I can even recognize your big brown eyes with your back to me, walking out the door. We’ve been fighting, and you prefer to walk away before things are said that can’t be unsaid. I prefer to never go to bed angry, which is why I’m angry that you’re walking out the door. It’s almost ten o’clock and I have jury duty tomorrow. I tell you this and then for separate reasons we begin to fight, arguing about things that only seem important right then and there, where we are. Then you walk out the door. The dog barks throughout, making it clear whose side he’ll be on should sides need to be chosen.
Originally published Spring 2016 in Quarter After Eight, Issue 22.
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