I guess I shouldn’t complain about my girlfriend, Sarah. She’s super-cute, and her green eyes are bright underneath her auburn curls. She loves SciFi movies and she doesn’t hassle me whenever I binge on Call of Duty.
It’s just that she’s really scary.
She’s not abusive. At 5’2″ and 108 pounds soaking wet, she’s not threatening physically. Not that she would. She’s sweet-natured, and she loves to sing while she bakes cookies. She’s never raised an angry hand. She doesn’t have to.
She has a superpower.
She’s psycho-kinetic, but when she first explained it to me, it didn’t sound so impressive. She can’t make anything move from here to there; couldn’t lift a feather with her mind. She can’t affect anything larger than a bowling ball, and only compress or expand things. Now here’s where it gets weird. She can do this expand-then-compress thing, back and forth, really, really fast. It’s measured by a frequency of 128.6 MHz. She’s a living radio station.
That sounds more like a parlor trick rather than anything useful until you think a moment. Most solid things can’t handle being shook around like that. In fact, battleship armor couldn’t handle it without going to pieces, violently.
My sweet Sarah doesn’t throw plates when she’s mad…she makes them explode.
It get’s even crazier. She has no known limit to her range. She could shake open Fort Knox from the other side of the world. Now that is awesome isn’t it. She can just squeeze if she wants. I watched her turn a charcoal briquet into a diamond in minutes. Yeah. Money would never be an issue in our relationship.
It goes without saying that she works for the CIA. Codenamed: Radio Blue. Kim Jung Il’s pancreatic cancer? Right. Nothing like having your pancreas swell to 5-times its normal size. That was my sweet Sarah.
After dating three months, neither of us had spoken the L-word. Revealing her superpower was a difficult-enough hump, but giving her a key to my apartment was easy. That’s why she walked in while I was showering, and how she found the text message.
I entered the kitchen after dressing and she was standing there, holding my cellphone. “Who’s Angelique?” she said in a shaking voice.
I was off-guard, unprepared. “Uh…Angelique.”
“You know. The one who texted, ‘my dress is off, thanks to you!'”
“Well, she has trouble with the zipper sometimes.”
I am such an idiot.
“Oh really? I’ll bet you’re good for the bra and panties too!”
“‘Usually’ This has been going on awhile? How long, Niko?” She screamed, “How long!”
You know how a deer looks in in headlights? Yeah, that was me. Luckily, I don’t freeze like many people when facing imminent death.
I just babbled.
“Well…now, hold on. You see…uh.”
That’s when her eyes got that faint blue glow. It’s when she’s using her power. Sure enough, the wooden chair at the dining table began shaking violently. It shattered, scattering splinters across the room. I imagined her squeezing my brain into something the size of a pea, and I thought about running for my life. Maybe it would be hard to focus on a moving target? But that was good as admitting betrayal. Certain death sentence. Staying could make me deader. Should I stay or should I go?
I closed my eyes, waiting for excruciating pain. Instead, something worse happened. She collapsed into a surviving chair, and began sobbing.
Seeing Sarah so hurt ripped my heart out.
Then the Skype sound began playing on my laptop at the table, right beside Sarah. “Oh look! It’s Angelique,” she grated, answering the call.
The face of 88-year old Angelique appeared. She was already talking. “How’s my favorite neighbor? Thanks for taking my dress to get fixed. I don’t need help with it now!” She saw Sarah. “Oh my, who…”
“My girlfriend, Sarah,” I said, joining her.
“Oh! What a cute couple. You kids go make babies.” She hung up.
How do old people get away with saying things like that?
After makeup sex on the couch, we rested in the fresh light of a sunrise. I realized I’d held back because I’d wondered if she might one day kill me in a sudden rage. I knew now she loved me too much to do that. I’d thought too much about her super-power, and not enough that she’s a super-woman.
I told her I loved her.
Lucky for me. She can love an idiot.
Written for the Yeah Write Summer Series. This week’s prompt was, “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” Look for many fine stories right here: http://yeahwrite.me/summer-series-172-verbs/