Plastic World

The curtains are closed to keep the sun out, whiskey with salt and rocks to keep cool and the fan in this motel room is broken – He sits with his back to the television screen, the morning news is on and he’s not listening. Behind the locked bathroom door, his wife of close to ten years, they yell and fight. About money, books and the songs He never wrote. She’s colouring her lips the same red of the wine she drinks. The two carry lockets with the same picture of their daughter, she’s growing to share her mother’s eyes and smile but nothing of his. It’s twenty passed ten on Sunday morning, and the world is almost three drinks behind.

The two had driven to Nevada after He had come home late the night before their daughter’s twelfth birthday; He slept through the day and forgot to buy a gift. He felt his heart fall through the floor, as she lay her hands in his and spoke of the pool outside, filled with love. His wife was laughing with tear filled eyes and He wish she hadn’t. He knew his wife, who found humour in pool outside, didn’t see it the same way he did, and didn’t respond. His wife was made up, hair freshly blonde. He needed a shave, to borrow money and to polish his shoes. His wife offered him another drink; He nodded his head and began to roll a cigarette, thinking without speaking. He could not say turn the offer down, his shirt pocket was full of only note pads and a blunt pencil.

The sound of the other motel patrons spilled through their closed curtains and the two could hear children complaining of the empty pool, she laughed and he shuddered. As she stood He asked for her to wait, in response she filled his glasses again with whiskey. ‘Get out’ she said as she opened the door, ‘dry yourself off’.