It Never Rains But It Pours

(a work of fiction)

After many years of being friends, and being each other’s half, Paz is having a difficult time now understanding Enrico’s fits of temper. Sometimes she feels guilty if the fault is with her keeping an eye on the many minor things around the household. She gets irritated by his constant whining about his unemployment. It almost gets to the brim when he raises his voice about his inadequacy to assist in the resolution of domestic matters.

It does not help at all, this complaining. Enrico talks a lot about his incapacity. It drowns her, it weakens her, and it kills her, inside.

Lately, Enrico becomes more exasperated blaming himself again because of the bills and household expenditures that are accumulating. He tells Paz that he is inutile, just waiting for the time of his life, and then dies. He can die anytime, he tells Paz, because he is not contributing to the betterment of their lives.

Enrico is selfish. Paz looks at the whole thing as pride, which is not pride at all, but arrogance. The whining and the constant self-pity are pitiful, but it is more hurtful and disturbing. The weight of the situation is on her. While she thinks of means to solve their problems, or pay the bills and the other expenses, Enrico surrenders by complaining.

Dazed, Paz recalls the yesterday where her husband was a responsible, principled young man. Not until a very sad event happened where Enrico was involved in an anomalous scandal in the office where he worked. It was like everything came to an end. “But we cannot bring back time, even if we cry our eyes out. We must do something, together, as husband and wife,” she cries silently.

Up to this time, Enrico clings to his torment, unaware that he is killing the love that once flourished bit by bit. All of Paz’s thoughtful concerns towards him seem to be drawing to a close, becoming thinner and rigid as a result. The union that gives the impression as irreplaceable, unbreakable, and stable will now give doubt that love surpasses the test of time. That is if Paz gives in. But she endures up to this time without love’s great beauty.

How well she copes with everything is by far admirable. The absence of love and the activity where one expresses the intensity of love does not even reflect in her carefree demeanor. She is second to none concealing her aches. But until when will she be eager to go through it all?



What is now proved was once, only imagin'd.

William Blake (1757 - 1827)