Quitting Time

“Jack, what are you celebrating?” Will asked, noticing four empty shot glasses on the table and a fifth locked and loaded between his friend’s index finger and thumb.

“I’m celebrating the quiet,” he said, throwing the shot back beforing throwing his finger up to order another one.

“What are you talking about?” Will asked, pointing at the bar in front of him like a magician confident that a shot of bourbon would soon appear. “This bar is a lot of things, but quiet ain’t one of them.”

“Cheryl left, so I don’t have to hear her screaming no more. My hangover can wait until morning instead of starting as soon as I walk in the doorway with her screeching. So, yeah, you’re damned right I’m celebrating. You don’t know how lucky you are that Debbie ain’t that way.” Will considered this, then raised his newly-arrived glass in a toast.

“To the quiet ones!” he announced before they both drank. “Yeah, you’re right. Debbie wouldn’t dare raise her voice to me.”

“You showed her what’s what, didn’t you?” Jack said as he mimed a back-handed slap in the air. Will shook his head and held up two fingers which he subsequently pointed at the bar so that physical matters might once again become matters of spirit.

“Naw. She wouldn’t dare talk back to me. Not once. She knows her place.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jack said, raising his glass towards Will. “God bless quiet women!”

The two men drank the clock hands forward, making much noise in celebration of silence. Eventually, time was called and the men returned to their silent homes. Jack stumbled through his doorway into the darkness that he had inadvertently left himself and barked his shin on the coffee table. He collapsed on the couch, his only companion the throbbing pain that gripped him as he fell asleep.

Will fumbled with his keys, flipped the light switch on and squinted his eyes. The living room was immaculate, as always, and the kitchen was clean. Except for a folded piece of paper that lay in the middle of the kitchen table. Closer inspection revealed his name, penned in Debbie’s meticulous handwriting. He opened it and read:

Will, there is a plate of food for you in the oven. By the time you get to it, it’ll probably be as dry as anything and anyone else you leave waiting for you. The house is clean and the laundry is done, but I’m sure you’ll take care of that in no time. I’ve filed for divorce and you should get the papers soon. Things haven’t been right between us for a long, long time. I kept waiting for you to say something, anything, but you never did. It’s been like living with a daytime TV show. You’re good looking, but you don’t really have anything to say. So now I only have one thing left to say to you. Goodbye.

Will broke the silence with a loud fart.