heartbeat city

Tabby lived with her mother and father in a two-bedroom cape, on the edge of a nice town. She was at that age. The one of eavesdropping at the top of the staircase, in her case on Regan and Glenn.

“The mood swings have to stop Rey. They have to stop.”

  Tabby believed that Rey and Glenn rehearsed every evening, for the play they would later star in together. It was an only child affectation. If there was no one to tell, everything was real. She applauded after the nicely-delivered lines and especially theatrical sighs.

 “Tabs,” mother would say all knowingly, “this is an adult conversation. Not to be confused with an adult production, okay? Please, please.”

“I mean when we were married, you had the two sides. I’d seen two of them. Now you have at least 18. I don’t know where you find them. I don’t!”

“I find them at T.J. Maxx Glenn. They’re designer sides, up to 60% off. “

Applause.

“Tabitha.”

“Well please don’t put them on, like ever. Okay? Please return them. I can’t. I cannot. I refuse to share another bottle wine that I purchase! At full price! With another woman. A different woman every night.”

“Most men in your position would be delighted. Wouldn’t they? Like role playing. Remember that one Halloween?”

Sigh.

Applause. 

It went on. The bickering. The topics changed. The two stayed married. It amused them both, deep down, it amused them three. Glenn grew into it. Tabby grew up. Still loved swings. Still went to the playground to exercise her right to swing. To role play. Flew up, smiled. Came down, frowned. Some six-year-old interpretations should be nursed through adulthood. To combat the nonfiction of it all, the lack of clapping.