"Carl, I'm cold." She said in a tone that was nothing but fed up, and added a final sounding "Lets go home."
"Home? But we just got out here."
"Yes, and had I known it would be this cold we wouldn't be here at all!"
"Aw Marie--"
"Oh Carl! You can't even see! Jesus! There! I've said it!"
She'd said it. After months of dancing around the subject, months of flaring her nose and knitting her eyebrows at him, just to see if he would react. When he bumped into the kitchen table for the fifth time in a row she'd pretended not to hear it from the next room. When he came down the stairs one morning she told him that she didn't like the color of the t-shit he was wearing, that he should go change it. She hadn't said anything about it being inside out. And she would have told him off about giving all that change to that mediocre subway musician with the missing teeth. She would have scolded his ear off from central Park to East Greenwich. But he missed the guitar case. And despite the satisfied smile he wore Marie felt his embarrassment. Felt it at her own. She could see it in his eyes. At the very least they were still good for that. Still wonderful windows for looking in through, is what she began telling herself when her kind, purposeful ignorance began wearing thin and the urban path-finding grew more tedious. It lingered at the back of her mind but popped forward every so often, threatening to make its way down her throat and out her mouth but she refused to say it; to make any mention of it, as a kindness to him somehow. To protect his pride and his dignity. But now she was saying it, and he was suddenly aware of how long she hadn't said it.
"What is this? What are you saying to me?"
"I'm saying this is pointless. You're blind! Lets go home."
"So I should give up then? I can still see, Marie. Shapes and colors maybe but I can still see."
"But Carl--"
"And while I'm ion New York I plan to see New York!"
"Carl you're blind!"
"Listen to you! Listen to yourself! If you've been holding this in for so long you might as well say what you really want to say; That I'm dying."
Marie said nothing.
"I'm dying, Marie. There, now I've said it. I've said what you're really afraid of. I've acknowledged its existence, are you happy now? The worlds still spinning! The City's still Spinning around us!"
"Goddamnit Carl!" Marie seethed at the spectacle they'd now become. Tourists were turning to them now, distracted away from the myriad lights to the old man waving his hands and shouting, but Carl just kept going.
"It hasn't changed a thing! I've been dying all this while and it certainly won't make the ending any more pleasant if we pretend to be surprised when it comes!"
"Well you could bloody well act like it!" She screamed back suddenly and Carl bellowed back a moan of frustration. They were both shouting now, in Times Square.
"Act like what? What the hell for?"
"Act like a dying man, for God sakes. If not for mine then at least for your own dignity!"
"Dignity? DIGNITY!" Carl was throwing his hands in the air in mock resignation and in a sudden flash of a camera bulb he nearly lost sight of the grey, black and tan shape that was Marie, who had her hands on her cheeks in both dismay and as relief from the cold.
"I'm dy-ing, Marie!" Carl said, as if speaking to a child. "Its one of those progressive verbs, It'll take a little while. I aint dead yet so what's the use of turning in and burying myself? Whats so dignified about that?"
And then, after forty years of letting his wife have the last word in any argument, Carl decided that this was the perfect time to storm off. This, he hoped, would be his last chance to walk out on top, and so he did. Marie called out to his back after he turned and started walking. Carl pretended he couldn't hear her. He pretended her shout of Carl, where are you going was distorted by some German tourist making impressed noises too close to his ear to be polite. He pretended his wifes pleading of 'Carl, be careful' was blasted away by the horn of a yellow cab. And when he heard her shouting 'Carl, you have to wait for the light!' he did his best not to let her see him flinch or see his shoulders tighten. "No one waits for the damn light." He muttered angrily and, emboldened by his own indignance, he stepped out into traffic. Horns blasted. Tires screeched. Onlookers screamed. The sound of the sudden bang made Marie's heart stop. Miraculously, the vehicle hadn't struck Carl, but the other way arround. Carl had slammed both fists into the blue and white bonnet just as it stopped about eight inches from clipping him at the knees, and for good measure he added a practiced "Ey! I'm walkin' here!"
All his anger and bravery disappeared in an instant. The blue and white shape of the bonnet suddenly gleamed red, then white, then red again, and Carl was suddenly aware of the swirling lights hovering just above the vehicle, and two darkly dressed men stepping out.
"Home? But we just got out here."
"Yes, and had I known it would be this cold we wouldn't be here at all!"
"Aw Marie--"
"Oh Carl! You can't even see! Jesus! There! I've said it!"
She'd said it. After months of dancing around the subject, months of flaring her nose and knitting her eyebrows at him, just to see if he would react. When he bumped into the kitchen table for the fifth time in a row she'd pretended not to hear it from the next room. When he came down the stairs one morning she told him that she didn't like the color of the t-shit he was wearing, that he should go change it. She hadn't said anything about it being inside out. And she would have told him off about giving all that change to that mediocre subway musician with the missing teeth. She would have scolded his ear off from central Park to East Greenwich. But he missed the guitar case. And despite the satisfied smile he wore Marie felt his embarrassment. Felt it at her own. She could see it in his eyes. At the very least they were still good for that. Still wonderful windows for looking in through, is what she began telling herself when her kind, purposeful ignorance began wearing thin and the urban path-finding grew more tedious. It lingered at the back of her mind but popped forward every so often, threatening to make its way down her throat and out her mouth but she refused to say it; to make any mention of it, as a kindness to him somehow. To protect his pride and his dignity. But now she was saying it, and he was suddenly aware of how long she hadn't said it.
"What is this? What are you saying to me?"
"I'm saying this is pointless. You're blind! Lets go home."
"So I should give up then? I can still see, Marie. Shapes and colors maybe but I can still see."
"But Carl--"
"And while I'm ion New York I plan to see New York!"
"Carl you're blind!"
"Listen to you! Listen to yourself! If you've been holding this in for so long you might as well say what you really want to say; That I'm dying."
Marie said nothing.
"I'm dying, Marie. There, now I've said it. I've said what you're really afraid of. I've acknowledged its existence, are you happy now? The worlds still spinning! The City's still Spinning around us!"
"Goddamnit Carl!" Marie seethed at the spectacle they'd now become. Tourists were turning to them now, distracted away from the myriad lights to the old man waving his hands and shouting, but Carl just kept going.
"It hasn't changed a thing! I've been dying all this while and it certainly won't make the ending any more pleasant if we pretend to be surprised when it comes!"
"Well you could bloody well act like it!" She screamed back suddenly and Carl bellowed back a moan of frustration. They were both shouting now, in Times Square.
"Act like what? What the hell for?"
"Act like a dying man, for God sakes. If not for mine then at least for your own dignity!"
"Dignity? DIGNITY!" Carl was throwing his hands in the air in mock resignation and in a sudden flash of a camera bulb he nearly lost sight of the grey, black and tan shape that was Marie, who had her hands on her cheeks in both dismay and as relief from the cold.
"I'm dy-ing, Marie!" Carl said, as if speaking to a child. "Its one of those progressive verbs, It'll take a little while. I aint dead yet so what's the use of turning in and burying myself? Whats so dignified about that?"
And then, after forty years of letting his wife have the last word in any argument, Carl decided that this was the perfect time to storm off. This, he hoped, would be his last chance to walk out on top, and so he did. Marie called out to his back after he turned and started walking. Carl pretended he couldn't hear her. He pretended her shout of Carl, where are you going was distorted by some German tourist making impressed noises too close to his ear to be polite. He pretended his wifes pleading of 'Carl, be careful' was blasted away by the horn of a yellow cab. And when he heard her shouting 'Carl, you have to wait for the light!' he did his best not to let her see him flinch or see his shoulders tighten. "No one waits for the damn light." He muttered angrily and, emboldened by his own indignance, he stepped out into traffic. Horns blasted. Tires screeched. Onlookers screamed. The sound of the sudden bang made Marie's heart stop. Miraculously, the vehicle hadn't struck Carl, but the other way arround. Carl had slammed both fists into the blue and white bonnet just as it stopped about eight inches from clipping him at the knees, and for good measure he added a practiced "Ey! I'm walkin' here!"
All his anger and bravery disappeared in an instant. The blue and white shape of the bonnet suddenly gleamed red, then white, then red again, and Carl was suddenly aware of the swirling lights hovering just above the vehicle, and two darkly dressed men stepping out.
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