Anode

I wish my wife would shut the hell up. And the therapist, “Doctor Bob” sits there nodding like one of those plastic birds that have an ass full of water. He’s got to be sick of it. People coming into his office, a stream of unhappy crybabies, and droning on and on about first world problems, slights and injustices. In my mind’s eye, I see him choking on the verbal hash, he grunts and his eyes open wide, he pulls on his button up collar trying to force the crap down. Beads of sweat break out on his forehead as he struggles not to spew the maggots of long dead wounds all over his clients and ruin the illusion that he cares.

I don’t know if I admire him or loathe him.

Hannah keeps talking, “I’m trying my best to do like you said and be more direct....” She is still pretty. Her upper lip is just slightly bigger than the lower, and I find that sexy as hell. We’ve been together eleven years, got two kids, both in middle school. I guess I’m here for them—nope! Honestly, I’m here to get her off my back. She wants to talk all the time, and I’ve noticed that when she comes here she talks less.

Not that I’m completely against talking, but good Lord, there needs to be a purpose. Communication is about the exchange of information, but my lovely wife Hannah just talks around and around like a plane that never lands. Perhaps the passengers and pilot all died in flight, and they are doomed to circle the earth forever.

Doctor Bob indulges her appetite to ramble, “And how did you feel when she reacted that way?”

Hannah eats it up, and I hear the seven thousandth version of why her coworkers are all douche bags. I wonder if I will have time to go by the plumbing supply store when we are done. I need a sacrificial anode rod. It’s a solid bar of metal, aluminum or magnesium usually, installed in hot water heaters to keep the tank walls from corroding. The oxygen in the water reacts to the anode and slowly dissolves it. Our tank is overdue for a replacement.

I catch the tail end of what Bob is saying, evidently to me, ”...things are going from your point of view, Frank?” Oh, shit. My eyes widen and move around without turning my head.

“I was asking, how do you think things have been going between you and Hannah lately, Frank?” Dr. Bob is a perceptive quack--gotta give him that.

“Things have been fine,” I say.

“Yes? Have you seen any positive changes?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’d say we haven’t been arguing as much lately.”

“Oh, so you feel like you’ve been getting along better?”

I can sense Hannah watching me like housecats watch squirrels in the yard. “Yeah, things are better,” I say.

She can’t help it, “What is better, Frank? What’s better?” I start to reply. She continues, ”What is better?”

Doctor Bob interrupts to soften the question, “Frank, what changes are you seeing that you like?”

“We had sex twice last week.” I’m half serious, I like the sex, but I’m hoping she will take the subject and run with it.

Doctor Bob doesn’t give her the chance, “So, it means a lot to you when you are more sexually connected.”

It’s not a question, but I say, “Sure.”

“Do you see any positive changes in the relationship, Hannah?”

She bites off her breath with those fantastic lips, “Yeah, I guess so. He’s seemed more open. He doesn’t cut me off like before when I try to talk about my day.”

“That’s important to you isn’t it, Hannah? And Frank, is that something you are intentionally trying to do?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Are you intentionally trying to listen and talk with her more?”

“I guess so.”

The bitten breath escapes Hannah’s mouth, and I know I’ll be hearing about it on the way home. How about I send Hannah over to Doctor Bob’s for the talking, and she can come home for sex? I almost suggest it, but instead we schedule to meet again in two weeks.

I look at my watch and realize there won’t be time to get to the hardware store.

END