She is sitting on a sofa her skins glistens in the fading light he is sweating and her voice has a catch in it that could mean that they have been fighting for a while and she is near tears.
He is sitting on the other end, a large man his bulging muscles quiver with restrained strength. His eyes bulbous globes chase the reflections o his TV flickering across his heavy railway slipper table.
She flails her arms in a dramatic fashion, “John, you don’t love me anymore I can feel it,”
He turns to her with a look of disgust on his face, “Feel what Mary? That you are not the woman I thought you were?”
“You don’t love me John I see it in your eyes,”
He reaches for her and changes his mind, “My eyes are as black as my soul you cannot see into them,”
A lone tear streaks down her cheek, “I have grown to know you John and you are not the man I thought you were,”
She hops up off the seat and stands before him, hands placed firmly on her ample hips. He eyes them from the corner of his eyes thinking to himself how they look so ready to bear him the sons he hopes to one day have.
Her eyes roam over his large muscled form, his arms as large as those of a coal miner are placed each on a knee, and she looks at them longingly thinking that if he would only wrap them around her all would be forgiven, for she loves him so.
Instead she lets out a birdlike protest, determined that he would treat her as an equal. John is annoyed. Mary should know her place and not question him so, be more like his mother who never once questioned his father, but instead bore him five sons with a bird like grace and the acquiescing nature of a mouse.
He shifts his buttocks on the hard sofa and thinks to himself that tomorrow he will change the padding on the seat. Mary is saying something again.
He sighs and reaches for her, Mary makes to move away but his reflexes are like those of the African hyena and he grabs her, pulling her onto his lap. Determined to silence her, he grasps her face and proceeds to kiss her with the fury of a teenage girl throwing a temper tantrum.
Mary fights him like a cockroach trapped under a shoe determined to get away, John oblivious to her feeble attempts continues mauling her mouth surprised at how much she tastes she tastes like his favourite fruit (mazhanje-sorry I don't know the English name). He shifts his position to get better entry, making the mistake of lifting his mouth from hers. Mary seeing her chance, head butts him.
Stunned John lets go and clutches his head like a confused baby.
Mary gasps, scrambling to her feet.
She grabs her purse from the table, gives John a look she hopes is scathing but sadly makes her look like a cross eyed pig- for her nose is large and porky. And with this last look she storms out.