I blankly looked out of the window into the deserted yard of my next door neighbor. All was serene and placid, until all of a sudden the door opened, and out stepped Mr. Hawkins, looking cheerful and handsome as always. As he opened the car door of his black Volvo, he looked straight at me, if only momentarily, but looked right away, for he did not want his wife to see he was looking at me.
The car rolled away, and I sighed and slouched to the floor. There was a steady drip from the kitchen sink, interupting my thoughts... what am I going to do... I shouldn't have done what I did....
Later that evening, Mrs. Hawkins drove away, and a few minutes after, Mr. Hawkins appeared in my driveway. Not again, I thought. We're in too deep as it is!
When the doorbell rang, I jumped up, and suddenly, I realized I hadn't moved from this position all day. My back was aching, as was my neck, from the uncomfortable angle my neck had rested on all day against the wall.
I opened the door to find a smiling, middle aged man, carrying a briefcase. His beige suit had a mustard stain on its left shoulder. "Hello, my love. How was your day?" And then he swept me up into a passionate kiss. It was.... lovely, to say the least.
I could simply not admit to him that I had done nothing since his departure. "Oh it was good, I suppose. That drippy sink in the kitchen has been a bit of a nuisance."
"Shall we continue where we left off?" Mr. Hawkins proposed, as he stroked my cheek softly.
"Mr. Hawkins, as much as I would like to, my concious has been weighed terribly with guilt. What about Mrs. Hawkins?" Mr Hawkins, who sighed deeply, then said, "Darling, we've been through this before. I don't love my wife. I love you."
"Yes, I know. But imagine how she would feel if she knew--"
It was then my feet were stuck to the floor as if nailed. I could not say another word, for the thing I feared most was standing at my window. "Mr. Hawkins... your... y-your w-w-wife...."
Mr. Hawkins face was calm and emotionless. Mrs.Hawkins, quite the opposite, was fuming, her eyes puffy from where she was crying. How much had she seen? I thought, as I searched my head, trying to find a vaild excuse for such a thing. How could I be so careless? Leaving the curtains open like this--
Mr. Hawkins walked over to door and pulled it open. "My love, home so ear--" But Mr. Hawkins never finished his sentence. Mrs. Hawkins had slapped him clear across the face, apparantly so hard it hurt her own hand. She looked savage--she was shaking uncontrolably, her eyes darting from this end of the room to the other.
"YOU! YOU... HUSBAND STEALER!! I'M... GONNA... KILL YOU!"
I couldn't move. I was a statue, frozen in fear. Mrs. Hawkins is going to kill you, I thought desperately to myself.DO something!
But I simply couldn't. I then took everything in from the room--Mrs. Hawkins charging at me with a knife, the window, without the curtain closed, the painting of my children, and finally to Mr. Hawkins. Sweet, gentle, happy Mr. Hawkins... who was saying as his wife ran toward me, "That's right, honey. Kill her. Kill the *****. I never loved her. Never."
And with the closing of those words, my heart broke, and the knife pierced my chest.