Ally Sighs

Ally sighs as she lets out a frustrated breath. Steadying herself against the door frame she closes her eyes and lets her forehead rest on her arm. Every goddamn time. Steeling herself she leans to pick up her husband’s socks and shoes strewn on the bedroom floor. 

She throws the socks in the hamper and puts the shoes in the closet on the shoe rack, but leans down to straighten them all so this pair will fit. Slamming the closet door she lets out another frustrated sigh.

Every goddamn time.

“Hey Hun what’s for dinner? I can hear my stomach growling.”

Pausing in the living room she hesitates as she looks at her husband buried in his book, feet propped up on the coffee table, beer in hand. She counts to three under her breath. Choose your battles, she admonishes herself silently. 

Ignoring his question she moves to stand before him and leans in to give him a peck on the cheek. “How was work?” 

He doesn’t stir, just repeats his prior question from a different direction. “I’m not feeling takeout again. We've had it three times this week already.”

Did I say I wasn’t going to cook dinner!? The shout doesn’t make it past her lips, reverberating in her head instead. Ally can feel her blood pressure rising, her hands ball into fists at her side. Swallowing the anger surging in her throat she stomps into the kitchen to start dinner, pots banging, dishes clattering. 

Taking a long gulp of red wine she finally feels herself return to normal as she watches the water for the pasta come to a boil. But what was normal anymore she asked herself. If this was normal she didn’t want it.

Pouring more wine into her glass she stares at nothing in particular, lost in thought. There was a time when George was everything to her and he could do no wrong. Charming and extremely easy on the eyes, he had swept her off her feet at the tender age of 22. Ten years her senior he was sophisticated, successful, and everything Ally thought she wanted in a man. Five years later she would find herself staring at the ceiling at night, sleep deprived and restless, wondering how her life had come to this. 

This.

What was this exactly? 

This is not how she imagined marriage to be. 

This was not happily ever after. 

Turning off the burner and grabbing the pot holders, she hesitates before the stove. There was a time when she’d call George in to handle the big awkward pot full of boiling water. But determined she grabs the pot’s handles, hating to rely on George.

Tipping it slowly over the sink, suddenly the pot slips as she lets out a cry. Seemingly in slow motion it careens out of control and topples to the floor with a painful clatter.  She manages to jump out of the path of the boiling water splashing onto the linoleum, but it does spray one of her hands on its journey with gravity.

“What the hell Ally!?” George thunders, suddenly at the kitchen doorway, eyes wide at the pasta strewn all over the kitchen floor and adjacent wall. 

“I’m fine don’t worry,” Ally answers in a meek voice, not daring to turn and look at him. Running quickly to the bathroom to run her hand under cold water, she can feel the threat of tears.

Turning off the water after a moment she stares at her reflection, sad red rimmed eyes gaze back at her.

Complete silence except for the drip...drip... drip from the faucet.

Uncomfortable silence.

Ally glances down the hallway to see George still staring at the kitchen floor, hands in his pockets, face void of any emotion.

He adjusts his glasses while slowly turning in her direction, “Do you need ice?”

Shaking her head no she moves slightly so her curly hair covers her face, hiding the evidence of tears wetting her cheeks.  

George returns to his spot on the couch. “So takeout?” He calls after a minute.

In that moment Ally is struck with a visual, a flit of a memory that crosses her mind’s eye. When they were younger Ally’s brother would torment her by flicking rubber bands at her head. He'd grit his teeth and pull on the rubber band till it was stretched as far as it could go. And then, snap! 

Snap! 

A feral scream punches the inert air with such force the residual continues to ring in her ears long after she shuts her mouth. Leaping to his feat as if the couch were on fire George tears through the living room and flings open the front door. So foreign was the sound that he failed to realize it had emitted from his very own wife down the hall.

“Ally did you hear that!?” George yells from the front doorway. After hearing no reply he appears a moment later at the end of the hall, eyes wide, face pale, glasses askew.

“Was that you!?” He gasps, chest still heaving while he catches his breath. 

Briefly Ally debates running into the bedroom and screaming some more into her pillow, but instead she turns and faces George.

“Do you know what I do all day?! I cook you breakfast, go take care of my sick Mom and then I come home to clean your house and cook some more. That’s it! That’s my life!”

George has never heard her yell before, the high octave of her voice unnerves him to the degree that he’s stunned into silence for a moment.

“Ok you’re upset. But I said we can order takeout. I don’t mind,” he finally says.

“Will you stop saying takeout?! It’s not about the f*cking takeout George!”

Clearly exasperated, George runs a hand through his hair, his face, pale a moment before turns cherry red. Seeing the tell tale splotches appearing on his cheeks, Ally knows an eruption is coming. She often likens him to a volcano, peaceful and quiet till he’s not.

“I work 9 hours a day to provide the lifestyle you want! Is it too much to ask that you make dinner for your husband?! And clean?! What, should we hire a maid so you have more time to shop and go to brunch with your friends!? Liz has a housekeeper but she runs a business and a charity! Do you do that!? NO! You’re spoiled Ally, you're a goddamned spoiled brat!”

Ally’s mouth hangs open with disbelief, “You did not just bring my sister into this!” 

This.

What was this?

This….thing that had come between them, the thought of which induced bile and a consequent sour taste in her mouth. 

With another scream Ally moves into their adjacent bedroom and slams the door, locking it. She can hear George charging down the hallway.

“Ally, open this goddamn door!” Subsequent pounding. “You want to make some noise!? You want the neighbors to hear our business!?” More pounding. “Ally open this f*cking door!”

The door swings open with such force George stumbles forwards before catching himself with a hand on the door frame.

“I know.” Ally says with an icy tone that chills the air between them.

George doesn’t speak, his brows furrowed in a frown of confusion.

Ally crosses her arms and with a defeated sigh she says, “I know about my sister. And I want a divorce.”