The Gift of the Wife
At the store, I tell the cashier that I absolutely must have this beautiful golden picture frame. “It will be a present,” I say. “For my husband, Bradley.”
He tells me that it costs more money than I have. Luckily, this is the type of store that accepts trades.
“Anything,” I say, stars in my eyes. “I’ll give you anything.”
He eyes me up and down, and for a second I’m scared of what he’ll say. But then he tells me that his wife makes wigs, and he thinks my hair could be perfect.
The cashier’s wife arrives thirty minutes later, and I’m bald rather quickly.
The cashier hands me the frame, and I fill it with an old picture of Bradley and me kissing on the beach. I walk home cold but excited.
I place the frame on the kitchen table and stare at myself in the bathroom mirror for a long time. I’ve never realized how weird the shape of my head is before.
In the end I’m standing at the door with my baldness on full display when Bradley gets home. “Nice hair,” he says as he walks past me toward the living room.
“Bradley,” I say, following him. “I have something for you.”
“Show it to me over here,” he says.
I run and grab the frame off the table, then hold it behind my back as I stand in front of him. He moves his hands in a “come on with it” gesture.
I pull the frame out from behind my back and smile proudly. I just know he’s going to love it.
“A picture,” he snorts. “Why wouldn’t you get me something I like? We aren’t stupid kids in love anymore.”
I try to tell him that I wish we could be stupid kids in love again, but my words are lost in my sobs. I run to bed and cry myself to sleep.
Our marriage is falling apart. There has to be something I can do. A good wife always knows how to please her husband. Bradley deserves a good wife.
***
Today I am walking to the store again. It’s been snowing since last night, and by the time I get there there’s this freezing feeling behind my eyes, like my brain has turned to ice.
A young couple is looking at me and giggling as I shiver and rub my hands over my head.
I can’t blame them: young love has a way of making everything funny.
What does Bradley not have? I ask myself as I walk around the store.
And then it hits me. I remember him telling me about the guys at work—how they all act so rich with their nice watches.
I tell the cashier to show me their most expensive watch. He disappears into the back for a few minutes and comes back holding a beautiful silver watch. It sparkles in the storelight, and my breath catches in my throat.
“What do you want for it?” I ask.
“What are you willing to give?”
“Anything,” I say.
He leads me to a small office at the back of the store. He sits me in a chair and tells me he’ll be back soon. I don’t know how long this will take, so I text Bradley that I am going to see my mother and I won’t be home until late.
Eventually the cashier comes back with a tall, bearded man and says, “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” the bearded man asks when the cashier is gone.
“Do what?”
“Well… cut off your arm,” he says.
He stays quiet as I laugh for just a little too long.
“It’s completely your choice.”
“You’re serious,” I say. My heart plummets. I turn toward the door, then glance back at him. Why isn’t he moving to block it?
I close my eyes and take several deep breaths. “I can leave,” I say quietly.
“You can,” he says.
But if I do, I won’t ever get that watch. Bradley won’t love me, and our marriage will fail.
“I’ll do it,” I say.
He leads me behind the store and lays me down on a towel. He gives me a swig of vodka, then another and another. Each time it burns my throat a little less.
There’s a sharp feeling like a shot in my arm and everything goes blurry. I am watching the bearded man as if from far away. He pulls out an axe. He looks like Santa.
He plants his feet firmly and swings the axe like a lumberjack chopping wood. He does it again and again and blood flies in the air like fireworks.
***
I wake up in the back of a car. It takes me a moment to remember what I’ve done. Then I look down where my arm should be. The stub is bandaged and now hurts badly, like it’s roasting in a fire. At the same time it is incredibly cold. I think he must have packed the bandaging with ice. I am lightheaded and feel like I’m going to puke.
“Where’s the watch?” I ask.
The bearded man laughs. He pulls the watch out of his pocket and throws it onto the seat next to me.
I grab it and hold it against my chest, then slip it into my pocket. I hold onto it tightly until he stops in front of my house. I must have given him my address.
I look out the window and see—oh no. There’s an extra car in my driveway. One that I recognize. No… no…How could he do this to me? That cheating bastard… and with her of all people?
I try to reach for the door with my stub. Then it hits me. What have I done?
“No!” I scream. “No!”
The bearded man steps out and opens the door, then pulls me outside. I fall stub-first to the ground and something tears. The watch slips from my pocket. Blood pours from my arm.
The man is already walking back to the driver-side door, but I scream for him anyway. My words are slurred. “Please! Please! I change my mind… there has to be something…”
I fade in and out, then the bearded man is standing over me, smiling.
He bends down, picks the watch up from my side, and throws it at my face.
“No refunds.”