“It’s not that difficult,” he insisted.
She took a large potato and began to slice it.
“Isn’t it?” she replied.
He sighed and said, “It is if you make it that way.”
“Hand me that bowl.”
She swept the potato pieces into the bowl and then seasoned them.
“I think you can do this.”
“You think so? How encouraging.”
“I know you can,” he corrected himself.
She regarded him for a moment. Then said, “Please dice up this ham.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“We still need to eat.”
“Fine,” he said and started to dice.
She turned on the radio. Loud and discordant music filled the kitchen.
“Could you turn that off? Or change stations? Or just turn it down?” he shouted.
Shrugging, she moved to the light switch. Flicking it back and forth. Shadows appeared and disappeared in rapid succession.
“What the he-”
“KEEP DICING!” she shouted.
She then picked up a bunch of grapes and started to fling them at him.
“Hey, knock it off!”
“I don’t hear dicing!”
“How can you hear anything at all?”
“FASTER AND SMALLER PIECES!!!” she screamed.
It was then, he cut himself. Profanity followed. She stopped the grape bombardment, turned off the radio, and led him to the sink. After cleaning the cut and dressing, it was not too deep, she looked him straight in the eyes.
“That is why.”
“It’s that bad?” he asked quietly.
They stood in the kitchen, the only thing heard was the occasional and distant sounds of passing cars.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Can I help?”
“I’m not sure anyone can.”
“I’d… I’d like to try.”
“Okay. There is one thing you can do.”
She whispered something in his ear. He nodded. Only then, did she speak in earnest.