Greg forlornly looked into the eyes of his reflection and wondered what he was thinking when he agreed to this duel. “Old man, you have stepped knee-deep into this one, and, you, here with no waders.” He sighed and headed out to face the music.
As he drove to her house, he knew she would have invited all of their friends to bear witness to her putting him rightfully in his place. He was equally certain it would be painful and righteous because he deserved it. Her maleficent side was what made her such a dynamic entity. She commanded every room she entered because she kept everyone atilt, never knowing if she would put her arm around someone in comfort or to slide a knife between ribs to bury it in the heart.
His heart had been in a constant state of flutter and his shortness of breath drove him to the doctor, who laughed at him. It was the first time he had ever heard of a doctor delivering a diagnosis of “in love”. The thought made his stomach do a somersault. How could I possibly be in love with someone who enjoys making me think I am stupid and crazy cyclically? He sighed again, this time in resignation he was doomed to walk the planet wearing a label. Surely, making the mistake of challenging her knowledge of anything whatsoever would brand him evermore as an idiot.
When he pulled up in front of her house, the cars were parked in the driveway and on both sides of the street. With the car in park, he listened to the last of the blues song on the radio. He picked a piece of something off his pants before he stepped out of the car. Heaven knows, she would ask me what it is, and I would have no idea. One last deep breath before he rang the bell did nothing to calm his nerves, and when she answered the door he felt like the air was as thin as if he were balanced on the wing of a jumbo jet.
Her smile was warm; her eyes sparkled. She waved him in as though there was no one but them there. Stepping over the threshold, he spied the gang strewn around the living room and kitchen. Everyone he knew was there. Witnesses. In the swoon of his mind, they looked like the thousands at the last concert of the greatest band in history. He shook his head to catch and hold onto his focus. It was difficult because she was speaking.
“I have made my choice.” His heart jumped into his throat awaiting what weapon she would use to eviscerate him. Whatever it was, he hoped it would be quick. A swift piercing of his heart would be far kinder than a long, drawn-out torture, though her sense of justice would more likely choose whips over pistols.
“Which weapon did you choose?” Greg was uncertain he wanted an answer, but the pain of not knowing was likely as bad as knowing.
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