A Little Peace and Quiet

 

(My life is filled with too much drama and heartache.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 6 a.m. and drank a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. A family of North Korean refugees was found floating in a boat off the coast of South Korea. The stories they told the authorities were truly horrible. It seems that Covid has started a huge famine in that repressive country, and people are now resorting to cannibalism in order to survive. On top of that, young men and women have been arrested and executed for the crime of viewing K-dramas smuggled in by agent provocateurs. Are these rumors true? Who knows? But I’m glad that they made it to safety regardless of the veracity of their tales.

I ate hash browns for breakfast as I surfed the internet. There was a horrible story out of England. It seems that an immigrant from West Africa went batshit crazy. He killed two college students from Nottingham University with a knife. After that, he murdered a 65-year-old geezer named Ian Coates with the same blade. The authorities don’t have a motive at this time, but they are investigating a terrorism angle. However, Big Brother is keeping a tight lid on the information because the facts might upset the public and lead to demonstrations.

The Dragon Lady barged into my room. There was a look of violence in her eyes.

She said, “You son!”

I shrugged. “What about him?”

“He cawl me da F-ward.”

“The F-word?”

“Dat light! Da F-ward.”

I nodded. “Damn. That’s not very nice. I’ll talk to him.”

“Is dat awl? You onry tawk?”

“What do you want me to do? Hit him?”

“Yes. He not da good boy.”

I smiled at her. “Well, I can’t get physical. First of all, I don’t believe in corporal punishment. Secondly, he’s much bigger than me. If I strike him, he might rip my head off.”

“Are you da husban?”

I sat down in an old green chair and did my best to remain calm. “Here’s the real problem. You don’t love us. And children can pick up on that kind of stuff. It’s a huge insult.”

“I not ruv you? Who care? He bad and need punished.”

I sighed heavily. “When boys go to war, sometimes they get shot to pieces. And when their blood is dripping into the grass and the dirt, do you know who they usually call out to?” I paused from dramatic effect. “Their mother. Even before God, they always want to speak to Mom. It’s a sacred relationship between women and their children. But you have broken that bond. So what the fuck can I do about it?”

“You da asshoe!”

“Just be honest. Do you love us?”

She shook her head. “No, I not ruv you or him. You both tellible.”

“Well, there you go. You have your answer.”

This really set her off. She promised to get even by not purchasing anymore food and hiding my bank card. In other words, the Dragon Lady plans on starving us into submission.

I said, “If you do that, I’ll simply make new account and you’ll never see another dime. Trust me. That’s a promise.”

I’m really getting too old for this shit, and it’s beginning to feel like the devil himself is sitting right on top of my chest. Sometimes, I even struggle to catch my breath. I’m having constant fantasies about returning to Texas and getting a gig as a server at The Waffle House. I could probably qualify for Medicare and food stamps due to my paltry salary, and most of the tips would be in cash. So why the fuck not? It’s not like I’m trying to impress the world with my skills. A little peace before I die would surely be a miracle.

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