Comatose

Dylan Macnamarra, a passive writer with a strong willed wife and vibrant child ponders how his decisions face their present and future, while pointing toward some disastrous events for the future.

I’ve always thought I was set for life and would be fine as long as I kept to myself, provided for my family and distanced myself from trouble. Trouble has a way of finding you though. It latches on and won’t let up until you stand up to it, disengaging it’s hold. Everyone needs help sometimes as I will eventually learn.

Trying to do everything myself might have seemed like the greatest plan initially, but if I can’t protect myself " how would I protect my family, along with anyone else I loved? I would have to become more, adapting to any situation and put my ultimate foothold into reality. My name is Dylan Macnamara, friends call me D mac " if I had friends outside of my wife and kid. Always being the creative type with an over the top imagination, writing seemed like a sure fit. Being able to express myself writing out my own stories and controlling everything. It sounded great since I had no control over my own life, but instead I would spend all of my days writing other people’s ideas. Work would be the worst most days, but the moment I would get home and be able to see the sky blue eyes of my wife combined with the heart warming smiles from my baby girl " would make me brand new again. If ever I were to believe in angels on earth it would be my wife, Catherine and our daughter Emily. As I open the door to our twin bedroom asylum I’m immediately greeted with a tight squeeze and huge smile. “Daddy’s home!” Emily exclaims with utter excitement. Slowly I’d walk to our kitchen with various fresh veggies scattered about. Sounds of pans clinging together would feel my ears. Those sights and sounds would mark the amazing feast to come. As I walked closer over our half finished tile floors I’d lean in to give my wife a peck. She was busy chopping onions and tearing up just as quickly. Occasionally brushing her soft, shoulder-length hair of brown to the sides, before continuing to wipe the moisture from each eye. Leaning in I was welcomed with “Pay the mortgage?” rather than receiving a massive smile like I did from my tiny greeter, it was a frown of resentment. “You know I knew I forgot something” I replied as if I had actually forgotten. Unamused she turned to face me letting out a disappointing sigh. “Are you going to be making jokes when the bank takes our house?” she asks while scraping onion remnants from her favorite kitchen instrument. Stuttering my words, my mind blanks for any cohesive answer. “Do I get an answer?” she reaffirms.”I don’t know if I want to while you’re wielding a butcher knife.” I retort, with yet another attempt at humor. Forgetting my wife can be just as clever, I’m always expecting to stump her with a smart quip. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d use poison, which reminds me your dinner is almost ready.” she fires back with a smirk. Catherine walks away scurrying to set the table with our fillers and the tools to eat them with. Per usual she would drop the serious conversation, because she’s not one to allow anger to soak in. “Grab your daughter, please” she requests to end our interaction before our meal time family banter.

I advance around our small space, trying to push away the claustrophobic feeling it leaves on me. Down the hallway I go eventually to pry open Emily’s door, which is being held shut by a mountain of toys. Most of them are old and second hand as I would buy her what I could from thrift shops. Luckily for me, she’s always been an easy kid to please. “Dinner time shorty.” I would tease. “Piggy back ride?” she’d request just as most nights. Kneeling down I’d prepare for my jockey to mount my broken back that’s been a work in progress for years. Once my rider was settled, I’d rise even slower than when I kneeled, playing my role as the old steed I felt like. As we took off for the kitchen hungry for grub, she’d lean over to reach closer to my ear. “I’m taller than you now.” she’d whisper, taking her mother and father’s cleverness easily in hand. “Touche” I’d reply reassuring her with a grin ear to ear. As we reach the dining table, I bring us to a complete halt. Reaching up I snatch my cowgirl from off her perch to lower her to her red mini chair she’s been so attached her very brief life. My back makes its usual crackling sound, as I sit down on my own throne. As I peer around, I can see my wife and daughter already clasping their hands to give thanks for our bounty. I would hesitate given I’d never shared their beliefs or faith, but I’d give in as I had every night to please my wife across from me. Pausing, I closed my eyes awaiting the sound of a female voice whether it be young or older. “Why don’t you say Grace tonight?” Catherine would blurt to my surprise. Stumbling over my words yet again, I’d eventually spill out the few words I could even think of. “Thanks for this food….and drink….and…amen?” would finally come out in a cross between a statement and question. “Needs work.” Catherine would tell me lovingly of course.