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Show 92 wasn't so sure how it was going with us. Not that we fought or anything, that would have been a relief. It was that we didn't fight. She wouldn't get mad at me, even when I couldn't help but give her reason to, and if I got pissed at her it was tears, a few tears and her saying she understood and I was right and she was wrong and was sorry, really sorry, and please would I forgive her. Jesus. It got on my nerves, I don't know why. Then there was the sex business. It was like she thought I should be ready to go any time day or night, even after work when sometimes it hurts just to take off my clothes. "Don't you want me," she would say, "don't you want me? I want you." What she wanted was kids. I know. She never said it direct, but every time a friend of hers got married she would come back from the wedding all starry-eyed and for weeks afterwards she would be full of bright ideas about how we should move to a bigger place or should buy a new car together or would say crazy things like how she ought to stop taking the pill. It made me take more aspirin. But I guess those weren't big problems compared to what Donny was going through. After a while his Linda stopped cooking for him. She told him she wasn't going to work up a sweat over separate meals for him when she had to live on jello and cottage cheese. She would fix him tuna fish sandwiches for work, but no more than two, and told him he was selfish for even wanting more. "What am I," he said one night, "a goddamned rabbit? You work, you got to eat." |