Here is a reprint of one of our stories from our 1st Edition. ENJOY!!
That Bitch’s Ashes by Steve Cain
Ted Piper smoked his Marlboro Red, blew the smoke up into the air, and washed the smoke remnants down with a Natty Light. When that cigarette was almost to the butt, he shook out another from the pack and lit it with the one he was already smoking. Ted routinely chain-smoked, except when he was at work. It was common for him to smoke two packs a day, sometimes more. He was fit as a fiddle, though: heart was fine, lung capacity was fine, pulse ox fine, no high blood pressure, no emphysema, no COP F’n D. The only effects smoking had on him was a yellowing on his teeth and fingernails, just like the yellowing on the ceilings of his house, which he always attributed to the heat in the house, not cigarette smoke.
His wife was a different story. Trudy Piper was a non-smoker, but she suffered from years of inhaling her husband’s secondhand smoke. She hated it, hated the smell, how it got into everything: her hair, her clothes, the furniture, their food. She was constantly riding him to quit, but he wouldn’t listen to her, no matter how much she nagged, which was a lot, and a lot more. He would tell her he was quitting, but they both knew it was a lie. Ted loved his cigarettes. Why, she didn’t know. She would joke that he loved the cigarettes more than he loved her, but she knew the joke was really on her.
Trudy had chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, or COPD. This caused her to have a chronic cough and shortness of breath. She had never run a marathon and certainly wouldn’t now that she had this disease. Sometimes her chest would tighten, and she thought she was having a coronary, but the tightness would go away after a minute or two. At night, her wheezing would keep her awake, while Ted snored in his slumber. She had never touched a cigarette in her life, yet she was the one to suffer. She had a right to complain and a right to nag, which she did, and she did.
“Ted, empty that ashtray; it’s overflowing!”
“Ted, use a coaster. I don’t want rings on my coffee table.”
“Ted, take your shoes off when you come in. I don’t want you tracking shit all through the house.”
“Ted, you need a mint, your breath smells like ass.”
“Ted, listen to this cough. It should be you, not me, you asshole.”
“Ted, there are ashes on the floor again.”
“Ted, are you listening to me?
“Ted.”
“Ted.”
“Ted!”
Ted sat on the couch watching the Reds’ bullpen blow another one. Luis Castillo had pitched a gem, hurling seven innings and giving up just one earned run. He had struck out twelve and had walked a batter in the 8th before David Bell had made the call to the pen. The reliever, a recent call-up from Louisville, promptly gave up a two-run home run to Anthony Rizzo, which put the Cubs ahead.
“Goddamned Bell,” Ted grumbled, “made you a manager just because you got your daddy’s name.”
“Ted, can you not be so loud? I’m trying to talk to Vera,” Trudy called from the kitchen.
“Fuck you and fuck Vera,” Ted mumbled. Vera was the neighbor across the street, Trudy’s best friend and gossip partner.
“What did you say?” Trudy asked.
“I said, ‘Yes, dear, and hi, Vera’,” he said, smirking.
“That’s what I thought you said,” Trudy returned.
Goddamned nag, Ted thought, taking in a long draw. He held up the hand holding the Marlboro and put his middle finger up in the air.
“I saw that, Ted,” Trudy called from the kitchen.
Shit, he muttered, swallowing down his Natty, bitch sees everything she wants to see.
All of a sudden, Ted heard a thump as the telephone hit the kitchen table and a loud BLAM as something heavier hit the floor. Ted rushed into the kitchen, where he saw his Trudy lying on the floor, clutching her chest.
Trudy? Trudy, are you there?” came a shrill voice from the phone. Ted picked it up.
“Vera, call 911.”
***
The paramedics arrived ten minutes later and found Ted trying to give Trudy CPR. He had taken a class once at the water treatment plant, but he didn’t really know what he was doing. He tried, though. That was something. The medics took over and attempted to revive her, but the AED couldn’t detect a heart rhythm and wouldn’t even advise a shock. The coroner arrived twenty minutes later and pronounced her dead as Ted and Vera stood in the threshold between the kitchen and the living room. Vera screamed and ran to the bathroom while Ted stood there smoking a Marlboro. There was a tear in his eye.
Against Trudy’s wishes, Ted had her cremated. Trudy had wanted to be buried in Highland Park Cemetery in the plot next to her mother and father, but expenses were tight, and Ted didn’t see the point in paying more than he needed to. He didn’t see the point in cemeteries. All that useful land, going to waste on dead people, when it could have been a farm or a park, or a baseball stadium. His mom and dad had both been cremated, and so would he. Ashes to ashes, he thought. No fuss, no muss.
There was a memorial service, and many of Trudy’s friends and his coworkers showed up. Vera publicly scolded Ted for having her cremated, but he just blew cigarette smoke into her face and walked to the other side of the funeral home’s porch.
The day after the service, Ted was back at work at the old shit cleaner. That’s what he called the water treatment plant. The words always got a chuckle from his coworkers. Forty years ago, Ted was the new guy and had to work third shift and weekends, the “shitty” work, they called it, pun intended. Now, he was the senior operator and only worked from seven to three-thirty Monday through Friday. He was just about ready to pack it in, though. He was sixty-five and ready to retire. When he got home, the house was quiet. No Oprah on television, no yapping from the telephone in the kitchen, no sounds of cooking or dishwashing. Nothing, just eerie quiet. Trudy was gone.
There was a blinking light on the answering machine, and Ted checked the voice message.
“Mr. Piper, this is Carl McKinley from Sayer Brothers Funeral Home. We have Mrs. Piper ready for you. Someone will be here until eight P.M. this evening. Our number is…”
Ted pressed the “Delete” button on the phone to erase the message. He looked at the clock and saw that it was 4:07 PM. He should get changed and head over to Sayer’s. He took a step, then looked down at his feet. He still had his work boots on. Trudy would kill him. But Trudy’s not here, is she? Ted thought. A slight smile crossed his face. He put the phone back on its cradle and started dancing a jig in the kitchen. He had not worn shoes in the kitchen in over twenty years! He listened as his work boots tap danced on the floor. The metal legs of the kitchen table clanked on the tile. In his head, John Denver sang, “Life ain’t nothin’ but a funny, funny riddle.” Trudy didn’t complain. Trudy didn’t nag. Trudy couldn’t nag.
Ted unbuttoned his work shirt and tossed it at one of the kitchen chairs. It missed and fell to the floor. Ted started to reach down to pick it up, then decided he didn’t have to. Instead, he gave the shirt the middle finger, and he kicked off his shoes. He took off his belt and dropped that to the floor as well. His fingers unfastened his jeans and unzipped his pants. As he danced around the kitchen, Ted sang out a burlesque tune, “Da da da, dada da da-da.” He shimmied the jeans off his hips and let them drop to his ankles. Stepping out of his pants, Ted pelvic-thrusted the refrigerator, the stove, and the sink. Goddamn, he was free!
Piper sauntered to the bathroom and took a quick shower. As he brushed the Vitalis through his hair at the bathroom mirror, he smoked a cigarette and looked at himself. He had a bit of a paunch, mostly from Natty Lights. He could work that off, that is, if he wanted to. Maybe he would. Maybe he would take to walking around the neighborhood. He was a single man now, after all. Now he knew that was wrong, but Trudy was dead. He had been faithful in their thirty-six years of marriage. He loved her, or at least he had for most of their marriage, but her nagging had become a real turn-off in recent years. That and her coughing, and she wanted to blame that on him. If smoking was so bad, why was he so healthy? Riddle me that, Trudy! Riddle me that!
Ted put on a clean pair of boxers, jeans, and a golf shirt. He added white socks and sneakers, which he wore through the house, by God! It was five twelve. Ted grabbed his wallet and his watch and adjusted his testicles. He had no spectacles, but he always laughed at the joke. In his Ford pickup, Piper lit up a cigarette and pulled out of the driveway. He opened the truck’s ashtray, and a couple of old butts spilled out on the floorboard. You should empty that ashtray, it’s overflowing, he heard Trudy in his head. “Shut up, you old, dead bitch,” he said aloud, turning up Merle Haggard on the radio.
Sayer Brothers Funeral Home was everything you expected from a funeral home: soothing low music piped in through speakers, comfortable leather furniture throughout the building, with several viewing rooms spread out against the walls. The smell of roses and carnations hung cloyingly in the air.
Carl McKinley walked up to Ted and offered his hand, which Piper shook. Carl had a soft handshake, which Ted didn’t really like. A limp handshake, he thought, probably like his dick. Ted stymied a smile at the thought.
“Hello, Mr. Piper. Again, I’m very sorry for your loss,” McKinley said, in his perfectly polished and experienced comforting voice.
“Thank you, Carl,” Ted returned, “you have Trudy ready?”
“Yes, sir, right in here,” Carl answered, leading Ted into his office.
There was a black leather box on Carl’s desk. Inside the box was Trudy’s remains, enclosed in a bronze urn. Ted inspected the box and the urn, but did not open the urn itself. “Kinda hard to believe all of her would fit in there,” he said aloud. Carl just nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t know if Ted was just commenting or making a joke.
“Um, I just need you to sign this paper, Mr. Piper,” Carl stated.
“What is it?” Ted asked.
“It’s just stating that we are releasing Mrs. Piper’s remains to you.”
“Oh,” Ted said softly, “okay then.”
As Ted took the offered pen, Carl saw that the man’s hand was shaking. He watched as Piper scrawled his name on the form, dotting the “I” like he was stabbing it. Ted set the pen down and held out his hand, which Carl shook.
“Thank you for taking care of everything,” Ted said.”
“You’re very welcome,” McKinley replied, “and again, I’m very sorry for your loss.
Ted nodded his head and picked up the box with Trudy’s ashes. As he was heading out, several cars pulled into the funeral home’s parking lot. There was another visitation at six.
***
In the truck, Ted put the box containing Trudy’s remains on the passenger’s seat. He started the ignition, and the pickup roared to life. Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn were on the radio, blaming each other for their kids being ugly. That song always made him laugh. Trudy had hated it. No surprise there. He grabbed the gear shift and started to put the truck in drive when he heard Trudy in his head, “Buckle up, Ted. Click it or ticket.” Ted shook his head and put on his seat belt. There were just some things you couldn’t shake.
On the way home, Ted stopped by the “golden arches” and ordered a Big Mac meal with a sweet tea. After a short debate with himself, he also ordered an apple pie. Two, actually. One for now, one for later. Trudy hated McDonald’s, too. He added another Big Mac to his order.
Back at his house, he took the food and Trudy’s box up the four steps to the porch. On a round metal table, there was a cardboard box with a card inside on top of a plastic container. His name was written on the card in Vera’s handwriting. Ted set Trudy’s box on top of Vera’s box and unlocked the door. He took his food and drink inside and set them down on the kitchen table, then went back to the porch for the two boxes. Setting both boxes on the table, Ted opened Vera’s card. It read,
“Ted, I know Trudy always took care of you and did all the cooking. I made a pot of chili and thought you might like some. I will bring you some spaghetti and meatballs later in the week. If you need anything, give me a call. Vera.”
Ted was genuinely touched. He touched the container out of the box and opened the lid. It smelled delicious. He got a spoon out of the drawer and ladled some of the chili onto his Big Mac and ate alone at the kitchen table while Trudy’s remains sat next to him, still in the black leather box.
After eating the Big Mac, fries, apple pie, and a couple of spoons of chili, Ted bagged up the rest and put it into the refrigerator. He was tempted to eat the other apple pie, but he was full. The black box sat there, and he knew he had to do something with it. He had been dreading the moment, but he couldn’t put it off.
Ted had thought about where to put the urn and had decided on the end table by the couch, where he always sat. That way, Trudy could be next to him. As much as he had hated her nagging, he did love her. He had not yet decided if he would keep her ashes or spread them somewhere. Trudy had kept a flower garden in the backyard. That might be a special spot, eventually.
Piper opened up the box and pulled out the shiny bronze urn. It was lighter than he thought it would be. Trudy. Goddamn Trudy. He set the urn on the end table and wiped away a tear. It was after seven now, and the Reds would be on. Ted went back into the kitchen to get a beer and his cigarettes. Returning to the living room, he sat down on the couch and switched on the tube. He scrolled through the shopping, movie, and adult channels until he reached Fox Sports, stopping long enough to read some of the dirty movie titles. The names were so stupid that they were funny. He didn’t have any of these stations on his current cable subscription, but they still showed up on his guide. Maybe he would get them now. What the hell?
Trevor Bauer struck out the side in the third inning as Ted finished his first Natty. He got up to take a leak and get a second cold one. As he was returning to the couch, Tucker Barnhart blasted a solo homer to right to put the Reds on the board. “Hell yeah!” Ted yelled. The sound of his voice echoing through the empty house startled him momentarily. He popped open the beer, took a big swig, then let out a massive belch, which also echoed through the house.
Before sitting down, Ted looked at the ashtray. It did need to be emptied. “Shit,” he mumbled, picking up the ceramic bowl and walking it into the kitchen. He pressed the foot lever and dumped the butts and ashes into the can. With the ashtray empty, he could see the image of a black bear and the words “Great Smoky Mountains” on the inside of the bowl. Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge had been one of their favorite vacation spots, although they never stayed at any of the nice hotels because those all had no smoking policies for their rooms. “Can’t you just go outside to smoke?” Trudy would always ask.
“If I have to pay $150 a night, I should be able to smoke in my room,” Ted would announce, “it’s my goddamn right.”
“What about my right?” she would ask.
“You have the right to leave,” Ted would say, and the argument would be over. Trudy wasn’t going anywhere. She was the Edith to his Archie.
You had the right to leave, and you finally did, Ted thought wistfully. He noticed his work boots and clothes lying still on the kitchen floor. He picked up his shoes and set them on the rubber mat by the front door. Ted also picked up his clothes and took them to the hamper in the laundry room. He could almost hear Trudy laughing in his head. “That bitch,” Ted muttered, “she’s even messed up being a bachelor.”
“Ted, wake up. Ted!”
Ted jerked awake, bleary-eyed. The game was over, and the post-game interviews were being shown on the channel. He felt a burning on his chest, and he looked down to see that his cigarette had burned a hole in his shirt.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Ted yelled, slapping at his shirt. He had fallen asleep with his cigarette in his hand. Pissed, he crushed the butt out in the ashtray and looked around the room. Trudy had been in his dream, and she had woken him up. Her voice was gone now. Ted switched the television off, relieved himself in the bathroom, then went to bed.
***
Four days later, Ted heard her again. He was in the bathroom, taking a rare bath. Generally, Ted Piper was a shower man, but tonight he wanted to unwind and relax. Vera had left a dish of spaghetti and meatballs, as promised, on the front porch for when he got home from work. He had eaten heartily and was enjoying a soak and a smoke. Trudy’s bath salts fizzed in the tub, nearly nullifying his cigarette smoke with the aroma of eucalyptus. The fizzing tickled in the right places. Ted could see why Trudy liked them.
“You shouldn’t smoke in the bathtub,” came a shrill voice.
Ted jerked open his eyes. He had not been asleep this time. He looked around, but he was alone in the room. “Trudy?” he said aloud.
“Ted, you know you shouldn’t smoke in the tub.”
“Trudy, what the hell?” he started, “you’re dead.”
“Dead doesn’t mean gone,” Trudy replied.
“Yes, that’s exactly what it means, Trudy,” Ted stammered.
“Oh, Ted,” his dead wife cooed, “don’t you remember anything from science? Matter is neither created nor destroyed; it only changes from one form to another. I’m with you, Ted. I’ll never leave you.”
“Like hell,” Ted yelled, jumping up out of the tub. He grabbed a towel and quickly tied it around his waist.
“Why so modest, dear? It’s not like I haven’t seen that thing before,” Trudy giggled.
Ted glanced into the mirror above the sink, which was misted over from the tub’s steam. Leaning forward, he wiped the glass. Trudy’s face smiled back at him. “God,” Ted groaned, falling back from the sink. The back of his head hit the tile on the wall, and he slumped down to the floor.
***
Ted awoke a couple of hours later, still on the bathroom floor. His head ached from hitting the wall, but at least Trudy had shut up. He grabbed hold of the doorknob and pulled himself to his feet. Ted touched the spot at the back of his head, then looked at his hand. There was no blood, just a goose egg.
After putting on his pajamas, Ted looked at the clock and saw it was 9:12. He had probably missed the first five or six innings, but the Reds should still be playing. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and settled down into his recliner. Turning on Fox Sports, Ted saw it was Reds 6, Blue Jays 1, bottom of the 7th. Eugenio Suarez at the plate. Ted lit up a Marlboro, then realized his ashtray was completely full. He thought about getting up to dump it in the trash, then realized that the urn was sitting on the end table next to the lamp. Ted looked away from the urn. Suarez laced a 3-2 fastball over the left-field wall to make it 7-1. “Yes!” Ted yelled. What the hell, he thought, reaching for the urn.
As he opened the lid, he expected to hear Trudy’s voice, telling him not to even think about it, but there was nothing. Nothing. Ted took a drag from his cigarette and tapped it against the urn, dropping the ash in with Trudy’s remains. Again, nothing. Ted was almost alarmed not to hear her voice, and he was almost ashamed. Almost. Damn bitch, he thought. He took another drag and tapped more ashes into the urn. Ashes to ashes.
That night, Ted dreamed about Trudy. She was standing at the foot of the bed, on fire, but she wasn’t screaming. She just stood there burning. “Ashes to ashes, Ted,” she laughed. “I’m burning, and you’ll burn, too.” Ted looked down and saw that the bed around him was starting to burn, and it was spreading fast. The comforter, the pillows, his pajamas, his hair. He started to scream. “You’ll burn, too, Ted,” Trudy chanted, “You’ll burn, too. You’ll burn, too. You’ll burn, too.”
Ted woke up in a cold sweat and looked around the room. There was no fire. There was no burning. There was no Trudy standing at the foot of the bed. Ted turned to his left and saw her urn sitting on his nightstand. He was sure he had left it in the living room last night after he turned off the television. A small laugh came from deep in the urn. Trudy’s laugh.
***
The next day, Ted went to work as usual, just as he had for the last forty years. In his right hand, he carried his lunch pack, containing a salami and cheese sandwich (Trudy hated processed meat), a baggie containing Funyons (Trudy hated the smell of onions on his breath), and an apple, which he wouldn’t eat, but he could pretend to eat healthy. In his left hand, Ted carried a grey Kroger bag.
While Ted made his rounds at the plant, checking the pH of the treatment tanks and adding chemicals to purify the water, he removed Trudy’s urn from the Kroger bag. One perk of working at the water treatment plant was that he was by himself most of the day. He was the only technician during the day shift, but there was a supervisor and a receptionist in the office. They wouldn’t be coming out to the “shit hole,” though. Looking around to make sure the coast was clear, Ted lifted the top off Trudy’s lid. “Never again, bitch,” he whispered, “Shit to shit, Trudy. Shit to shit.”
Trudy’s pleading voice came up from the urn, “Ted, don’t do. Please don’t do it!”
“Goodbye, Trudy,” he said, raising the urn above his head.
“No, Ted, no! You can’t.”
“I can, Trudy. You should’ve just gone to Hell where you belong!”
Ted tilted the urn over the tank, watching as Trudy’s ashes and his cigarette ash poured into the sewage. The ashes swirled on top of the brown water for a minute, but the agitator soon mixed them in with the water. She was gone. She was finally gone.
***
A week later, the insurance check came in the mail. When Ted opened the envelope from Ohio Life and Mutual, he couldn’t believe his eyes. There was a dollar sign, followed by a one and six zeroes. One million dollars? This had to be a mistake! Ted scanned the letter accompanying the check and found the phone number on the bottom. A representative answered on the second ring when he called.
“Ohio Life and Mutual,” a cheerful voice announced, “how may I help you?”
“Good afternoon,” Ted answered, “my name is Ted Piper, and I’m calling about a check I received in the mail today.”
“Hi, Mr. Piper, I’m Jessica. I’d be glad to assist you,” the rep replied. “Do you have the account number for the policy?”
Ted read off the numbers that were listed on the bottom left-hand side of the check. When he was finished, the operator stated, “Thank you, Mr. Piper. I have your account pulled up. What can I help you with?”
“Well, I received this check in the mail today, but the amount doesn’t seem to be correct.”
“Let me check that for you,” Jessica said. After a few seconds, she announced, “I see we sent a payment to you for one million dollars for the policy on Trudy Piper. Oh,” she paused, “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Jessica,” Ted murmured, “but I don’t understand. I didn’t think we had a policy for this amount.”
“It looks like Mrs. Piper bought this policy in April 1962, and she paid it off on May 17, 1972.”
“So, this amount is correct?” Ted asked.
“Yes, sir,” Jessica answered. She heard Ted gasp on the other end of the phone. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“No. No, thank you,” Ted stammered.
“Have a nice day then.”
“You, too,” Ted replied, hanging up the phone. He glanced at the kitchen table, where he had placed the Kroger bag with the now-empty urn. “Holy shit.”
That evening, Ted cleaned up the house, swept and mopped the floors, washed the dishes, picked up his clothes, and did the laundry. He took a long, hot shower, changed clothes, and went out to Outback for a great, big steak. When he came home, the house was quiet.
***
On the plane, Ted opened the card he received from his coworkers. The front of the card had party favors printed on it, along with the words,” CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR RETIREMENT!” The inside of the card had been signed by everyone who worked at the water treatment plant, including the night shift workers and the supervisors. Some wrote little notes to him, wishing him the best. Ted had opted not to have a party at work. He didn’t need all the folderol. After all, he was a millionaire now.
It was hot and sunny as he stepped off the plane in Tampa, much nicer than the Ohio weather. Ted got his luggage from baggage claim and picked up the keys at the Avis counter. The condo he rented was thirty minutes away at Indian Rocks Beach, and the drive was uneventful but scenic. Palm trees everywhere and twenty-something-year-old girls in bikinis walking or rollerblading along Beach Boulevard. He had trouble keeping his eyes on the road since he hadn’t seen cleavage like that in over twenty-five years!
After setting down his suitcases and looking the condo over, Ted headed out to dinner at Crabby Carl’s Seafood Shack. Fried shrimp, crab legs, conch fritters, and cold local IPA hit the spot! He left a very generous tip for the waitress, who flirted with Ted whenever she came over to check on him. Ted knew it was part of the job and was a way to make better tips, but it still made him feel good.
After a smoke and a beer on the balcony, Ted showered and went to bed. His sleep was dreamless and peaceful, and he woke up refreshed.
The sun had just risen when Ted walked down to the beach with a book and a cooler. He had rented a chair and an umbrella, and it was already set up, just waiting for him. As he sat down in the chair and kicked off his shoes, seagulls cried out in the sky. A flock of pelicans flew over the gulf. The sun felt nice on his face, and the sand under his feet was magnificent! An elderly couple stopped near him and pointed out to the water. Ted looked just in time to witness a dolphin breach the water, then go back under. He smiled. This was Heaven.
After about an hour of reading and relaxing, Ted took off his shirt and ventured out into the gulf. The water was warm, like a bath, and he needed no time at all to get used to it. He walked out further and further, until he was fifty yards from the beach. The water was shallow and just up to his chest. Ted ducked under the water, and something bumped up against him. He opened his eyes in the briny water, and Trudy’s face smiled up at him. He gulped in a mouthful of ocean water and shot up to his feet. Coughing, Ted looked around. A few more people had migrated down to the beach, in chairs, on towels, under umbrellas. A couple of girls were checking out one of the roped-off areas where a sea turtle nest had been laid. He kicked all around him, but his feet only touched water and sand. A seagull flew past and cried at Ted, “You shouldn’t have dumped me in the shitter, Ted!” Ted looked startled at the bird, who kept flying without a backwards glance. In the next wave that came at him, Trudy’s face was in the white caps. “Where does the water from the treatment plants go, Ted?”
Ted reeled backwards, almost falling in the surf. He ran out of the water towards his chair. A young woman in a red bikini took off her glasses as he passed. “Down the Ohio River, Ted,” she stated, in Trudy’s voice.
Ted recoiled and almost got hit by a frisbee that whizzed past. “Heads up, dude,” a college-aged boy warned, “all the way to the Mississippi.”
Ted made it to his chair and sat down. Everywhere he looked, he saw Trudy’s face. All the kids in the water, all the buxom girls sun-worshipping, all the moms and dads, applying sunscreen to their kids…they all had her face. They all spoke in Trudy’s voice. Ted closed his eyes and shook his head violently. When he opened them again, all was back to normal. The college boys were college boys, the mom and dads were mom and dads, the girls with their cleavage…
“Damn,” Ted muttered to himself, grabbing a beer out of the cooler. “Damn bitch still wants to nag me.” He opened the beer and took a swig. It was cold and good. As he raised the beer to his lips again, he heard her voice come from the bottle. “From the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico, Ted. Right here. From the gulf to your mouth, in your hair, in your pores. I just caressed your whole body, Ted. Didn’t you feel it? I rubbed you all over, just like you used to like. I rubbed you good. If you could still get it up, I bet you would have. You swallowed me down, Ted. Now I’m inside you. Now I’m everywhere you are. Now I’ll never leave you, Ted. Never, Ted. I’ll never leave you!
Ted stopped up and dropped the beer. The amber fluid soaked into the ground. His stomach turned, and he puked. Some of the vomit splashed up onto his legs. All around him, the beachgoers stared at him. They were once again Trudy. They were all Trudy. That bitch! He stood there, looking back at them. One by one, they turned away. He used his foot to cover the vomit with the white beach sand. That bitch, that bitch, that bitch! Ted’s hands were shaking. He thought he was going to cry. He looked back at the condominium. There was a sink there, a toilet, a shower. That was no good. It didn’t really matter. She was in him. He knew it. Trudy was a bitch, but she wasn’t a lying bitch. She was in him. She would always be in him. There was no escape. Ted walked towards the gulf. There was no escape. There was no escape from Trudy.
Defeated, Ted walked into the water.
