The Red Shoe

“My mother always told me not to deal with you!” She was getting on my nerves and I was getting on hers. I'm not sure what we were fighting about or how it started but we were too deep in it to go back now. She’d pulled some of the nastiest memories from the darkest recesses of our past, things I'd forgotten, and thrown them in my face. Hateful words shot out of her mouth like bullets and we’d been together for so many years that the ammunition was endless. Me, I can’t claim to be any angel or say my behavior was much better. I said things too, bad things, things I didn’t mean, things I knew I’d regret before they even came out my mouth. But some sick part of me just wanted to win.

I knew I’d gone too far the minute she got quiet. She was sitting in the passenger seat dead silent; I was instantly filled with remorse and I almost prayed that she would go back to yelling at me.

“Pull over.” She demanded quietly.

I told her not be ridiculous. When the first blow came I was not expecting it, pain erupted across the right side of my face. Horns blared as I swerved to the left and narrowly avoided hitting the other cars on the highway.

“I said,” Her voice was still eerily low, “pull over.”

This time I listened. I pulled over on a patch of grass with one hand, cupping my ear in the other hand, my jaw hanging wide open in shock. I asked her if she was crazy, so crazy that she’d be willing to kill us both.

“If it gets me away from you.” She snapped, hopping out and slamming the car door with all her strength.

I was upset but I didn’t let it show. I did as I’d been taught to do since I was a young boy. I took the hurt feeling swirling around in my chest and turned it into more anger. Yet somehow, watching her stumble down the road in those heels, alone, I still felt bad. I hopped out the car and chased after her like the fool I am.

“Stop being stupid! The house is five miles out!” I tried to reason. “You’ll never make it! Stop being stupid!”

A flash of red came sailing at my head. I ducked out of the way and narrowly avoided being hit as her shoe flew over my head and landed on the asphalt. I stomped back to my car.

“Forget this.” I growled to myself as I drove off into the night. Forget her.

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