Filling

Water drips from the bathroom faucet.  

A steady thrum, smooth like a lullaby.  

An expensive lullaby.  

I said I would fix it.  I tried.  Briefly, I made it worse.  When I brought it back to a steady, singular drip, heartbeat by heartbeat, it felt like success.  Jessica has not said anything.

She never wants to be disappointed in me.  

I reach for her.

Jessica has gone out. The spot where she slept is cold.  

I think she will be back by the time I have to get up, if I can actually sleep.  So I lie on my back and try an exercise where I let my eyes rest behind my eyelids and move them up, down, and side to side, finding a rhythm that pulls me deep into exhaustion.

The back of my eyelids is black.  Then static.  Then a windowpane.  Water running.  A hand reaching for my face.

Jessica's scream.

Help me.

I bolt awake.

The phone rings.

It is the dentist.  The receptionist is calling to confirm our appointments. Tomorrow. Both at 2.  We make it this way so neither can get out of it without embarrassing the other or incurring a non-refundable appointment charge. We will be there.

Something about the appointment reminds me. I race upstairs.  Convinced the water has stopped dripping.

I slam myself against the sink and stare at the faucet.  I blink.  Is it dripping every time I blink?  Where is the drip? I peer down; my face is level with the faucet.  I angle my face up into the faucet's mouth and balance my weight against the counter, my arms holding me steady.  DRIP.  

The phone rings.

I scream.

My body lurches, and I am stunned by the stupidity of my own reflex.  My head moves up, my eye crushing itself again against the sink's faucet, as if my face is wearing the faucet like a chandelier.  My hands reflexively move to my eye, fluid leaking out, and the act sends my body crumbling to the floor.  The answering machine clicks.

Jessica’s voice picks up to announce we cannot come to the phone.

Instead, the voice falters.

Hi, you’ve reached...

A recording plays over the answering machine.

IT'S NOTHING JONATHAN. GOD, WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS?

GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT.

MAYBE I WOULDN'T BE INTERESTED IN SOMEONE ELSE IF YOU COULD DO ONE THING RIGHT.

JONATHAN, HELP ME.

JONATHAN.

Jessica’s voice screams.

I wake up in bed.

The spot where she sleeps is cold.

She got called back to the dentist first.  The receptionist made a face in my direction, nodded at the cute hygienist.  I saw.  They looked away. Whispering. I knew.

The spot where Jessica sleeps has been cold.

The water has been dripping.

The phone rings.

Hi, you’ve reached...

I reach for her to soothe things when we go through the kitchen door. She sidesteps. Is that faucet dripping?

Jessica is going to go upstairs and check.  The phone rings.

I reach to grab it and see her in the window.  She is smiling.

WHY IS SHE SMILING?

I take the phone and wind it like a lasso, throwing it cleanly at her head.  I see her smile falter.  I wrap the cord around her neck.
I falter.

JONATHAN!

HELP ME!

Jessica’s face is blank.  Her mouth is agape.  She has a filling.  The one the dentist gave her.

I open the freezer in the garage.  Jessica is here, stuffed next to the ham hocks. Her body is kept in pristine condition, with a trace of ice crystals forming around her open mouth.  I grab a slice of meat for dinner tonight.  A small one. It’s just me.

Smiling, I can see inside her.

Right into her filling.