hell hath no fury
a wife hits the road and releases some baggage
Your car smells like her. Saccharine. Youthful. Basic. Did you fuck her in this car?
You used to drive along this road with me. Our little secret. You played classic rock on the stereo, the intricate melodies and guitar riffs bouncing between us, because it reminded you of a time long gone. You told me you never encountered another car here on this forgotten road. All we could see for miles were mesas and buttes that towered over us. And then, on the horizon, the setting sun would paint the sky an array of pinks and oranges.
I remember the pair of red fuzzy dice swinging side to side from the rearview mirror. I picked that out for you. We laughed about it in Target. How funny it would be to have this cliche in your car.
When you drove, you used to take your right hand off the wheel to take mine, to kiss one knuckle, then another, and another. I cherished those tiny, wet marks of saliva. With the windows rolled all the way down, the air smelled so fucking fresh, free of pollution and full of freedom and possibilities. You wanted me back then. We were the type of couple to dance barefoot on the grass with no music playing, our breaths mingling, your strong hands clasping mine.
In your vows, you said: “I promise to love you through thick and thin, I promise to cherish every part of you, I promise to love you with my whole heart”. You promised me these things but you broke them over some wide-eyed girl six years younger than me, like we were nothing. We were supposed to be together until death do us part. We were gonna be fucking perfect until the end of our days.
The red fuzzy dice aren’t hanging from the mirror anymore. It’s illegal now. You haven’t kissed my knuckles in three years. Your lips haven’t touched mine in a year. We stopped dancing with each other. I tried to make us work but you threw in the towel. Don’t you know marriage is hard work? You always wanted everything to be easy.
A full moon hangs in the sky but I stare at the fading sunset in front of me. You’re right. It is breathtaking out here. Did you show her this place too? Did you make her feel special too? Did she look at you with stars in her eyes? Did she make you feel like a man again? After my miscarriage three years ago, you stopped feeling like a man around me. When you saw my naked body, you looked like you’d rather look at anything else. Your dick would remain flaccid, even with my boobs on full display. But you didn’t even think about how that made me feel, did you? You just went looking for another warm body instead, something else to stick your dick in.
The last things you said to me were: “You make me feel trapped. You want me to be someone I’m not anymore. I want to be free.”
I turn the car to go off road. When my headlights show the edge of the land, I turn off the engine. Cicadas buzz nearby. Beetles squeak and click. Coyotes howl. I open the trunk. God, you don’t smell good like this.
First, your right hand. It feels cold in mine. It’s been ages since we held hands. I throw it into the darkness. It flies through the air and lands with a soft thud somewhere down below. Standing here like this, it feels like I’m at the edge of Earth with only twinkling stars and space ahead.
Next, your right arm. How many times have I touched this arm, to seek comfort, to feel the strength of your biceps?
Your right foot. We used to play footsie under the table at gatherings while trying to stifle our laughter. Why was it so funny?
Your right thigh. I used to play with the hairs on your thigh before moving my hand further up.
I throw the rest of you out there one by one, in different directions.
You wanna leave? Then leave. You wanna be free? Then go.