Mr. Guy Who Beats His Wife, You Lucked Out.

We went out to dinner with our neighbors tonight. As we were waiting for a table I noticed someone from my childhood walk in. I remembered him as the guy who beats his wife.

I remember his wife with a broken arm. I remember a lot of things my parents don’t realize I remember. My parents were good about protecting us from things we (in their opinion) shouldn’t know. I was VERY good at sitting quietly under the table.

He walked in like he owned the place with his wife and daughter and I’m guessing grandkids behind him. I watched him for a second and hoped like hell he wouldn’t recognize me. He was much too involved with himself to notice, so I was fine.

Then I remembered, as a 19-year-old at my first job, the phone in the break room was ringing. I answered it and it was him. He asked for his wife. She wasn’t around. I told him so.

He shouted, “Then why don’t you hang up the phone and not answer it again.”

I did.

About six seconds later the phone started ringing again. I sat there and waited. It rang probably 30 times before it stopped. It started ringing again before I made it half way down the stairs with my frozen dinner I stopped. Then I turned around picked up the phone and put it back on the receiver. Then I took it back off and left it hanging from the wall.

I never understood why she stayed with him. I still don’t. All I know is when I reached for my cell phone to throw it right at his fat ugly head it wasn’t in my purse.

Tags: beats, first job, phone, wife