Pain's Joke
Chapter 13
The night air was warm and damp. The window in Jonas' bedroom was open, allowing the song of the crickets to make its way in. The pale, blue moonlight shined through the window onto the posters of sports cars which were tacked to the wall opposite the window. The room was just big enough to fit Jonas' single bed, a small shelf for his keepsakes and books, and a dresser. The room was longer than it was wide, and in the summer Jonas pushed his bed from under the posters to against the window so he could feel the breeze. That particular night, Jonas was fast asleep under the window. He had kicked is sheet to the foot of the bed and was lying flat on his back, in only his underwear, his arms loosely folded above his head. Behind the headboard, and on the other side of the wall, crickets could be heard through the open window in the bedroom which Dolores and Paul shared. The room was small, and square, with a queen size, four-post bed taking up most of the floor space. Her dresser and nightstand matched the bed, and both were kept meticulously tidy. On the top of her dresser was her purse and a 5x7 of Jonas' most recent school picture. On her night stand sat an alarm clock. In the top drawer were three cover-less women's magazines, a bottle of ibuprofen, and the container which held her birth control pills. Paul's dresser, however, served as both the storage space for his clothes and the depository for fishing magazines, girly magazines, tool catalogs, spare change, a pocketknife, his keys, his wallet, two cell phone chargers to phones he no longer owned, a trophy from his bowling league, a Siltwell Feed ball cap, four crumpled and empty cigarette packs, a half empty glass of orange juice, two beef jerky wrappers, the cardboard tube from a roll of toilet paper, a broken pair of scissors, a ticket from a rock concert three years ago, a calendar from two years ago which features hot rods on scenic roads, a half dozen ink pens, stray paper clips and rubber bands, and as if it were a cargo strap, his leather belt was laid across the pile. It was a cheap dresser, made of fiberboard and veneer, with a cardboard back, and held together with glue and a handful of screws which were almost guaranteed to work themselves out of their holes, if not strip them out entirely.
Paul was sitting up in bed, reading a hunting magazine while Dolores was still getting undressed.
“Man, I want one of these four wheelers.” Paul mumbled.
“Can you fix my air conditioning first, hon?” she replied.
“I said I will, just give me some time.”
“Well, it's just that you said you'd do it last summer and you kept putting it off. This summer is in full swing and I'm sweating like a whore in church when I drive to work. You said it was an easy fix, so I don't understand why you haven't fixed it yet.”
“Jesus Christ, woman.” he groaned as he dropped the magazine into his lap. “If you keep nagging me about it, I'll NEVER do it, just to spite you.”
“Oh, that's mature.”
“I didn't know we were having a contest to see who was more mature. What are you? In seventh grade still? You gonna make your finger and thumb into an “L” and put it on your forehead? Keep it up, woman, see what happens.”
“Like what, Paul? You gonna actually end up doing the things you say you're gonna do, when you say you're going to do them? That'll be the day.”
She lifted the covers from her side of the bed and slid one leg under the sheet when Paul tossed the magazine on the floor, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her on top of him. “How about I say I'm gonna make sweet, sweet love to you all night long? Then actually do it?”
She laughed and kissed him. “Do you promise to fix the air? And, like, soon?”
“Promise, cross my heart, scouts honor and all that stuff.”
“We'll that sounds like a deal, then.” she said as she reached across his side of the bed to turn off the lamp.
Dolores sat up and crossed her arms around her waist to remove her shirt, but she was interrupted by the phone ringing.
“Who the hell?” grunted Paul.
Dolores shushed him as she reached for her purse. Light from the phone's display shot out of her purse when she unzipped it. She flipped it open without looking and said hello.
The voice on the other end said, “Uh, is Jeff there?”
She took the phone away from her ear and stared at the number on the display. “Wrong number.” she said, and she hung up.
“Who were they looking for?” asked Paul while he played with himself.
“I dunno. Somebody named Jeff.” she said. Her stomach rumbled. “Honey, can I give you a rain check tonight? My stomach doesn't feel so hot. I think it was dinner.”
“OK, now I definitely want to know who the fuck it was. Let me see your phone.”
“It's a wrong number, don't worry about it.”
“Five seconds ago, you were all hot and bothered, and now you're sick to your stomach. I heard him say your name, Dory. Are you cheating on me? Who the hell –”
“Nobody, Paul. They had the wrong number. You didn't hear me say that?”
“Well what the hell is some dude calling here at night for? Asshole's cock blocking me, what the fuck? Why is he calling here at all?”
“I don't know, honey. Just please, I'm sick to my stomach, I told him wrong number, so he won't be calling back. I'll talk to you about it tomorrow. I assure you, I'm not cheating on you. I promise.”
“Better not be, goddamn it. I swear, if you ever did, I'd shoot the both of you. And I mean that. I'll shoot you, and him, and I'll burn the place to the fuckin' ground.”
“Well lucky for me then, because I'm not cheating on you. I swear, sometimes you get so...” she said and walked into the bathroom to splash some water on her face.
“So, what?”
“So jealous, I mean for crying out loud, Paul. You were ready to kill me because some guy called here thinking we were whoever the heck he was trying to call.”
“So”
“So? That's all you've got to say? So?”
“God damn it, Dory! You need to watch your tone. Get back in here, I ain't gonna yell to you through the whole damn house. We got neighbors, you know.”
She poked her head around the corner of the door frame and said, “Well don't let them stop you, go ahead and yell. It's what you're gonna do anyway.”
“What the hell's your problem?”
She storms back into the bedroom. “MY problem? My problem is that I have a psycho husband who flips out on me about a stupid wrong number. That's insane, Paul. Nuts! Who does that?”
“I'm sorry, babe. I've been drinking a little and –”
“A little? Paul, you buy a twelve pack everyday. Everyday. And every night, when I get home, you're either passed out or mean as a snake. And at that fishing day, Paul? The pastor had to bring him home. Do you remember that? Do you remember abandoning my son? You left my baby by himself, Paul.”
“One: he wasn't by himself. The preacher was there. Two: I work hard, dammit, and I need a little something to take the edge off – “
“Edge off?! What edge? What edge are you talking about? You sit on your ass on a tow motor all day. Then when you get home, you drink til your eyeballs are floating, then when I get home after being on my feet all day, moving pallets of canned goods, and pushing carts, and lifting gallon after gallon of milk ALL DAY, you have the nerve to act like I'm just your personal sex slave. I'm sick of it, Paul.”
He gets out of bed and begins hastily dressing. “Well I'm pretty fucking sick of hearing you bitching and moaning all the time. If you're gonna do that, you should at least be putting out.”
“I'm putting out right now. I'm putting YOU out.” She throws his pillow at him. “You can sleep on the couch.”
He dropped the pillow to the ground, clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. Dolores stepped back, anticipating a swing, but it never came.
He opened his eyes, turned to his dresser and grabbed his keys. “Or I can go.”
“Paul.” She said apo
logetically, but there was no response. He was already in the living room, lacing up his boots. She heard a couple of footsteps toward the kitchen, followed by the jingle of keys, and then the front door slammed. Dolores sat on the edge of the bed, staring into her lap. Through the window she could hear Paul's truck door open, then slam shut. The engine stuttered for a second then roared to life. The gravel pinged against the underside of the truck, and the roar of the engine eventually faded into the distance. In the stillness which was left, only the crickets could be heard outside Dolores' window.