The Hunchback of Neiman Marcus by Sonya Sones Read Free Book Online Page B

dolls
    who’ve long since lost their stuffing.

MICHAEL SAYS WE NEED TO HAVE SOME FUN TOGETHER
    So I’m getting ready for our “date.”
    But even though I wash it,
    twice,
    with shampoo that’s especially formulated
    with essential fatty acids
    derived from natural botanic oils
    to replace valuable lipids
    and restore the emollients necessary
    for the hair to become thicker
    and more supple
    with a healthy lustrous shine,
    and even though I remove
    the excess moisture from my hair
    and evenly distribute a small amount
    of instant reconstructor and detangler
    to enhance strength and manageability,
    and even though
    I work it through to the ends,
    leaving it on for three minutes
    and then rinse thoroughly before adding
    the revolutionary polymerized
    electrolytic moisture potion
    that actually repairs split ends
    while providing flexible styling control
    by infusing the roots with twenty-three
    essential provitamins,
    and even though I massage it in
    to make my hair feel instantly fuller,
    with added shaping power,
    and then rinse again
    with lukewarm water,
    towel dry and apply the desired amount
    of styling gel to the palm of my hand,
    and then comb it through
    and blow it dry,
    it still looks pathetic.

AT SPUMONI’S
    Dining together
    at a table for two.
    Just me.
    Just you.
    All around us,
    young husbands and wives
    appear to be having
    the time of their lives.
    But you’ve heard all my stories.
    And I’ve heard all yours.
    So we sit here in silence—
    a couple of bores.

THE NEXT MORNING
    Wendy’s mom calls to tell me
    that Laura’s parents are getting a divorce.
    Apparently, neither one of them
    caught the other one cheating,
    but the day after Laura left for college
    they realized that the only thing
    they’d had in common
    all these years
    was
    Laura.
    I hang up the phone,
    and notice
    that I’m finding it strangely hard
    to breathe.

HOW DOES IT HAPPEN?
    How does a wife
    reach the point
    when she knows
    that she wants a divorce?
    Does she simply drift
    from being happily married
    to being a little
    less happily married
    to waking up one day
    feeling as if her marriage
    is a pillow pressing down
    over her face?
    God. I don’t know
    what’s the matter with me.
    I feel so dizzy
    all of a sudden.

I HEAD TO THE BEDROOM TO LIE DOWN
    But,
    on the way there,
    I trip over Michael’s slippers—
    the ones I’m always tripping over
    because he forgets to put them in the closet
    where they belong.
    My big toe crashes into the nightstand.
    And—Jesus!
    I’m bleeding!
    I limp
    to the bathroom
    to search for the Neosporin.
    And I’m still searching for it
    a few minutes later,
    when Michael walks in, whistling.
    â€œHey,” he says, “you’re bleeding!”
    â€œBrilliant observation,” I grumble.
    â€œWhat’s your problem?” he asks.
    â€œYou’re my problem,” I growl.
    â€œWhy don’t you ever put anything back
    where it goes after you use it?”
    â€œI do,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
    I go back to rifling through the cabinet,
    and manage to locate a box of Band-Aids.
    But,
    naturally,
    it’s empty.
    I gnash my teeth.
    â€œWhen you use the last Band-Aid,” I hiss,
    â€œyou’re supposed to throw out the box.”
    â€œI do,” he says again, clearing his throat.
    â€œNo. You don’t,” I snap. “Which is why
    I didn’t know we’d run out of them.”
    â€œMaybe you used the last Band-Aid,” he says.
    â€œI did not use the last Band-Aid!” I shout.
    â€œWell, neither did I!” he shouts back.
    Michael stomps out of the bathroom,
    muttering under his breath.
    I slam the door shut behind him.
    Then I wash off my toe,
    wrap a tissue around it,
    crawl into bed,
    and pull
    the covers up
    over my head.

A MINUTE LATER
    I suddenly become aware
    of the music that’s pouring in
    through the open window—
    Jane’s