《Short Stories by Regan Brooks》A Glass of Water
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“Can you get me a glass of water?” asked my wife. It was a question as old as our relationship, like a thousand others for the same thing.
Already mid-way to the kitchen, I grunted, “Mmhmm.” It had always been that way since the four years we’d dated and the two we were married. Did it matter? Not really. Could I refuse? Of course. I loved her though, so why shouldn’t I get her water.
What I got up to do didn’t seem to matter. Every time I rose from the couch “Hey, hunny, can you get me a glass of water?” seemed to follow me like a bad penny. Like my foot was attached to a ripcord on her back, every movement pulling the string that delivered the question. The requests began to blend together, like a busy work week.
There were times I stared at her watching TV and ground my teeth, thinking she was lazy. Growing up in her house, if anyone got up for any reason, someone would ask for something...as long as they were up. In my house, if you had a need, you took care of it. I could always say no, but I loved her. Why make waves?
We were watching Jurassic Park, the part where the T-Rex eats the lawyer, when I told her to pause the movie. I had to use the bathroom. As soon as I rose, she asked for another glass of water. I turned slowly in the dark room. My fists clenched tight. I glared at her across the dark room.
Illuminated by the television, Kari looked over at me, dully. “Please, can I have some wat-” she coughed on the last syllable, spitting out a mouthful of water. Her lips moved to ask again but only water poured out. Water began streaming out of her mouth, nostrils, and eyes, like someone had left the faucet on. The whole time, her lips moved like she was still talking.
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Suddenly the couch gave way to a bathtub. Her face was submerged beneath the water, my hand around her throat, pinning her down. Kari’s lips moved, trying to say something. I pushed down harder. Arms flailed, splashing water everywhere, making waves that pushed water over the edge of the tub.
Droplets soaked my hair. A half-heard voice made me turn. I was outdoors, in a cemetery. Someone in a black suit shook their head solemnly. “I’m sorry to hear about Kari,” he said. I nodded politely as he moved on. Raindrops soaked my hair. I watch the casket lower into the hole. The rain picked up, I can hear the drops thump on the wooden casket. I smile ever so slightly. There’s your water.
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