Petal wanted to make a sandwich for her husband. It was the least she could do. He sat at the small black table staring at the salt and pepper shakers as if he were in some sort of trance. Petal felt a tiny mouse gnawing at her heart. This scene reminded her of something painful, some kind of song she did not want to hear.
"Damn it! The bread has mold on it," Petal muttered. She threw the loaf of moldy bread in the trash and glanced at her husband. He looked at Petal with big moon child eyes. His fate rested in Petal's honeysuckle lotion scented hands.
"Will you be okay here by yourself while I run to the store?" Petal asked. She clenched and unclenched her fists. She curled her toes inside her cheap dirty running shoes.
"I guess," the man Petal had married in her best friend's backyard eight years ago said in his wounded tiger voice.
God fucking damn it! He keeps showing me his paws! He keeps bleeding all over me! Sick! I am sick of his goddamn blood!
"I will return."
Petal looked at the store and decided she was too depressed to go inside so she kept driving. There were good songs one right after the other on the radio. Petal sang until she felt somewhat better. Soon there were stars in the sky and nothing looked familiar. Petal noticed a motel with a green and pink neon sign. Petal pulled in and parked her car. She would sleep alone and she would dream. It wouldn't cost that much.
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