Porter's Pineapple Upside-Down Cake

Really? Really??? Dammit, Jennifer..  I work my ass off all day and come home to an empty tray… You’ve got to be kidding me. “Hey, Jen! Did you eat the rest of the pineapple upside-down cake?” Porter asked, slamming the refrigerator door shut, “There was half a cake left this morning before I went to work!” he waited for a reply, and tried to calm down…  There was an unusual tension in the air that was unexpected. There’s always a bit of tension around this place since her father died last November, but nothing like this. We’ve been on our outermost edge for the past 24 hours at least. Sleeping on the couch last night wasn’t fun. 

             “Yes, Honey, I finished it with lunch today,” she whimpered. Judging from the slight crack in her voice, he could tell she wasn’t in the mood to fight. He wasn’t either, so he closed my eyes for a brief moment and tried to collect his thoughts and calm himself down.  Crying almost like a whisper began to emit from the living room where she sat watching television.            

            Sighing, he strode over to the doorway of the living room and leaned against the frame. Jen sat in the dark, with nothing but the dim, dull glow of the television lights against her pale and beautiful face. A lone tear could be seen whipping diagonally back and forth against her left cheek until it hung on her chin, momentarily absorbing the reflection of that night’s sitcom, and finally falling to it’s demise on her lap.         

            Oh, Jennifer. There he noticed her hands clasped tightly and shaking ever so slightly. “She really is a wreck,” he thought. The pain in her pale green eyes was profound. You really couldn’t blame her. She has been laid off for nearly two weeks now and hasn’t been able to get out of the apartment save going to the grocery store or the bank. Must be hell. The image of Abe, the cashier man at the local Price Chopper, hitting on his poor wife popped into his head. Porter couldn’t help but smile a little.

            On top of that we have been fighting for nearly the whole of those two weeks over God-knows-what. Silly things that wouldn’t matter to any sane couple. Part of me feels sorry for her, and part of me feels like she needs to move on. Yeah, her father died. Unfortunately life has to go on.  It has been nearly a year and it is about time that she keeps living. When the person you love is in a state of deep depression, it only takes so long before it has its toll on you.  It’s just so confusing trying to figure out what I believe and where I want to go in life. Jen and I are both fairly young, being in our early thirties. I just didn’t picture being an accountant for the rest of my productive years. There should be more to this life then crunching numbers day after day. More to life then spending forever mourning over a deceased love one.

            Jennifer broke his thoughts. “Rachel came over earlier,” she said, finally composing herself. She leaned forward and grabbed the remote with a defiant strength and determination that seemed strange to him. Turning off the T.V., she swiveled in her seat and faced him with glazed eyes that seemed to stare through his and into the kitchen behind him. Gosh, how long has she been sitting here like this?

“That sounds fun. What did you do?” he asked.

“Oh we just did a lot of talking, had some lunch. That’s where your cake went...”

Where your cake went? No need to be sarcastic now, Honey.

             This process was very familiar to him by now. He would come home angry from the day’s work, something wrong with either the apartment or Jennifer would get him even more infuriated for no particular reason. Next, she would have a mini- breakdown. Finally (and this is the stage they were currently in) was the cool-down time. They would try to partake in some small talk in order to create a distraction from all of the previous hard feelings that had been going around. Oh yes… I am very familiar with this system.

He asked,

            “So, umm, what did you guys talk about?” Jennifer seemed somehow extremely uncomfortable on their two-thousand dollar love seat. That chair was like sitting on a cloud next to Jesus, so this confused him.

            “Well…. Uhh. I……..,” she mumbled, stumbling over her words and staring down at her clenched hands which had recently become a spotty mixture or red and white from gripping so tightly. She peered nervously out the purple-draped window to the night-sky above, which, to his surprise, was a perfect match to their drapes. He tore his view away from something as trivial as the color of a sky and drapes, and he returned to their conversation with a deep curiosity.

“Jen spit it out. What is it?” he asked. He was beginning to grow impatient again. He was getting a little worried, also.

            “Porter,” she said, seeming finally to gather the courage to say this unknown thing, “Rachel and I have been talking this over for quite a while now. It began as just an idea for me, but it sort of grew to what she confirmed for me earlier. I am just sick and tired of constantly dealing with your ridiculous abuse every time you walk into this house. I just don’t need it. I’m leaving.”

            She stands suddenly. “My things are already packed in case you didn’t notice. Actually, of course you didn’t. You never even spend time with me anymore other than to argue. I really do love you. I just don’t love who you’ve become. Do you even love me anymore,” she gasped?

            He stood dumbstruck… His shoulders shrugged. His eyebrows rose. Oh God, Oh God! How could I let this happen? The most important thing in my life is standing right in front of me in tears, and I haven’t tried to make her happy. I’ll change…Where did this come from?

            “Yes!!! Jennifer, of course I love you, I…….. I’ve just been distracted with work, and you are constantly upset! It gets hard after awhile. Baby, I am so sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way! Let me make it up to you! I’ll be different I swear, and….”

            “See, that’s the thing! I don’t even believe you! I’m out of here!” she exclaimed. Brushing past him she rushed to the bedroom, grabbed her suitcases, and nearly ran to the front door. She hesitated and took a final quick surveillance of the apartment. Her sad eyes seem to say goodbye to the inanimate objects around him. To the lifeless walls and the stagnant furniture, but not to him. With that, she turned swiftly, bags in hand, and slammed the door behind her, signaling the beginning of her long absence in Porter’s life.       

            Somewhere far away and deep in the bowels of the damp city streets below, he could hear the distant cry of a speeding ambulance carrying some poor wounded soul. A wife cried beside her husband as his life slowly drained out of him with every bump of the emergency vehicle. The pain of death’s dagger pierced her heart and opened the floodgates of her tears. Her soul screamed for the loss of a loved one, and so did Porter’s. He thought he could almost make out her screams. The whine of the vehicle slowly dissipated from the lonely apartment building, but the connection his heart had made with this grieving woman did not leave him.