I have my reasons

Have you heard the story of the Blue Glove? Do you understand yet the part you have been cast to play? Can you hang on, for just a little while longer?

I felt my heart drop, I felt it, I swear. My throat was sore. The air was cold and rushing over my face when I closed my eyes and let go of the rail. I couldn't feel my feet any longer, but I thought they must still be down there, somewhere.

The old-timey nigger music floated in through the speaker. It reminded me of something, something dancing just outside my memory, or maybe just something dancing. I didn't think it was coincidence that the song started playing not long after we arrived, no sir. I may not have been a neuro-scientist or orthopedic surgeon, but I knew a thing or two, and I knew when someone was trying to make me the horse's ass. 'NOT TONIGHT' I whispered into her ear. Just when the tinny harmonica fill hushed and the foot stompin' and humming started up again, I told her one last time : 'I wish we would have brought the Camry tonight.' That's right about when that doctor walked up to me and started all the trouble.

How many times did we try? We thought we knew everything, so arrogant we were. I even checked out books from the library back when such a thing was still possible. So full of ourselves, right up to the very end. The bitter end.

The Jell-o had been chilling for hours. The guests were already arriving. I opened the refrigerator door and had to stifle a scream. To my horror, the peach and pineapple fragments had all congregated at the bottom of the bowl. On top of that, the lime delight was NOT YET COMPLETELY FIRM. What will I do? If worse comes to worst, I have the gun in my closet, a loaded gun...The itch still persisted still. I couldn't scratch it, however. Not like this. Not under these circumstances. What if she noticed? I could only fantasize briefly about casually sliding my hand under the table, to the itch, and then I would force myself to stop thinking about it. What if she noticed? What if she knew? Would she think me strange? What was she thinking right now?? JESUS. The itch again. The itch I just can't scratch.

"Will it last forever?" I asked the small man on the other side of the glass counter.

"Of course." He stated matter-of-factly. "If you treat it well it will."

"Wrap it up." I stated triumphantly. "I'll take it!"

Then, days later:

"I don't think I appreciate what you are suggesting." I warned the woman vacuuming out my car. "If you continue along this tack, you are not going to enjoy what you discover." A beat later I added "I'll see to that. There will be no pleasure for you here, that I can guarantee."

She turned her back to me and pressed the button on the machine again, and once more the room was filled with it's mindless piercing whine. Hunched over like a Mexican in a cantaloupe patch, she continued to probe about under the seat with the long black hose. The tension began to lift gradually, slowly, but then suddenly the screeching pitch of the vacuum cleaner went up three octaves, betraying the matter lodged at that very moment in it's wheezing black plastic tip.