Apology

A fight blew in from the swinging kitchen door, while we sat eating dinner. I had seen it slowly creep in above our heads all afternoon, but I did not tape the windows nor did I stock the basement with cans of corn and/or boxes of dry milk. Instead I took a nap.

He argues likes an infamous prosecution lawyer. I sit defenselessly speechless, unable to think rationally, logically or about the big picture before crying nonsensical sentences and leaving the room announcing, "I don't care!" He is frustratingly good. I am frustratingly emotional.
 Sometimes I avoid fights by hiding in bathrooms or under bed covers. Other times I chase them with a kite and a key.
This time, however, I sit inside the rain and mumble apologies.



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