Boom Splat

It's Thursday.

I have been, and am, running my ass off. Tomorrow is the last day of the month and the quarter. My quarterly bonus is on the line. Yea, I'm in sales--office equipment sales. Need a copier/fax/scanner/printer/binder/desk/trash can/shredder that is Zoom/Teams compatible? I'm your guy.

It was a pretty good gig back in BC. Man, did I move some copiers and office massage tables. I made bank. But these days? Not so much. I hear you saying. What about the work from home thing? You should have cleaned up! Truth is, in that market, Amazon and Walmart kick my ass day in and day out. Hell, that's where I got the stuff for my home office.

No, home offices don't do it for me. What I really need to make a buck is that good old fashioned BC office. You remember them? Folks all sharing the same coffee pot, hanging out at the water cooler, shooting the shit and burning up tons after tons of copier paper. Yea, those kinda places. You think the restaurants and the Opera got screwed? Covid really fucked over guys like me.

Anyway.

I have really been at it today; out the door before dawn, living on bad n' cheap coffee; my iPhone's nonstop calls and texts, twitter, TikTok, Facebook, Maps and Google Earth all Bluetoothed into my car. It was a little after 1:00 in the afternoon, I had just bombed on my last call. It is crunch time and I am feeling the pinch. I was also running on fumes; I really needed to eat. I was getting shaky, tummy queasy not feeling good, low blood sugar kinda thing. The gallons of cheap bad coffee that had been my sustenance today weren't helping. Then, up ahead, Salvation! McDonald's!!

Praise Baby Jesus!

Flash! Into the drive-through Hell I go. While not BC fast, the lines were actually moving; there must be at least 3 people working there today. I placed my order and...score!! They have fries! No Coke, but that's ok, I can do root beer. As the line slowly brought me closer to the pay window, my mouth watered...they have fries! Cha-ching and I grabbed the sack and my drink and drive. All in all, it was pretty quick. I might actually make my appointment on time. And, they had FRIES! Ya gotta savor the little wins these days.

I emerged from the McDonald's parking lot and jetted across 2 lanes of traffic, hit the intersection, pulled an almost stopping right turn at the red light, stomped on the gas and headed west. I was in the right lane of Sandy Blvd., a four-lane feeder into and out of downtown. Traffic was heavy but moving at a pretty good clip. I stuck my root beer between my legs, reached into the bag and grabbed a handful of fries. Then I grabbed a Big Mac and, driving with my knee, I unwrapped it and stuffed it in my face.

I was chomping away on mouthfuls of the second Big Mac when I noticed what looked like my wife's car up ahead, coming towards me. It is damned hard to miss her fire-engine-red Lexus. There just aren't that many fire-engine-red Lexuses running around town. I watched as the fire-engine-red-Lexus pulled off the street, then up and into a parking space in front of a motel.

As I drove closer, I saw my wife get out of her car.

As I drove past, she was snuggling in and planted a hell of a kiss on some guy!

"WTF!??!"

I spun the wheel crossing against traffic pulling a quick U-turn, tires squealing, spilling root beer, fries flying, horns honking; (SCREECH CRASH, SOUNDS OF PLASTIC CAR PARTS BREAKING) all of which I ignored, keeping my foot on the gas, fishtailing a bit and I am heading back up the street towards the motel.

I watched, helplessly, as they slithered, locked together, through the door into a motel room.

"OH NO YOU DID NOT!! YOU FUCKIN' BITCH! FUCK!!! FUCK ME!"

I was pounding my hand on the wheel as I pulled up and into the motel parking lot, screeching to a halt behind her car, blocking her in. I jumped out of my car and I...fuck, what am I gonna do?

My brain goes into vapor lock as I stand in the parking lot.

Ok, I was pissed. You would be too. The disrespect, the sheer audacity, her boldness. I am...gutted, in shock. I'm a kind of pissed-off that is boiling into rage.

How dare she...

God, this hurts...

I am now sitting on the still-warm hood of her car, staring at that door. The door that they slithered through just moments ago. I'm not doing too well. I lean to my left and spit out supersized bites of Big Mac and fries. There is no question what I saw. That kiss was not chaste. Her playful body language I know so well.

I gotta think. What am I gonna do? Fuck me. I gotta do something! My brain just isn't working.

I have to have a plan. I gotta have a plan.

I haven't had time to make a plan. I don't have a plan!

Shit! Shit! Shit!

And now I am sitting on the still-warm hood of her car, looking at THAT door.

I look around. I noticed that the motel is painted off white. It's one story. A row of parking spaces, a row of doors. Down a ways is what looks to be check-in. There is a guy inside on the phone waving his arm. I look back at the door to Room 109. It both beckoned and repelled me. It's to the right of the door into room 108 and to the left of the door into room 110. I wondered who was in those rooms. Were they fucking around on their spouse too? Did I know them?

Next to Room 109's door is a picture window, with drawn drapes. The door to Room 109 is the same as every door at the motel. They are all painted just a little more off-white than the hotel's siding. They each have brass numbers next to each door. Trim around all the doors and all windows is painted dark. It's not a charcoal-black dark, more like a very weathered dark-grey dark. It sorta matched my mood. But all the doors weren't the same...she was behind the door to room 109.

Do I want to kill her? Yes...but...no...yeah, I actually do...but I can't. She is the mother of my two kids after all...

Oh, fuck me sideways, are they even mine? Oh, my heart, ahhh the pain, stabbing at my heart. My left arm is hurting. THAT BITCH!! I find sitting is just too painful. I lay back on the car hood. Looking up into the blue sky with its yellow sun, decorated with some light puffy clouds.

How can such an ugly day be so beautiful?

I watch in a somewhat mindless daze as a hawk circles far, far above, hunting. As it circled a bit lower, I realized it wasn't a hawk. I strained to see it better, and lower it came, gracefully gliding in the amazing sky. As it drew nearer, I realize it was a buzzard looking for roadkill. That somehow comforted me. A buzzard in the beautiful sky seems so much more appropriate. I felt like roadkill.

I feel my iPhone go off. It's a FaceTime call from my daughter. She was at her future in-laws. They were working on her wedding. The wife and I are planning on heading over for dinner to start on the seating chart.

"Dad! Hi! Hey we were talking about the father-daughter dance...Dad? Dad? Are you ok?"

"Ahhh." My daughter can plainly see that I am anything but "ok".

"Dad! You are scaring me! Do I need to call 911? Where are you? Dad?!!" My daughter was getting pretty loud.

"Jason! Honey, there is something wrong with my Dad. Dad!? DADDY!!!?"

I could see my future son-in-law's concerned face enter the iPhone screen.

"WHAT'S WRONG, DADDY!!????!!!" screamed my daughter, her face contorted by fear.

"I, ah, oh, I, Sweetheart, I'm sorry." I paused, then the tears started. Sobbing to my daughter on the phone, humiliating. So much for the strong father figure.

I turn the iPhone around and held it out in front of me, its camera facing the door to room 109. I slide off the car's hood, momentum causes my feet to step forward. I lean into it. Another step, I am pushing myself forward. And one more BIG step--FOOT!! Into door!

CRACK BAM BREAKAGE!

The door splinters, flying open, blowing pieces of the door and bits of the frame into the previously darkened room. I stomp into the room. Two steps in I stop, standing, holding out my iPhone, its camera capturing the king-sized bed they are fuckin' on. They are exposed by the sunlight from behind me, illuminating them and the dingy, cheap motel room.

Eleanor was on top, riding that cowboy hard. Bouncing up and then slamming herself down on the cock that was not mine. Her titties where flapping like a bird's wings. I saw her turning her head, drawn by the exploding door and brilliant sunlight. Looking back over her shoulder as she slammed herself down back, her eyes squinting in the sunlight, hair bouncing, then her eyes are growing ever larger. I watch her face morph; lust...then recognition...then lust...then shock...then lust...then fear...then lust...

"OOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!!! UuuurrrrrrraaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!"

And the fuckin' bitch is cumming...looking right at me and cumming! Ya gotta be shitting me.

I'm realize I am starting to rethink the whole "not killing her" thing.

I can hear my daughter screaming, "MOTHER!!!"

I just kept pointing my iPhone at them with tears, big-ass tears, blurring my vision. I suddenly feel very ill. I hurl, projectile vomiting. It hit the floor beside the bed. Now I hear screaming coming from my phone as they, too, watched my wife cum, hard.

I just kept pointing my iPhone as we all watched her eyeballs roll back into her head.

She screamed out in explosive pleasure!

"OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH GOOOOOODDDDDDD FUUUUCCCCCCCKKKKK MMMMMEEEEE!!!"

Finally, her eyes rolled back down. She stops. Breathing hard, her lust-addled mind began to come unstuck. Then we all got to watch her dismount with a sloppy "pop". Cum dripping, eyes sorta glazed, my wife steps down and into my still-warm puke; she looks down, then back up, her eyes drawn by the utter bedlam coming from my phone. Her eyes finally reach my iPhone and I can see her eyebrows crease as she worked to focus and really looked at the screen of my iPhone.

Eleanor's blue eyes grew huge; she became so very, very pale. Time stood still. It was quiet in the room and for the first time on this call there was only silence from the folks on the phone. It seemed like everyone was holding their breath. Then Eleanor's mouth opened wide as she emitted a blood-curdling SCREAM!! and fled into the bathroom, slamming the door, leaving me in the cheap motel room alone with him.

Moving forward, taking care not to step in my own puke, shoving my iPhone in the asshole's face while screaming, "Who the fuck do you think you are!??! Why don't you tell the slut's daughter who the fuck you are!!" Spittle was flying out of my mouth and rage was painted on my face. I really wanted to almost kill him. Maimed for life would suit me just fine. Let the fucker suffer.

His lips were moving, but he wasn't sayin' a damned thing...he smelled of sex and fear.

I guess an enraged husband who weighs in at about 210, standing over you, his face a mask of hatred, with a balled fist, shoving an iPhone in your face (with several people who were clearly upset, screaming at you from the small screen) would get your attention, just sayin'.

"You better run. I am just a cunt hair away from kickin' your ass into next year," I said in a hushed menacing tone. Then I slapped him.

Then I slapped him again.

Then again, hard and then yet again, even harder.

"Fuck this shit!" I yelled.

I grabbed him by the ear, dragging his naked ass out of the bed and onto his knees right in my puke. His knees got to working overtime, think serious rug burn, moving his ass across the cheap motel carpet trying to keep up with the ear I had a Vulcan death grip on.

I jerked him out of the ruined doorway to room 109. I let go of his ear stepped back said, "yippee ki Eh Mother fucker!". I gave that kick pretty much everything I had. My pointy black wingtip went anal...no lube...Ha! Ha! Ha! I don't think he enjoyed it. He curled up on the cement walkway both hands holding his asshole, blood seeping through his fingers, crying like a little baby. And ain't that just too fucking bad.

I turned back into the room and headed for bathroom door she was hiding behind.

"STOP!! PLEASE!!! DON'T BREAK THE DOOR! Please don't break down another door! Please! Hey! Look! I have the key!"

I stopped advancing on the bathroom door and turned to face the voice from behind.

He was holding out a key; I was holding out the iPhone. His clip-on nametag said NED. He was the guy in the office who was waving his arm I had seen earlier.

I could see NED, see the utter pandemonium on my iPhone's screen. I knew he could hear sobbing, yelling, cursing, stunned mutterings and from someone, strained laughter, all emanating from my phone. I could see it impact him. He winced.

I reached out, took the key, turned and headed for the bathroom door, still holding my iPhone out in front of me. That's when the cops rushed in, tackled me, oouuupphhh, onto the bed, right in their juices. I was so focused on the bathroom door, the cops totally blindsided me. About a tons of cops piled on.

"STOP RESISTING!!!! STOP RESISTING!!!! STOP RESISTING!!!!"

As I lay immobilized under all the cop's crushing weight. I was still clutching my phone in my hand, I twisted my wrist so I can see my daughter's face.

I mouthed, "I love you. I hope you are my daughter."

"STOP RESISTING!!!! STOP RESISTING!!!! STOP RESISTING!!!!"

My daughter's screaming face faded as things started to go grey.

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I've been cooling my heels in a locked room for, well, at least...honestly, I have no idea, but seems like hours and hours. I am a whole lot calmer than I was this afternoon. I feel so totally fucked. All I have are my own thoughts. They aren't good company. The room is nothing to write home to mom about. There is a half of a wall of one-way mirror in front of me. The rest of the room was 50 shades of off-grey. A single-bulb light fixture hung over the grey table. I'm sitting in a light-grey metal armless chair. I fidget, I can't seem to find a comfortable way to sit in this chair. I am pretty sure I'm not going to hit my sales targets. I never got to finish my fries. I'm feeling pretty damned sorry for myself.

The scuffed-up, dirty, lighter-grey doorknob is twisted. The door opened suddenly and two cops walked in, pulled out two other grey chairs and sat down at the table facing me.

The taller, uglier cop started talking.

"Ok Bob, first off, we see a couple of things in front of you. So, let's take the easy ones first. The motel guy..." he paused, looking down at his notebook, "ah, Ned, will wave filing a complaint if you pay for the damage in the next 24 hours.

I nodded.

Then, your car. It is at the impound. I'd advise you to get it as soon as possible, as they bill by the hour."

The taller, uglier cop looked back at his paperwork. He looked up and his eyes locked with mine.

"Concerning the assault and battery against a," the cop again looked at his notes, "Mr. Harold Rancid. Say, did you play soccer?"

The cop's question caught me totally off guard. "Ah, no," I said.

"Well, you might look into it. You might have a future in it. Your shoe literally, uh, i-inserted a Mmisterr, ahhemm, Rancid's butthole, ah, rectally. They arrre still in surgery. Mr. Rancid's anus had to extracted and then reconstructed and reattached. It looked like he might need a whole new asshole, new asshole...hahaha!, ahem, hohoho. Ripped Rancid's asssshohoho, and it was...a pretty rancid rip. Hahahaha arum...and the docs are working to extract and totally rebuild Rancid's asshole as we speak. If his asshole doesn't make it, you might be looking at asshole murder charges."

The taller ugly Cop had to stop because he was really cracking himself up. He was laughing so hard he had tears running down his face. The pretty lady cop, was also laughing her cute ass off and slapping the grey table.

After a bit, the cops pulled themselves together and wiped their tear-filled eyes.

"Look Bob," said the pretty cop, "just pay for the door at the motel. It will be about $375 bucks. You're the third husband to break down a door there this week."

"As to Mr. Rancid, let's just say you're not the first husband to kick his ass. That said, you are the first husband to kick in his asshole." She dissolved into another fit of laughter and hand slapping on the grey desk between us. The ugly cop had to wipe tears from his eyes, again.

The ugly cop then said, "You don't have a record, so we are releasing you on your own recognizance. We understand that you were under ahhhh, unique stress, and you kinda snapped. Your daughter has agreed to look in on you. Look, we don't need any more paperwork. Keep your nose clean, stay away from trouble or the next time we meet, you will be staying for a while. Are we clear?"

I just nodded yes. It seemed the right thing to do.

"On your way out, they will set up your hearing date. Get a lawyer and make that court date."

About an hour later I emerged from the cop shop with a court date and the pretty cop's card that said her name was Detective Sandi Heat. She had written her cell number on the back.

I was met by the entire wedding party; well, except for my wife. They drove me to the impound to get my car.

We were all silent all the way there. Seriously, what does one say in this situation, "Nice weather we are having"?

They waited while I paid and got my car out of impound, then followed me home.

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(Voice of The Narrator)

It took the cops about an hour before they turned Bob's wife, Eleanor loose. While she was pretty shaken up, she didn't need medical attention and, while slutting around behind your husband's back may be in poor taste, it wasn't illegal. So, no trip to jail for her, either.

It would have been quicker but it took the cops about 35 minutes to talk Eleanor out of the bathroom and they had to tow Bob's car. Seems Bob's untimely entrance had scared the ever living shit out of Eleanor. She was pretty sure Bob was going to kill her or make her life Hell on earth, and then kill her. The rage she had seen in his eyes was like nothing she had ever seen, from anyone, ever.

It was in that frame of mind that Eleanor departed the motel and drove directly to the bank. She cashed out everything. She hit all the card's max withdrawal limits.

Then she headed home.

She moved through the house with single-minded determination to get all the good stuff that would fit in her car. She had piled the last of her best shoes on the top of the heap in the passenger seat and started pulling out of the driveway. It was dusk. She saw her daughter's car turning the corner onto her street. She quickly pulled out and headed the opposite direction.

Bob and the wedding party arrived, having not seen Eleanor's departure. Upon walking into their home, Bob--who was already shellshocked--was further traumatized by his ransacked home. They called the police. Clearly, they had been robbed.

-----------------------

I'm lost. Nothing makes sense. Who was Eleanor? Where was Eleanor? Why, Eleanor, Why!?! I don't have answers. My kids are equally baffled. My future in-laws don't know what to say. No one knows if they should stay or they should go. I have no answers for them, either. At some point they apparently decided to go.

I am alone.

Each hour drips by. I am slowly losing myself. My mind couldn't walk a straight line if it tried. My emotions shut down long ago. I haven't eaten in a while. I'm not remotely hungry. Everywhere I look is painful. The things she took, the holes they left hurt. The things she left are daggers thrust into me. They say she cared so little for things I was sure she cared so much for.

The empty house. It's quiet, an ominous empty presence that seeps into everything. Everywhere in the house the lack of life, my life, any life was shouted back at me. I finished the last of the last of the whiskey and tossed the bottle aside. I crawled up the stairs. I dry heaved at the top. I kept going 'til I crawled between the sheets of my bed...our bed...a bed.