He left town. Left me behind. Mr I-don’t-want-a-job took the offer before they even finished asking him. So he left with a one-way ticket. I asked him if I could go, or at least join him for a weekend. He asked if I had enough money for the ticket. Questions answered with questions aren’t answers.
My bank account, however, did answer me without asking a question in exchange. But the answer wasn’t what I hoped for. What does one do with a husband who leaves with a one-way ticket?
I dropped him off at the airport. The impatient bugger behind me honked and blared and yelled. Sorry, I told him, I can’t step out and hug you lest I get murdered by Mr. Death-Grip-Sans-Anger-Management behind us. He laughed. “No sweat.” And off he went.
As he walked away I could hear the squeaky wheel from our old carry-on suitcase. Skwee… skwee… skwee. And the door closed behind him. He didn’t look back. I think or I believe he assumed I had rushed away to avoid being executed by Mister Congeniality waiting for my spot.
He left on a one-way ticket. My bank account told me I couldn’t go.
I’ve since then changed banks and switched to Chase. It’s not Wells Fargo’s fault I never saw him again. But maybe Chase would have given me a different answer. Maybe he and I could have shared the one-way ticket. If we’d been on that same fateful flight, who knows…
Trifecta Week 37. Flight: a- a trip made by or in an airplane or spacecraft; b- a scheduled airplane trip. I’m glad to say this is entirely fiction.