6. When the dishes won’t be done

“Nelson, I would like you to go to the store, and pick up a sleeve of plastic cups.”  I said this calmly, flatly as I walked over to the sink and grabbed a dirty glass from the counter beside it.

“Why?”

I walked over to the trash can, glass in hand, and threw it into the open bin.  There was a soft tinkling of broken glass.

“What are you doing?”  He asked, shocked that I had done it.

“I am breaking all the glasses.”  I grabbed the next glass from the counter, walked over to the trash can again, and threw it in against the last.  The sound was much louder this time as the two glasses connected.  I smiled.  That was much more satisfying.

I walked to retrieve the next glass, and Nelson hurried out the door on his errand before I could smash the glass against the previous two.

And I continued in the silence of our apartment.  One glass after the other.  As the small trash can filled, glass began to bounce out onto the floor.  I stepped on a small shard.

With no reaction, I put my foot on the counter, pulled out the foreign glass, and threw it into the trash can.

I put on shoes.

I broke more glass as my shoe filled with blood.

Forty glasses.

Later, I would explain that no one would do the dishes, and so I broke them.

And I would tell them to put on shoes before going in the kitchen.

Posted on Saturday, July 28, 2007 at 11:33AM

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