The High Life

“What time will you be home?” I asked Mr. Excitement.

“Oh, don’t start with me,” he slurred drunkenly. Then he repeated what had become his trademark chorus “All you ever do is bitch, bitch, bitch.”

I don’t know what happened to us. I remember him telling me how beautiful I was and how much he loved me. “You are so precious,” he used to tell me. 

He’d say it again and again. Now I’m lucky if he says goodbye before he hangs up on me.

He calls me in the middle of the night after he’s had a few beers and he crows over his accomplishments. I would be proud of him if he’d take the time to listen to me, but every time I try to talk he either makes an excuse to get off the phone or more often he accuses me of bitching. Even silence pissed him off so I hang up the phone and I lay alone in our big empty bed and cry myself to sleep.

Sometimes I try to call in the morning. That’s a mistake. He’s even more cranky when he wakes up.

This morning, oddly enough, he called me.

“I’m sorry for last night,” he began. “I had a rough time with some of the guys and living in this hot, greasy shop is really wearing on me.” It was the same excuse that he uses every time. He’s burnt out from work and he misses his family and somehow he winds up taking it out on me.

“You were drunk,” I added.

“Yeah, I got a little loaded. I need to blow off some steam. Just be glad I did it before I came home for the weekend.”

I wanted to ask him why I should be glad. He still took out his frustrations on me. I guess I’m supposed to be glad Bubba didn’t hear any of it.