Talkin'
A horror story for anyone who's ever loved a talker that won't shut up.
The thing about Wendell is he never shuts up.
“Weather’s turnin’,” he says, standin’ in the kitchen doorway while I’m fryin’ eggs. “Saw on the news they’re sayin’ frost tonight. Early for it. Remember that year it froze in September? Killed every tomato plant in the county.”
I flip the eggs. The grease pops.
“Course, that was ‘08. Or was it ‘09? You’d know. You got a better memory than me. Anyway, your mother’s tomatoes all died. She cried over them tomatoes. Actual tears. Over vegetables. I tried to cheer her up, remember? But she weren’t havin’ it.”
“They’re fruit,” I say.
“What?”
“Tomatoes are fruit.”
“Well I know that, I’m just sayin’ she was upset. Point is, it froze early and we might need–”
“A space heater. I know. You told me yesterday.”
“I did?”
“And the day before that.”
Wendell blinks. “Well I don’t remember that.”
“I do.”
“You’re always sayin’ I repeat myself. I don’t think I repeat myself near as much as you think I do.”
I eat my eggs. Wendell watches me chew.
“You gonna eat them plain? Not even no hot sauce? I got that hot sauce you like from the Amish store. The one with the carrots in it. What’s it called? Volcano sauce? No, that ain’t right. Dragon sauce? You know the one I mean.”
“I know the one you mean ‘cause I’m the one done bought it.”
“Did you? Huh. I thought I bought it. Or maybe we both–”
“I bought it, Wendell.”
“Well okay, Jesus. Don’t bite my head off.” He leans against the counter. “I was thinkin’ we could drive down to the hardware store later. Look at them space heaters.”
I put my plate in the sink. Turn the water on.
“You ain’t even gonna rinse that? You just gonna let egg dry on there? That’s how you get stuck on food. Then you gotta soak it. I read that in Good Housekeepin’. They did a whole article about–”
“Wendell.”
“What?”
“I’m rinsin’ it right now.”
“Oh. Well good.”
I dry my hands. Head toward the kitchen door.
“Where you goin’?”
“To take a shit, Wendell. You wanna come watch?”
“Now that’s just vulgar. I’m tryin’ to have a conversateeon and you’re bein’ vulgar.”
I lock the bathroom door. Sit on the toilet lid. The house is seventy years old and the bathroom the size of a coat closet. I can hear Wendell through the door.
“You know what your problem is? You don’t appreciate conversatin’ with me. Some people would be grateful. My sister says her husband don’t talk none at all. Just sits there watchin’ TV. At least I engage with you. That’s what Dr. Phil calls it. Engageonment. It’s important for–”
“I’m not constipated, Wendell! I’ll be out in a minute!”
“Well I’m just sayin’ it’s rude to leave in the middle of us conversin’!”
When I come out he’s waitin’ in the hallway.
“Feel better?”
“No.”
“You want some coffee? I’ll make us some coffee. Gonna use that French press you got me for Christmas. Takes longer but it tastes better. More robustin’. That’s what the lady at Starbucks said. She said French press is more robustin’. Course, Starbucks is too expensive. Five dollars for coffee. I could buy a whole can of Folgers for–”
“Wendell, it’s eight in the mornin’.”
“So?”
“So ain’t you ever get tired?”
“Tired of what?”
“Talkin’.”
He looks hurt. Actually hurt. His face does this thing where his mouth gets small.
“I’m just tryin’ to be pleasant. You want me to ignore you? That what you want?”
“Sometimes, yeah.”
“Well that’s a fine thing to say. That’s real nice, Dale. Real nice. Fourteen years and you want me to ignore you.”
He goes into the kitchen. Starts clatterin’ dishes. I stand in the hallway and feel like a bastard. Then he starts up again and I stop feelin’ like a bastard.
“You know what? Maybe I will ignore you. See how you like it. My sister says I’m too nice. Says you take me for granted. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should–”
“Wendell, you can’t ignore me if your life depended on it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you ain’t shut up since the day you was born.”
“That ain’t true.”
“Name one time. One single time you was quiet more than five minutes.”
“I’m quiet when I sleep.”
“You talk in your sleep!”
“I do not.”
“You do! Last night you had a full conversation about roofin’ shingles!”
Wendell flushes, stomps his foot. “Well at least I ain’t borin’. At least I got things to say. You just sit there like a lump. Like a–a–”
“Say it.”
“Like a lump!”
“You already said lump.”
“Well I’m sayin’ it again!”
Later that night I lie there hatin’ him. Hatin’ the sound of his breathin’. Hatin’ the way he smells like Irish Spring and the knock off laundry detergent he buys because it’s fifty cents cheaper. Hatin’ that he’s still talkin’.
“And another thing, we never do nothin’ romantic no more. Remember when we used to go to that Mexican place in Marietta? They had them tableside guacamole. Real nice. We should go back there. Have us a date night. My sister says date nights is important. Keeps the spark alive. You remember the spark? We used to have a spark.”
“That was before I knew you never stopped talkin’.”
“What?”
“Nothin’.”
“You said somethin’. I heard you mumble.”
“Wendell, it’s eleven thirty.”
“So? I ain’t tired. My brain’s too active. I read that’s a sign of intelligence. Active brain. I did one of them online IQ tests and scored pretty high. Hundred and twelve. That’s above average. Average is a hundred. So I’m above average. Which makes sense because–”
I sit up.
“Where you goin’?”
“To get a drink.”
“We got water up here.”
“I want whiskey.”
“This late? You’re gonna have heartburn.”
I go downstairs. Stand at the kitchen sink. Drink from the bottle. The house is quiet except for the sound of Wendell’s voice comin’ from upstairs.
“And while you’re down there could you check if we got any of them antacids? The chalky ones? My stomach’s been off all day. Probably that chili we had for dinner. I told you it was too spicy but you said–”
I open the drawer by the sink. The knife is there. Same one I used to cut up chicken for the chili. I pick it up. Put it down. Pick it up again.
“Dale? You hear me? I said could you check for them antacids? Dale?”
I take the stairs slow. One at a time.
Wendell is sittin’ up in bed when I come in.
“There you are. Did you find the–” He stops. Sees what I’m holdin’. “Dale? What’s that for?”
I don’t say nothin’.
“Now hold on. Let’s talk about this. If you’re upset about somethin’ we can talk. That’s what couples do. They talk things through. My sister says communicatin’ is–”
“Wendell.”
“What?”
“Shut up.”
“Now that’s just–”
I cross the room fast.
“Dale! You’re scarin’ me. This ain’t funny. If this is some kind of joke it ain’t funny. Dale? Dale, put that down. We can talk about this. I’m a good listener. People say that about me. They say Wendell, you’re a–”
I do it quick. I can’t stand to hear another word.
The silence after is beautiful.
I sit on the edge of the bed. Listen to nothin’. The furnace kicks on. The refrigerator hums downstairs. No talkin’. No questions. Just quiet.
I sit there for an hour. Maybe more.
Then I hear it.
Faint at first. Like somethin’ far away. Gettin’ closer.
Wendell’s voice.
“Well that’s just great. That’s just perfect. You really gone done it now. What are you gonna tell people? You think they ain’t gonna ask questions? My sister’s gonna call Sunday. What are you gonna say when she calls? You gonna tell her I’m dead? She’s gonna want details. She always wants details. Remember when her cat died and she called every day for a week? Talked for hours about that cat. And now you went and–”
His mouth ain’t movin’ but I can still hear him.
“And another thing, you got blood on the sheets. That ain’t never comin’ out. We just bought these sheets. Hundred and fifty thread count from Kohls. I told you we shoulda got the darker color but you wanted white. Said white looks cleaner. Well it don’t look clean now, does it Dale?”
I stand up. Walk out of the room. His voice follows.
“Where you goin’? You can’t just leave me here. That’s disrespectfulin. We been together fourteen years and you can’t even–”
I go downstairs. Outside. Sit in the truck.
His voice is in there too. In the air. Everywhere.
“And you’re gonna have to bury me. You thought about that? Diggin’ a hole’s hard work. Your back’s gonna give out. Should’ve thought of that before you–”
I start the engine. Drive to the hardware store. It’s closed but I sit in the parkin’ lot anyway.
“See? Now you got nowhere to go. Should’ve just talked to me. Used your words. That’s all I ever wanted. Is that so much to ask? After fourteen years? I don’t think that’s–”
I drive to the river. Park by the boat ramp. Stare at the water.
It don’t matter what I do.
He ain’t never gonna stop talkin’.
I put the car in drive.
Thanks for reading!
I… I love this. Andy no notes. As if I were reading Poe again for the first time.
Wow!