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Time

She often thought there would never be a good time to do this. You couldn't very well roll over in bed, say good morning and say you wanted to divorce. For one thing, she'd never get to work on a weekday and who wanted to waste a weekend, with tears and pointless conversations. You wouldn't want to do this when you got home from work, both of you dog tired and hungry. After sex? Manipulative and humiliating. Before bed? Cruel and certain to guarantee a sleepless night. Which like Do Re Mi brought you right back to the beginning again. As the months passed she began to think that the "good time" would never come, despite how determined she was to get this done. Until that night in November, a month after he had lost his job and decided to take six months of unemployment he had "coming to him" as a vacation. She was still working, and on that night she came home, coat stiff with sleet and found him lounging in the tub in the steamy master bathroom. He was sipping a Scotch and water, from one of their crystal old-fashioned glasses, the ice cubes clinking against each other as he drank, his eyes were lazy and somnolently cat-like as he consciencelessly looked at her. Before he could speak, she was jolted with a nanosecond flash of calm awareness that finally, incredibly, and most profoundly and easily it was after all, the perfect time.

Story by:

Pearl Ketover Prilik

submitted at 7:01am

24 September 2011

Pearl Ketover Prilik's web:

drpkp.com