Joan stirred. She had once again been woken
by Mike's pathetic attempt at sneaking in. She waited half comatose for the
next stage when Mike would try and sneak
into the bed. She heard the rattle of drawers and the banging of a table
accompanied by incoherent grunts. She looked at the digital alarm clock : 3:45
a.m.
'That pig bastard stuffing his face after a
two day piss up' she thought.
She didn't bother trying to ignore it
anymore. Not for a long time. Once he had scrambled up the stairs he'd do a few
circles in the bedroom before she got out of bed and lay him on his side. Then
she'd take off his shoes and pants which
were not always dry. Surprisingly, his homing radar would always get him back
to the house he just needed a bit of
help directly hitting his desired target.
She waited and listened. After ten minutes
of silence Joan went down to
investigate. There was no sign of Mike. Just a note on the kitchen table:
' Dear Joan,
I'm sorry I fucked up. I'm sorry we din't
have a happy end. I'm sorry it took so long to leave.
I did love you
Mike
xxx '
Joan held her breath. It wasn't the
apologies. They were frequent. Mike
hadn't told her he loved her since 1997. her stomach turned. This was unusual.
She found a block of half eaten cheese on the table and when she shut the
fridge door and saw the bloody hand print she dashed for the phone.
The police arrived within twenty minutes
asking questions. Joan drank boiling coffee
and lit one cigarette after the other. The police told her there were a few
cars around the town looking for him but the search could not begin thoroughly
until the morning . Joan had a sick feeling. Even after all the trouble through
the years, the entire soap opera, there was something about this that caused
her stomach to turn. The note and the blood and the gut feeling told her this time
wasn't the same as the others.
She knew they'd find him. They'd find him
too late.
'Is it unusual for Michael to stay out drinking?'
another officer asked. 'No' said Joan,again.
She didn't sleep. Early the next morning
more police appeared asking more or less the same questions. Then they all
left. It was just a matter of when. Joan knew that as she sat alone in the
kitchen. She could not eat. She hadn't moved in hours. She should have told him
she loved him. Stubbornness is a sin
that they were both guilty of but that didn't matter now. She should have been
the bigger person. She should have told
him how much she loved him instead of calling him a pig bastard all the time.
She wished she could take it back. She knew somehow that now she would never get the chance.
He was here the day before.She could have
told him then but she never.She could have told him at any point during the
cold years but she never. But if she could .If she had one chance she'd just
tell him she loved him.If he wanted to
hear it or not. If he said it back or not. It didn't matter.And now they were
checking the canals and the alleys and the mountain for his body.
The back door opened behind her. Joan
turned quickly and there he was.
Mike. Head down in shame as usual. Staring
at his shoes.
'Sorry Joan. I was with Rob. We had a few
jars.like'
Tears rolled from Joans eyes as she stood
and stared at him. After a minute s he took a deep breath and spoke quietly.
'You came back last night. You ate half a
block of cheese and left a note saying you were leaving. You wiped blood all
over the fridge. The police are looking for you
and so is everybody else. I thought you were dead '.
Mike looked at her. 'Oh fuck'.
'Do you remember writing a note?' asked
Joan
'No'
She noticed the bandage on his right hand.
'What happened to your hand?'
'I
tried to punch a hole in Rob's TV. We were arguing about football'
The feeling of dread left Joan. She looked
at Mike and remembered what she'd promised herself she'd say if she could ever
see him again.
'Fucking pig bastard!' she screamed and
stormed up the stairs.
Will Roberts
Based
on a true story.
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