Deranged (pt 1)

Carl was eating a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich he had fixed for himself, extra bacon, and was staring at the carpet he had just bought and laid out in the family room. It was a good carpet. It was red, but there were alternating blue and green geometrical designs on it. Carl traced them with his eyes. It was the sort of thing that could lose him for hours.

Agnes came up behind him, silent as a cat and tapped him on the shoulder. “What the fuck is that?” she demanded.

“A bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich,” answered Carl.

“No,” said Agnes. “What the fuck is that?” She pointed to the carpet.

“It's our new carpet,” explained Carl.

“Didn't I tell you not to buy a carpet?”

“Well, I bought one anyways.”

Agnes threw up her hands in disgust. “Carl, Jill is gonna give us a carpet. For free.”

“Well,” said Carl, flecks of sandwich spraying from his lips. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't want some goddamned fucking gift carpet from your sister? Maybe I want my own carpet, that I bought with my own money, to go in my own house?”

Agnes looked at Carl with a mixture of loathing and pleading. “Do you love me?” she demanded.

Carl paused for a moment.

“Of course I fucking love you,” he said, as if the question were a no-brainer. “What kinda fucking stupid question is that?”

Agnes was still put out. “Why?” she pressed.

“Well, this is just the wrong time to ask that,” said Carl. “I couldn't tell you why just now. I don't know why at a time like this. Ask me after we've had sex, that's a great time. I know why then.”

“Goddammit, Carl! Sometimes, sometimes I just feel like...” Agnes turned and stomped out of the room.

Carl turned back to his sandwich. He could never figure Agnes out. That wild unpredictability had initially drawn him to her, but now... well, it was a fucking chore handling her sometimes.

Agnes stormed back into the room, carrying something. She marched into the middle of the carpet and spun about to face him. Carl could see what she was carrying now. It was her snub nosed Smith and Wesson revolver. She affectionately called it her “rape gun.”

Oooohhhh shit, thought Carl. The BLT dropped out of his hand and onto the table. A strip of half-eaten bacon fell out.

“Carl, sometimes you.... well, you make me feel like I should take the rape gun and just blow my brains out.” Agnes put the gun to her temple, in order to better demonstrate her point.

“Baby,” said Carl. “Honey, baby, sweetie, ba-by.” He started to stand up.

“You're not gonna blow your brains out,” he declared.

“Yes, yes I will, Carl. I'm gonna blow my brains out all over your goddamned fucking carpet!” said Agnes.

“No, you're not. And do you know why?” asked Carl.

“Why?” asked Agnes.

“Because,” said Carl. “You've got too much to live for.”

The funeral for Agnes was held on an overcast and dreary day, as she would've wanted. It was closed casket, which was possibly not the way she would've wanted it, but was a necessity all the same. It was awful for Carl. The whole time Agnes' mother and her sister Jill had gone on and on about how he should have taken Jill's carpet. Still, he made it through the viewing, and then through the burial and then through the reception. Afterwards, he stood in his kitchen, eating a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, and stared out at the carpet, which was rolled up, one end bent over forlornly, sitting in the trash barrel.