By Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com
He got up on the ‘wrong side of the bed’,
Which was odd as his bed was against the wall.
It was a daily occurrence that he could not explain.
And in the end, he just accepted it, and it never registered again in his mind.
He was a worry-wort and his mind now turned to a cacophony of negative past & present memories….
He was told on countless occasions in his life that he had his ‘head in the clouds’,
Which wasn’t logical as he lived in the Arizona Desert.
Secondly, he had always had lousy jobs – why couldn’t he dream?
His Boss always told him he was ‘penny wise & pound stupid’,
Which couldn’t happen as he used US Dollars.
And with his life being what it was – why couldn’t he escape a little at the track?
An old broken-down teacher used to embarrass him in class by singling him out saying he was as ‘mad as a hatter’,
Which didn’t make sense, as he despised hats.
When he came of age, he knocked on that teacher’s door.
When the door opened, he lunged forward and put Mr Turnbridge’s head right through an old hat – Laurie & Hardy style.
He then walked casually away from the doorstep of his startled & trembling ex tormentor.
As he left he casually said “It’s a perfect fit Mr Turnbridge – don’t you think?”.
Once a Strange New Zealand accented lady told him to ‘pull his finger out’,
Which confused him greatly as his fingers were all ‘dangling free’.
He yelled back at her “No one cares about the Lord if the Rings – You ugly rube!”
These ghost memories from the past were starting to get to him, and he now wore a quizzical frown.
An old man walked by and shouted “cheer up son – it may never happen”,
He was perplexed as he was not sure what the old man thought what was supposed to happen.
He probably shouldn’t have thrown his boot at that old fella. It hit him square in the back of the head and his false teeth fell out on the pavement – much to the horror of his now fear shaken wife.
He stopped and sat on the kerb by the train station as his emotions welled up from within him.
The ’emotional dam’ burst & he started to bawl his eyes out.
The self-loathing induced by these avalanche-like reflections always become far too much to handle stoically – especially now he was older.
He couldn’t handle the ‘Panzer Division’ of regretful thoughts that were increasingly invading & interrogating his soul.
Then some baby boomers walked by on the way to the train station.
He overheard the old man whisper to her:
“He doesn’t know whether he’s Arthur or Martha”
On hearing this he suddenly spring-leapt off the kerb, arms out.
Arthur had totally forgotten his wife Martha had instructed him to be home at 6pm sharp.
At 6pm Arthur & Martha would sit together & do the daily crossword.
Arthur didn’t think he could make it back in time,
After all it was 5.55pm & he was currently 5 blocks down, 3 across from home.
When he got back it was 6:07, he opened the door sheepishly & tip toed into the lounge.
Martha was on the mottled old couch with a crossword, staring at him as an angry schoolteacher would a problem-child.
She rose off the couch, standing militarily upright and shouted with hands-on-hips at him:
“Arthur! Your late! I’m stuck on 7 Up and 1 Across!”
“Sorry but it couldn’t be helped -What’s the Clue dear”?
Arthurs simple cheery reply had now halved Martha’s disappointment. She spoke:
“Two words 10 letters: to waste time, especially by being slow, or by not being able to make a decision”
“Oh, that’s easy – its ‘Dilly-dally'”, said Arthur wisely.
On hearing this Martha suddenly spring-leapt off the couch, arms out.
“Oh Arthur, you’re a real good-un, a ray of sunshine, a modern miracle!!”
Arthur simply smiled, as once again ‘domestic serendipity’ had shone its light upon him.
He made a pact to himself to never be on time again, not that it mattered – he never was anyway.
He resolved to continue to be a fool, a waster & a lolly gagger, but also always be kind to Martha.
After all – It was his destiny, and the proof was cryptically written in the funny pages.
And most importantly – his wife was happy, for now.
But Arthur knew his luck wouldn’t last – it never did.
For sooner or later Martha would tire of crosswords & pull out the Monopoly board.
Then he’d feel his anxiety rise & have to excuse himself & go for a walk,
For even the most confused Dilly-Dally-er’s grow tired of ‘landing on jail’, Sliding up & down snakes & ladders & Professor Plum’s silly murder plots.
As he walked along the pavement the ‘Panzer division’ of anxious thoughts re-entered the battlefield.
After 5 blocks Arthur about turned and frog-marched himself homewards.
“Martha likes to play Cluedo at 9” he told himself.
With each step closer to Martha & home, the ‘Panzer Division’ incrementally retreated, and disappeared entirely.
He opened the creaky door.
It was 9:09pm – which for him was right on time.
Martha was sitting at the dining room table with the Cluedo set unfurled.
She lit the candlesticks.
“About time Colonel Mustard”, she said dryly.
“How right she is” thought Arthur as he walked over to the lounge.
The next day it was all over the news, and police, media & detectives flooded the house.
Diana the quiet next door Neighbor who never talked to them since moving in 3 years ago, had raised the alarm after hearing her blood-curdling scream at 10pm.
She was not that surprised he had snapped so suddenly.
She has seem him walk by late so often and so strangely and always with great anxiety written on his face, & usually in tears.
‘Colonel Mustard’ had done it with the Candlestick in the Lounge in a psychotic rage.
In the trial he testified that he had become frustrated during the game with his wife, over a small matter of whose turn it was.
He said he believed he did it due to PTSD which he had suffered from since serving in Iraq.
The jury gave a reduced sentence of 2 years for Manslaughter, due to considerations of mental impairment caused from PTSD, and they allowed him to serve the sentence as home detention.
As George was being led away from the dock, he felt relieved.
His low-key reclusive lifestyle & a largely clueless small-town jury had swallowed his story hook line & sinker.
He had served in Iraq but on the day of the landmine attack on his unit’s convoy he had been transferred to another unit than morning.
George left in a Humvee in the opposite direction only 45 mins prior to the deadly & also PTSD inducing explosion.
The Army Paperwork of his transfer had the wrong date – the following day.
The jury had no reason to think he was not there on the day of the explosion, & his fellow Vets who were
there that day, or were members in his ‘transferred to’ unit were never going to rat him out.
He had ‘got lucky’ on account of sloppy paperwork and timing of the transfer.
But he knew he’d lied to society, ruined his life, taken a life and lost the only loved one he ever had.
He’d still have to live with himself, & he could not ever deceive himself as easily as he did the jury.
Later George would tell the truth, but only on his death bed only 18 months later.
Guilt is a powerful force, it riddled George’s body with Cancer with such swift force doctors could do nothing.
He died at home while still serving his sentence, in the same spot where he’d sit for so many hours and
play board games with Martha, and only a ‘board-games length’ distance from where he’d murdered her.
He’d finally got his comeuppance, as also shown by the frozen expression of a giant frown on his now dead body’s face.
The old man coroner had never seen one quite that big in all his career.
“you can’t cheat life” he muttered to himself, which was a favourite expression of his.
Anton Martin Smith Writer 