. The saddle bags she’s acquired from preparing and inevitably, choking down Chadwick’s favorite meal; chili cheese fiesta—he calls it fiesta because he likes it with nacho cheese instead of the standard cheddar, in addition to jalapeños (but not too many because they give him heartburn)—make her feel less desirable. She doubts that Chadwick has to face such insecurities about his physical appearance. And that just isn’t fair.
Agitation—or perhaps gas—gnaws at the pit of Annie’s stomach. Looking at the clock on the stove, 3:26 am, she can’t believe Chadwick still has not come home. This is so unlike him. Perhaps he is testing the boundaries of their relationship, but Annie will see to it that he pays dearly for such carelessness. How inconsiderate could one be? When did she ever leave him high and dry on a Friday night? Annie always considered Chadwick when making decisions in her life, no matter how inconsequential. She did not cut ties with the remainder of her friends to spend all free time with Chadwick, for naught. Her decision to quit grad school to get a second job as a cocktail waitress in order to fund the wedding—having customers ogle her and spill beer down the front of her too snug uniform—will not go unappreciated.
Annie realizes these were her choices, but in her mind they merely demonstrate her undying love for Chadwick. Now that she thinks about it, what sacrifices has Chadwick made? His romantic efforts have not been particularly stellar these days. The last romantic attempt he made entailed bringing home flowers his co-worker had received from a stalker. Chadwick had forgotten to remove the card that said “From an admirer. Not your husband.” Annie snorts out loud at the thought. She is picturing him now, probably doing body shots off some flat lining tramp. And here is Annie, waiting, with mild indigestion and alone. Annie is confused and angry and ashamed and she wants to scream and stomp on Chadwick’s head. Her eyes become wild with fury. Why would Chadwick be so heedless? It was such violence.
A quiet rage builds within her. Annie feels compromised. She is a walking blade. When she begins to think of what she will say to Chadwick when he finally arrives, and how shrilly she will say it, she begins to enter a strange state of euphoria. It is a feeling not unlike being able to use the restroom after being denied for so for a time. Feeling so light and tingly—like she did last summer when she got drunk at the fair and had to wait in line at the porta potties for twenty minutes, whimpering mildly and clutching at the crotch of her jeans, then finally getting her turn to rip into the bathroom and piss like a race horse-- was the most profound pleasure she'd known all month. And now, waiting for her fiancé and knowing how righteous will be her indignation, how tremendously vindicated she will be when tearing him to shreds, she finds herself anticipating his arrival like a junkie would await their next fix. She is smiling to herself. She is tapping her acrylic nails on the counter top. What will she say? Will she direct her displeasure towards tonight’s happenings or shall she delve into all his general failures? Oh where to begin! The range is so free, so open. She can navigate anywhere she pleases, the possibilities were endless. Throwing back her third Smirnoff and rum cocktail, she jerks her head towards the window, where Chadwick’s headlights are flooding through the partition. This will be stupendous, she thinks. This will be marvelous. This will be superb. She can hardly wait for it to begin!