Nothing is Easy

She sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee, watching the window. The picture she observed changed subtly, not in slow motion but almost.

He walked into the kitchen, grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and asked for a cigarette. She handed him one. What are you looking at? He asked.

A tree, she said and smiled. What are you doing today? She asked. Nothing, he said. It’s hard to do nothing, she said. Is it? He asked. Maybe not, she said.

He left the room and turned on the T.V. Is watching T.V. doing nothing? She thought. I don’t think so, she said to her dog. He barked. She gave him some food. Do you want to go for a walk? She asked.

They walked down the driveway, picked up the mail, took it to the house, set off across a cornfield into the woods.

When they returned she poured water into a dish and found him asleep in front of a football game. She took a sip out of his beer and saw his buck knife on a table.

She thought about slitting his throat, move over she said. He groaned. How many beers have you had? She asked. I don’t know count the empties if you’re that interested.