M.C. Menses (genevievescully) wrote in mondaymicrofic,
M.C. Menses
genevievescully
mondaymicrofic

The Clown

ASW 09/30/2005

Your lopsided grin stole me from across the table. I grinned half-heartedly back, unsure of what to say and afraid to say anything. It was tenuous, the hold you had on me, and you knew it. I sucked another strand of spaghetti into my mouth and looked down at my fork. I had gotten tomato sauce on my blouse again, and I cursed under my breath. I quickly dabbed at it with shaking hands, clutching the woven napkin violently. It had been far too long for me, and longer for you. You met me at the door after paying the bill and held onto my arm protectively. You told me not to be afraid.

Every date since then had been similar. I was aware of your past and your present, and was almost certain that I could see your future. You were never aware of the precariousness of your grasp on my life. On the outside, you seemed like a prince. On the inside, I knew you to be a toad. The anger-management classes had helped, you claimed, and for good measure threw me another smile. I nodded uneasily and scanned our surroundings quickly. I had insisted that we always meet in public after learning of what you liked to do in private. Finally, I had allowed you to have me as a guest in the apartment we used to share, believing that something had changed.

The furnishings were the same, and so were the memories associated with the place. I looked at the pictures hung like trophies on the walls. I was there in my gown, you in your suit, both of us smiling. My ring had glittered madly on that day so many years ago; the day had been our wedding day, and I wasn't apt to forget it. I remembered when you bought me that ring, and I was so thrilled that I just couldn't stop looking at it and looking at you in the same instant. I looked down at the ring that I had begun wearing again only recently and saw your reflection coming towards me.

You laughed and called it my "Amnesia Gun", which it isn't, unfortunately. I kicked you squarely in the groin and you dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the hardwood floor. Your mistress heard the commotion, she had been snooping through your belongings to see who the "other woman" was. She still believed you were in the process of a painful divorce. She had no time to escape before she was draped over your whimpering mass and I was returning to the life I had made for myself.
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