A Little Louder

"You cheating whore!"

"Me? If you could keep your pants zipped around anyone in a skirt, we'd not be here!" her voice may have been louder than mine.

This was not the first one of these shouting matches. Each one seemed worse than the last, I don't know if they are worse, or I just can't take them anymore. There has to be more to life than this.

I decided one of us had to take the first step. So, in a quiet voice I asked, "Why are we doing this?"

"Oh, no! You bastard, you are not going to change tactics with me! This is about you screwing any woman who doesn't say no."

Undaunted, I continued, in a conversational tone. "I am finished shouting. What I want to know is why we are doing this?"

If anything, she got louder. "Why we are doing this is you are scum. You unfaithful son-of-a-bitch."

"I have told you, that is not true..."

She picked up the plate, from the table. It had most of my dinner still on it, we'd not gotten through five minutes of eating before the shouting began. She threw it at me, spinning it like a frisbee on the beach. The plastic plate hit my forehead - food flying off in all directions. "Don't try to tell me you aren't a cheater."

She was still screaming as I went into the bathroom. I looked at my face. Fortunately, our plastic dinnerware didn't do anything but leave a small red mark. My phone was in my back pocket, who can take a step without a phone? I dialed.

"9-1-1. State the nature of your emergency."

I started the call with my name and address. "My wife just threw my dinner in my face, literally. I am locked in the bathroom."

"Are you in fear?"

"No, but a physical confrontation is not acceptable. I want to wait here until police arrive and I can leave without further incident."

I had my phone on speaker. I always do that for some reason. She began pounding on the door, screaming, of course. You could hear what she was saying, though were it not for the volume, you'd try to ignore it.

"Is that your wife?" The emergency response voice asked.

"Yes."

"I thought you said you were locked in the bathroom. Have you let her in?"

"No. Her voice is raised. It is how we communicate these days."

"I have dispatched a police car to your location."

"When they arrive, have them knock and call this number. I may not hear them from being in here."

She stopped pounding and shouting; resting up, I presumed. I heard the knock, faintly, and my phone rang. I told the police officer I'd wait to hear her open the door, then I'd come out. She did. I did.

She screamed at me, "You called the police? The police?"

The police officers were a man and a woman. The woman stepped between my wife and me, facing her. "Ma'am, I would like you to calm down. Why don't you and I go in the other room and talk?" She stepped forward, grasped my wife's arm and turned her in the direction of the kitchen.

Skillfully done,

I thought.

The officer who remained with me asked, "Why is your wife so upset?"

"It is not just her. We were both screaming moments ago. She threw my dinner at me. I called you."

"Do you wish to file a complaint?"

"No, just to leave without anyone being hurt."

"Why were you screaming?"

"To be heard."

"No, that is not what I meant. Why were you fighting?"

"I knew what you meant; the answer is the same."

He smiled. He got it.

He asked if I would remain seated, if he left to talk to the other officer. I just nodded. He went into the kitchen and was gone no more than a couple of minutes. When he returned, he asked. "When we leave, will you and your wife be safe?"

"I would suggest you give me a few minutes, to pack a bag, watch me drive off, and then you'll know we're safe."

He did and I did.

I threw a couple of things together and by the time I was back in the living room the two officers and my wife were seated. She still had fire in her eyes.

My parting words, "Shouting doesn't help. We need to learn to listen."

I wonder, will we?

While we may not have had the drama of 911, I think it is fair to say all of us have faced situations where we did not listen and tried to make up for it by shouting a little louder. I know it is just a snap shot, without a true beginning or end - without this postlogue, 750 words.