::02:09:08::

::: All the Little Things :::

He slept through much of the day
His children had learned that he would wake in his own due time, that they should leave him be and make cereal if they were hungry and watch television if they were bored
The afternoons were thus spent sitting Indian-style on the brownshagcarpet staring ahead at the sometimes-screen, which derived its name from the fact that it was sometimes fuzzy and sometimes clear
It was usually the phone which woke him, his wife calling their bedroom asking after the results of his job search, he grumbling angry excuses in response and quickly arranging an exit from the conversation so that he could limp his weary way to the shower and jerk off to the sound of the rushing water and squeaky nozzle
With a heavy sigh his wife would lay down the phone and go back to work, knowing that he was in the shower jerking off and would therefore just shrugeroff and change the channels when she nuzzled up for a f*ck later that night
That bastard, she’d think, he gets to stay home and sleep all day while I bust my ass out here, never gave me nothin’ but the damn kids and all they do is whine and cry and eat and make a mess anyway, and that prick gets to jerkoff in the bathroom while my cunt ain’t felt a tickle in years
These thoughts were a repeating monologue in her head, arriving at about this time every day, until she barely even noticed them anymore but merely regarded them as colorful background ever on the landscape of her mind
And he would come out of the bathroom refreshed and revitalized and wander to the kitchen to pour himself some cereal, usually spilling milk on the brownshagcarpet which he would blame on the kids and make them clean up
It would take him two or three shouts before they closed their mouths and looked away from the screen and asked him what he wanted and he would shout it again and they’d remember the routine and go off to fetch the paper towels and soak up the milk on the darkwetspot in the brownshagcarpet where he’d spilled
She would arrive lugging groceries shortly thereafter, and the kids would ask for food, and he would retire to the bedroom to turn on the television, and she would microwave something or set some steak on the stove or tell “~em to make their own damn dinner and to shut up when they’d cry in response and she’d go into the living room and fall asleep on the couch for an hour or so
And after her nap/dinner was done she would shower, do the laundry, clean the living area if she felt up to it, which she usually didn’t, yell at the kids to go and sleep or somethin’, and go into the bedroom where she’d find him flipping through magazines and glancing up periodically at the television
She would undress, put a dab of perfume (usually very cheap) on her neck, arms and wrists, climb into bed and watch the television with him for a few minutes
Growing bored with the television, she would slowly wrap one leg over his waist, squeezing his body in towards hers, and caress his chest and arms
He would endure this for a little less than a minute, then plead fatigue and gently but hurriedly shrugeroff and change the channels
And the background of her mind would shoot suddenly up to the forefront for a brief instant, causing anger, frustration, resentment, which would give way quickly to tiredness and then drift back to the periphery
She would fall asleep, and he would turn off the television and lay in the darkened silence next to her, listening to her breathe, feeling shame and paralysis and a faint longing as he watched her chest move up and down
Six or seven hours later, she’d wake and he would close his eyes and pretend to be asleep
She’d get up, scratchercrotch, piss, wake the kids, dress for work, and leave
He would watch television for a bit longer and then sleep through much of the day

Written by: ~ Jake Thornton