Milk Carton

I guess I was too presumptuous with my last post. Well, here goes...

"He saw the milk carton in the trash bin, and couldn't help but smile."

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Jonathan didn't feel like going home, but he had to. The past 24 hours had zipped by blessing him with a mere four hours of sleep and 20 hours filled with the nightmares of the waking world.

The day usually started with the morning coffee dutifully prepared by his wife, who always made sure she made it with milk, not cream. But not this day: the wife had packed and fled the night before just as he was redirecting the argument to flirtations and phone bills. It was one of those pointless verbal tussles couples would have when the relationship got too mechanical and uninteresting, though Jonathan feared he had stepped a bit too far when he threw the "mother-in-law" card on the table. Big mistake.

So he prepared the customary coffee that morning, but suffered through its black bitterness courtesy of an empty milk carton. He slammed the carton upon the countertop, and flattened it with his clenched fist, as the argument of the night previous ran like an afternoon soap through his mind.

He couldn't remember where the next twenty hours went, save for a collage of minor but frenetic events here and there swirling like a stew. Time would stand still whenever he attempted to find his wife by calling up her friends, even if he knew that the political conspiracy would've been instigated and no one would know where his wife was. Otherwise, it was an ordinary work day, where chaos reigned in an orderly fashion. The urge to sleep tempted him constantly, but he resisted on the fear that he'd dream about last night's stupid argument. After the day-long blur, he found himself walking like a zombie from his car to the front door.

Jonathan half-stumbled into the kitchen and saw everything tidied up, with the scent of a roast teasing from the oven. And when he saw the flattened milk carton in the trash bin, he couldn't help but smile. That's it, he thought. I'm asleep, and I'm dreaming she's home. She'll come down from the bedroom in her sheer nightgown and tell me how stupid our stupid argument was last night. Then we'll have dinner, make love, and make love again.

He moved toward the oven, breathing deeply as the scent of cilantro and rosemary mesmerized him. He knelt, opened the oven door, and peered into the darkness.