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December 2005 / January 2006 Contest Results |
My Next Husband
Will Be Normal
By Marsha Jordan
Harshaw, WI
My friend gave me
a plaque that read, "My next husband will be normal." I didn't realize
how fitting it was until the morning I announced to the husband, "I'm
taking a quick bike ride. I'll be back in half an hour." He nodded,
heading toward the garage to tear apart a motorcycle.
After pedaling a mile down a deserted dirt road, the strength began to
drain from my body like air leaking from a balloon. I felt like the
Energizer Bunny without batteries. My legs went limp like cooked
linguini and my body folded up like a cheap lawn chair. Then everything
went black.
I awoke in the ditch with the heavy bike across my chest. Bits of gravel
were embedded in my skinned palms. When I tried to sit up, the world
began to spin; so I lay back down in the dirt.
I had no choice
but to wait for someone to happen along and help me. "The husband be
along any minute," I reassured myself. I assumed that when he realized
I'd been gone too long, he'd worry and come looking for me. I was wrong.
I spent most of
the morning there in a rain puddle with rocks and a Pepsi can digging
into my back. Each time I started to stand up, I felt like a marionette
without strings.
I pulled a
cigarette butt from my hair and spit sandy grit from between my teeth
while watching dead leaves, gum wrappers and other litter blow past me.
Bees buzzed around my head, ants crawled up my shorts, and Japanese
beetles tickled my thighs. Meanwhile, the sun grew hotter as it rose
higher in the sky.
I lay there for what seemed like 18 hours, and I didn't have on my
18-hour bra!
After a while, I
became painfully aware that the husband was not searching for me. Giving
up any hope that my knight on horseback was coming to help, I muttered
to myself, "If I want to get home before the winter snows come, it's up
to me to get myself there."
When I felt some
strength returning, I used the bike for leverage and pulled my woozy
body up on quivering legs. Slumping over the handlebars for support, I
trudged home while mentally rehearsing what I would say to Sir Galahad
when I got there.
Staggering into
the front yard, I heard whistling in the garage. I shouted weakly, "I
passed out in the road and waited for you to come looking for me!" The
husband looked up from his project but said nothing.
"Weren't you
worried about what had happened to me when I didn't come right back?"
"I didn't notice
how long you were gone," he replied.
"I was gone half
of the day!" I yelped. He stared at me with a puzzled look.
"I could have
been flattened by a moving van or a beer delivery truck!" I said. I was
angry enough to spit hammers; but he still just stood there, silent. I
wondered if, while I was gone, he'd been zapped by a lightening bolt and
struck dumb. He wiped his hands on a rag and shrugged, as if he couldn't
understand what I was upset about.
"My inward parts
could have been spilling out all over the road," I ranted, "I could have
been devoured by wolves, weasels, or wild cats!" He just scratched his
head.
"My eyes could have been plucked out by vultures, coyotes, and hungry
arachnids!
Vermin could have been feasting on my flesh... but you didn't even
miss me!"
"Sorry," he said, then turned around and started back toward the
garage. Suddenly, he stopped and looked back. I waited expectantly for
some delayed display of sympathy.
"Oh," he said,
"let me know when lunch is ready."
I was too weak
to choke him. As I fell in a heap on the front porch, I made this
resolution: If I ever have a next husband, I will definitely find one
that's normal -- if that's even possible.
http://www.hugsandhope.org
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