Cynthia glanced up from her makeup mirror and stopped in mid sentence and snapped, "Donald, are you listening?"
Donald's fork stopped mid way to his mouth as he met her eyes.
"Yes dear," he said, and continued eating, looking quickly back down at his plate.
Cynthia snapped the makeup case shut sharply and put it back in her purse.
"Honestly, Donald, I don't believe you for one minute," she stated with finality, and stared expectantly.
He put his fork and knife down, resigned. A quick glance around the restaurant told him others nearly were surreptiously taking it all in. His face reddened.
"Now, Cynthia, you know I..."
"Don't you now Cynthia me," she scolded. "Tell me what I was just saying."
He gave her a pleading look, to no avail, and grasped for something to say.
"You were saying that you were expecting a call from Gwen and that you..."
"Well what do you know, you were actually paying attention for once. It's always about you, Darren, always you. You're such a...drama queen!"
He opened his mouth to speak, but she was just getting started.
"Why must you take so long with your food?" she crossed her arms. "I've been sitting here for at least fifteen minutes waiting, but you only think of yourself. Why did I marry you, Donald?"
He kept his eyes on his plate. The question was rhetorical.
"Sorry, love, i'm done, we can go now."
He stood, but landed heavily on his seat as a sharp pain coursed down his arm.
"For god's sakes, Donald, what is it now?"
"I...I had this pain..."
"Oh, of course you did," she exclaimed, slapping her forehead. "You, you, you!"
"But I..."
"You're a hypocondriac! A bloody hypocodriac...drama queen!"
His breath was shallow, though the pain had subsided.
"I'll get the check and meet you at the door."
She sighed and turned away. He watched her go, then got up slowly and made his way to the cash register.
As they got in the cab she continued on about her plans as he stared into the distance, taking in only as much of it as he needed for reference, just in case.
"...you know I have my charity board meeting tomorrow, honestly, we must do more for those Rwandan children, and another thing, I don't want you falling asleep at the opera. I can't believe that awful show you dragged me to last month. Sometimes I just can't believe how thoughtless you are."
He felt a tightness in his chest. I really must make a doctor's appointment tomorrow, he thought to himself. He had felt so rundown lately. A flutter of pain brought his hand to his chest.
"...Gwen told me that show would be bad, if only I had listened to her, I...Donald, what is it now?" She had caught the movement out of the corner of her eye.
"Is this another one of your little episodes?" She was really winding up now.
"If you think you're getting out of taking me to this opera, you have another think coming. Can't you ever think of anyone besides yourself?"
He drew further into the corner of the seat.
"Answer me, Donald!"
"I'm fine, darling. We're nearly there."
The cab driver glanced in the mirror and shook his head slightly. Poor guy.
"It's not like I ask much, really Donald, you know I don't. "
He heaved a sigh of relief as the cab pulled over to the curb. He paid and they got out. Taking the tickets out of his breast pocket he allowed himself a quick rub of the left side of his chest.
They entered and took their seats. She continued to harangue him as they waited for the lights to go down. He sat still with his eyes closed, not caring anymore. There was only so much a man could take in one day.
The lights went down and the opera began. He stole a quick glance at her and she seemed engrossed. He was so tired. Perhaps she wouldn't notice if he closed his eyes for a bit...
Half way through she became restless. The performance was substandard. She leaned over to whisper her disapproval in his ear and saw him slumped in his seat, eyes closed.
Well this was just too much! The thoughtless bastard! She poked him in the ribs. No response. Anger welled up in her and she stood up, taking her cellphone out as she strode up the aisle.
I'll just take a cab home. The bastard could just stew in his own juices. To think of all the trouble i've gone to to look nice for him tonight, getting my hair done and making sure my makeup was just so, and he falls asleep! She couldn't wait for him to get home so she could give him a piece of her mind.
As the lights came up and the auditorium emptied, one of the ushers noticed the guy in the fifth row wasn't moving. Great, another sleeper, she thought to herself. She made her way down the aisle and tapped him on the shoulder. Nothing. Great. She shook him gently and was about to say excuse me sir when he toppled over with a dull thud.
