Trouble in Paradise

Listen, Donna, I'm not in the mood to argue," Tommy said,
exasperated. "I've had a bad day at work and I just don't need
this!"
"You think you've had a hard day? You think my day has been easy? I
worked today too, you know. After work, I had to go to the day care to
pick up Stephanie, then I went to do the grocery shopping. After I got
home, I cooked supper; which, by the way, is cold now! Where have you
been?"
"I stopped by Keith's house and talked with him a while," Tommy said
unapologetically.
"It looks like you did more drinking than talking; I can smell it on
your breath from here. While you were goofing off with Keith, I was
here trying to pay bills with what little was left over after buying
groceries. There's just not enough money to go around!"
"Look. I've got a lot on my mind and I really don't feel like putting
up with all this shit," Tommy shouted as he stormed out of the kitchen
and into the den. He went to the tall bookshelf in the corner of the
dimly lit room and retrieved an old cigar box from the top shelf.
Reaching inside, he pulled out a Bic lighter and a small handmade
cigarette before closing the box and putting it back in its place on
the shelf. Collapsing into his favorite easy chair, he punched the PLAY
button on the CD player and a dark, heavy rhythm began to pulse from
the speakers. Yellow light illuminated his weary features as he lit the
tiny cigarette. He puffed lightly until it lit, then he inhaled deeply
as he sat back, trying to relax.
Bitter smoke flooded his lungs as black thoughts filled his mind. "The
bills, again. It's always about the bills! She's sure not going to be
happy when I tell her that I got fired again. She still blames me for
our financial situation because of the LAST time!"
Stewing in his thoughts, he sat in the dark waiting for the high to
hit, hoping desperately to find a place that was a little less painful.
His thoughts raged accusations at him, parading his many failures
before his mind's eye. Frustrated that he was finding no escape from
his mental torments, Tommy filled his lungs again with the smoke that
he hoped would set him free. Before he exhaled, he reached over to the
stereo and turned up the volume.
At that point that Donna came into the room, switching on the light as
she came. "Turn that down," she shouted over the blare of the
music.
Jumping to his feet, his eyes still adjusting to the blaze of the
overhead light, he shouted "Turn that light off!" The ash tray that had
been perched on his knee clattered to the floor.
"Turn the volume down," Donna repeated. "You woke Stephanie up!"
Out of spite, Tommy turned the volume higher.
The next few minutes were a blur to Tommy's clouded mind. When he would
think back on them later, there would only be a few things that he
could recall. He would remember that there had been another one of
their shouting matches, this one seeming to be in perfect harmony with
the angry beat that growled in stereo from the speakers. He would
remember that, at some point, the argument had moved into the kitchen
where she had been paying the bills. One thing that would be
frightfully clear in his memory was the flurry of newspapers and unpaid
bills that filled the air like a flock of lunatic pigeons when Donna
began to throw things at him in her anger. More than anything else, he
would remember the look of shock that appeared on Donna's face when he
shouted to her, "Don't I have a right to be upset once in a while, too?
I just lost my job today!"
The only other thing that he would remember of those few moments was
the image of her face, mascara flowing in black streams from her eyes
and down her cheeks. What a shame for such a sad image to be the last
he has to remember her by. The rest of the argument was lost in the
swirling maelstrom of his emotions.
In the end, she had accused him of irresponsibility: "Why can't you
keep a job, Tommy? In the two years that we've been married, you've
spent almost as much time without a job as with a job! If you loved me
and the baby as much as your drinking buddies, you'd keep a job."
The conflict had been a really bad one up till then; if it had stopped
at that point, things probably could have settled back down. But it
hadn't stoped there.
Thoughts whirled wildly in Tommy's mind as he continued to exchange
accusations, insults and excuses with Donna. His line of argument came
to an abrupt end when she declared, "If you can't get your shit
together, you can just get the hell out of here and never come
back!"
Shocked and speechless, he couldn't believe what he had heard! He stood
there motionless, his mouth hanging open. It took a moment for him to
absorb what she had just said.
His teeth clicked together as he closed his mouth sharply. He spun on
his heel, went to the den and switched off the stereo. Silence crashed
in on the room. He strode intently to the bedroom where he rummaged in
the closet for his duffel bag. Finding it, he began stuffing clothes
into it; whatever came to hand found its way inside: socks, pants,
shirts, a flashlight. When the bag was full, he pulled the drawstrings
to close it. Clipping the shoulder strap into place, he slung it onto
his back and snatched up his pillow and a blanket. He made his way back
down the hall, then stormed out the back door, kicking it shut with his
heel on the way out; the glass rattled in the windows as the door
slammed shut. He yanked the car door open and threw the pillow and
blanket into the back seat, then pitched the duffel bag in on top of
them. He swung himself into the driver's seat, slammed the door shut
and jammed the key into the ignition.
His ears rang as he sat in silence, his hand on the key, trying to sort
through the many emotions that swarmed in his head. Dropping his hand
from the key, he sat back and took a deep breath, rubbing his hand
across his face.
He opened the car door and walked to the house. Through the kitchen
window, he could see Donna sitting on the floor amid what looked like
the aftermath of a tornado. She had her back to him, but he could see
from the way her shoulders were shaking that she was still crying. Was
that a dinner plate that lay smashed on the floor beside her? She loved
that china! Her parents had given that set to her as a wedding present
(the only gift they had received).
In the stillness of the night, he stood surveying the remains of their
life together. Among the debris on the floor were pieces of blue
ceramic; not long ago, they had been part of a coffee mug that he had
thrown. "How could I have done that?" he thought. "Thank God it hadn't
hit her!"
Her body was still shaking with the force of her tears as a heavy
feeling crept into the pit of his stomach. The distance between them
was almost palpable. Had it really come to this? Could things ever be
repaired between them? What would happen if he went back through that
door and took her in his arms and told her he was sorry for everything?
Could he take back what he'd said and ask her to forgive him?
While these thoughts formed themselves in his mind, Donna got slowly to
her feet, shuffled through the litter on the floor and disappeared down
the hall. With her out of sight, his feelings hardened once again. He
turned away from the window and trudged back to the car. Getting in, he
started the engine and pointed the headlights out of town.

Go to PART TWO
"Urban Paradise"