Thursday, July 11

Music Monday-Song Two, Ian Andrews

Music Monday is a music prompt writing event done each week in the Show Offs Community on Google Plus. Each week we take a different song, listen to it and write about how that song makes us feel. This piece was written for: Song Two

Ian Andrews

Gil stared at the television. There was the same terrible infomercial being splayed across the screen; the same one they always played at two AM on a weekday. It's not that he really paid attention. Something about a knife set or a revolutionary new electric waffle-maker. Who the fuck uses a waffle-maker?

Gil could hear shuffling in the kitchen and knew that Marci was awake. Had the noise of the TV awaken her or was she just being the light-sleeper she'd always been? Either way, the argument they'd had only hours ago still burned in his mind. Of course he was going to take the job. Why was she always so bent out of shape about his job choices? He had to pay the rent somehow, and her arts and craft, despite being very well made, didn't sell as much as they would need to keep the lights on and food on the table.

In thinking back, Gil supposed Marci was just worried. Streaks of light fragmented across the living room. Gil slumped into the couch with a beer in his hand. Having been out of work for almost a year, things had gotten bad. It's true what they say: couples fight about money, and all the other little things that eat away at a relationship. The little things kill. But the job. Now that was a sticking point for her. For some reason she had been strongly against it. Of course, Gil knew it was not an ordinary job, and certainly not without its perils, but the money was just too much to turn down.

Finally, after hearing Marci rummage through the fridge for what seemed like forever, Gil stood up, a tall and muscular man, and made his way quietly to the kitchen. There stood his wife of 15 years. Marci wore a shabby bathrobe as she peered into the fridge with slanted eyes as if she was looking for the meaning of life within. She wouldn't find it behind the eggs or week-old milk carton neither one of them had managed to throw away.

"You know we don't really have anything, right?" Gil managed a question as Marci remained hunched over and still filing through the refrigerator.
"I know."  She replied almost absently. Still, she searched on. Gil half-wondered if there was something in there he might actually be interested in, but then decided against it. If it wasn't expired, it was something he was sure he wouldn't want to try to choke down at two in the morning only to have it come up in the toilet tomorrow. Eating while drinking always made him sick.

"So, I know you probably don't want to talk about this now but it's been on my mind since you went to bed. The job.  I've..." Marci stood upright abruptly and slammed the refrigerator door.
"Jesus, Gil!  I thought we already talked about it. You are not taking that job and that's the end of it."
"Marci, I just don't see the problem here. I mean, think of the pay. You wouldn't have to clip coupons all the time. We could get a decent fucking TV for Christ's sake." Marci just glared at him as he tried desperately to justify his position on the matter.
"So, you think just because you will be making more money that it's suddenly okay to do what you would be doing to those poor..." Her sentence broke off as she began to cry.

Marci buried her sobbing face in her palms. Gil, suddenly feeling terrible about upsetting her again, cradled her quivering frame into his broad chest, and squeezed. "What do you want me to do, sweetheart? Tell me." Gil whispered into her neck, his beer-laden breath wafting across her nostrils.
"Oh great!"  Marci pushed him away. "Now you're drunk and trying to have this conversation with me? What the fuck, Gil?" Marci threw her hands out in defiance. This provocation turned Gil's sympathy into anger. 
"Yeah, so what?  I've been drinking! Do you think I like the idea of it all? No, goddammit! I don't want to even think about it, but I have to take care of us, and if it comes down to this and starvation, I choose this!" Gil managed to pull the application from the nearby table, crushed the paper in his balled fist, and shook it at Marci. She gawked in disbelief but then a look of resignation fell onto her face. Marci knew as well as he did that they would not be able to make it another month on arts and crafts and unemployment. 
"Fine," Marci said curtly. "You take the job, but you just remember for every body you cut open to rob of its organs that it was once human; once someone's son or daughter!" Marci stormed out of the kitchen and slammed the bedroom door.

Gil grabbed another beer from the fridge. He sat back down on the sagging sofa and continued to stare blankly at the infomercial. Tomorrow he started his new job as an organ thief.