We had met five years ago. We were young artist types. I say artist types because neither of us is an artist. I would be if I could, but, well, I ain't so talented in that arena. When we were married we were that couple, you know the progressive arty couple. I didn't really care if he cheated on me. I just wanted that image, the image of us as a unit, of him on my arm. I wanted to have a baby.
Now staring at him I know my mother was right. I was too young. He was too irresponsible. In fact I couldn't even stand to look at him. Especially not while he ate that peach.
"I want a divorce"
The statement just exited my mouth. It wasn't even as if I had moved my lips and tongue to create the pieces of the sound. It was as if the statement, with a volition of its own, merely pushed the door of my mouth open and walked into the fresh air. My hand rose to my mouth as if I had burped. It was an expulsion of air.
"Really?" he looked kind of excited, ducked his head and put his hand under it as he lost a piece of peach. He slurped to try and catch it.
As the juice dripped down his beard, I knew I had made the right decision. I think I was smiling. I was smiling at never having to kiss that mouth again, never having to smell that musty beard, never having to wash those clothes, never having to watch him eat fruit again.