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Mason
Now…
Some people like to wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside. For others it’s the steady drum of rain on the roof. Or a soft melody from a favourite song. Those crazy enough to procreate might enjoy the pitter-patter of little feet coming toward them from down the hall. There might even be those who quite like a city coming alive to awaken to: pedestrians hurrying on their way, trams rolling by, the occasional good morning laying on the horn.
For me the answer is quite different: silence. You can keep your birds, your snotty children, your aggressive corporate asshole late to work. But any morning, any day of the week, I’ll take all of that over the melodious roar of a vacuum cleaner.
Ah, so sweet. So gentle. Such a pleasant way to ease into the workday.
“Goddammit,” I hissed into the pillow I’d wrapped over my ears. It helped. Sort of. Mildly. Not bleedin’ enough.
I flung back the sheets and stormed across the room.
Out in the hallway the wretched noise only got louder. There wasn’t even a hint of light to illuminate the glass window at the end of the hallway yet, but there was the back-and-forth roar of a horrible devil-monster. Pushed, surely, by an even more horrible one. Following the noise to the source would have been easy enough, but I had even further help: a trail of thick green gloop dropped on the wood floors.
Toes cold against the floorboards, I sidestepped the mess and continued toward the stairs. When I poked my head around the corner, I squinted in the harsh light at my dear wife there on the landing.
It was, as you can guess, everything I’d ever hoped and dreamed for. More than anything I could have ever imagined. Truly the heart-fluttering sight one would expect from the love of their life.
Rachel’s face was covered in the same green gloop that was left in a cookie crumb trail down the hallway. It had not only fallen to the floor, but also the old house robe she wore like a tent over her body. I’d told her to use whatever she’d found in house, and she’d found the ugliest thing possible: a quilted old floral-print robe with lace trim at the neck and wrists with giant buttons in the shape of little kittens. I think it belonged to my nan, but from the state of it, it could have very well been her nan’s.
Rachel’s hair was greased with some sort of oil and wrapped up in what I could only guess was cling wrap. She wore thick grey-coloured socks with holes in them and apparently hadn’t bothered to shave given what I could see of the tiny peek of skin under the robe. She yanked the vacuum roughly over the stairs, the end banging loudly against the wall with each pass. As I watched her, the attachment slipped off the edge of the landing and crashed all the way down the steps to the front door.
Rachel dropped the vacuum, leaving it still roaring, and leisurely went after the attachment. I sighed and unplugged the vacuum from the wall.
She turned as the machine went dead.
“Oh, shoot,” she said, placing her hands on her hips as she looked up at me, pushing a pair of giant old glasses up her nose so they didn’t slip right off. “I didn’t wake you, did I, dear husband?”
I smiled down at her and I leaned against the wall, arms crossed casually over my chest.
“Not at all, my love,” I said through gritted teeth. “How can I possibly sleep when such a beauty is so close by?”
Rachel’s jaw tightened.
“Well, good,” she said. “Because I would have hated to wake you. Hated to be of any kind of annoyance to you. Hated to give you any reason whatsoever to want me gone.”
Rachel smiled sweetly. Or at least, as sweetly as was possible with a chunky green face and glasses that made her eyes bulge out like a cartoon character’s.
She might have smiled sweetly, but it was more than clear what was really going on: she was declaring war. The battle line was drawn with the cord of a vacuum. The rules of the game written on the floral wallpaper just to the side of us. She was going to make my life a living hell as long as she was forced to be here. I was to be under siege for thirty days.
Rachel smiled sweetly like she’d won the first skirmish, but she’d forgotten something very important: I was excellent at games. In fact, I quite enjoyed them. I was, in fact, quite good at them. Ask Miss Last Night. Any Miss Last Night.
I hopped down the stairs to where Rachel was standing. She eyed me warily as I approached. Her head jerked back when I placed both my hands on her cheeks. It was my turn to smile sweetly.
Eyes close to her giant ones, I said, “Wife, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, you can do that will make me want you gone.”
I squeezed her cheeks a little tighter. Pressed out her lips a little farther so they puckered out like a fish.
“Absolutely nothing,” I said with a grin before smacking my mouth loudly against hers.
I ran back up the stairs and left her to lick her wounds. If Rachel thought it was going to be that easy, she didn’t know me well at all. If anything, she made me feel more alive.
I paced my room and planned my attack. It wasn’t even—I glanced at the bedside clock—four in the morning yet and I was wide awake. Heart pounding. A wicked grin tugging at the corner of my lips.
We were playing, Rachel and I.
And I was going to win…
