The Healing Process

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Jim came home from the store with three cases of beer.

He threw out vegetables from the fridge to make room for them.

Karen came out of the bathroom with curlers in her hair.

“What are you doing? You don’t drink.”

Jim looked at her while he opened a beer.

“I didn’t used to drink. I didn’t used to have one kid, either.”

Karen sighed.

“I’m going out. I need to get out of the house for a bit.”

Jim stared at her.

“You can’t go out. It’s too soon.”

“Our lives have to start again sometime. I heard that leaving the place of sorrow for a bit can help the healing process-”

“How about you go fuck yourself, Karen? How about that? I heard that helps the healing process. Go fuck yourself, and do it in front of all your goddamn friends. I’m sure they’ll all help you get off to ‘help the healing process.’ I’m drinking. That’s my healing process. Fuck you, Karen. Fuck you and all you stand for. I saw my only son die, and now you’re going out? Fuck you. Fuck. You. Fuck you. I can’t believe I ever married you. Fuck you. Fuck you!"

He threw the bottle and it smashed against the wall, sending glass raining down on the cheap countertops.

“How do you really feel, Jim?”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“I helped you buy this-”

“Fuck you! No you didn’t! I bought this house with my money and every time you talk about how much you hate it you’re insulting something I bought for you.”

“Bullshit! My parent’s put so much money into this-”

Fuck you. Get out of my house. Karen, I swear on my life that if you don’t get the fuck out of this house right now I will call the police on your ass. If only you had one.”

Karen took the rollers out of her hair, threw them at Jim, and slammed the screen door shut as she left.

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