Diverging Points of View

I don’t understand what my woman wants. I should clarify, Cassie isn’t my woman in a possessive sense, but rather she is my companion. You need to understand that Cassie and I are more than roommates but less than boyfriend and girlfriend. I don’t know what she wants from our relationship, but as we stand here at home our lives intertwine in complex ways beyond my comprehension despite much thinking on my part dedicated to untwisting our mutual Gordian knot. When we started living together I had lofty goals, dreams of a spectacular career as an urban planner, the Robert Moses of the 27th century, but now my life is consumed by the need to make Cassie happy. I don’t know how to go about this though.

The first thing I noticed occur with Cassie around is our front door is locked at all times. This annoys me when I unlock the door only to find Cassie on the couch watching my television, a situation where the decision to leave the door unlocked is a perfectly cromulent one. Maddening as the locked door was I kept my mouth shut until the day I returned home to find Cassie sitting in the kitchen in a stupor, her blue eyes shifting in suspicion towards my noisy entry before relaxing at my sight. I asked, “What’s got you spooked?”

She said, “Nothing.”

I said, “Don’t give me that bunk; something happened, so spill it.”

Cassie gave me a tare that reached right to the base of my spine and gave it a good shake. A red aura matching her hair told me to tread with care lest I provoke the beast within. She said, “We had a visitor today, a stranger. He was a rather short man.”

I said, “And what else? Did he do something?”

Cassie rolled her eyes away from me and muttered, “I knew you wouldn’t understand; you’re useless.”

I said, “Help me understand then, give me the story from the beginning.”

We returned to earlier in the day when Cassie went about daily chores, cleaning the apartment in her liberal time off from working as “sanitary engineer” for an enterprising couple living on Manhattan’s East Side. A knock on our door shook Cassie from her work, and a second rap summoned her to the peep hole. In the hall stood the alleged Short Man wearing a dangerous gray polo with dastardly blue jeans while carrying his clipboard of doom. I asked Cassie what she did when presented by the awful sight of the stranger at the door.

She said, “I didn’t answer the man, and he went away.”

I asked Cassie if the mystery man said anything, and she told me he did, she said, “The man called out once saying he was with the Census Bureau. I didn’t know what to make of it.”

I said, “You could have made that he was a Census taker.”

Cassie grew sharp, “He could’ve been lying.”

I said, “And he could’ve been a stalker, just like the UPS man. Remember him, the guy in brown with a package underarm containing who knows what chasing you down the deserted street into our building and up the stairs right to our very door?”

Cassie interrupted, “James . . .”

I continued in spite, “The underhanded villain who delivered his package, quite possibly a bomb. But no, it was a book, a how-to on job searching that you ordered for me. I guess you were right, that man delivered only evil to our good home.”

Cassie refused to dignify me with a response, and I realized I went too far this time. A good tip-off was the temperature in the room which I swear to this day dropped a good twenty degrees. Here now my true fears manifest, Cassie Grozny staring me down into oblivion. This is the time to backpedal away from the precipice and head down more constructive paths, so I said, “Cassie I’m sorry. I don’t understand; you’re absolutely right. The world is a dangerous place sometimes and I downplay it. I just don’t want you to worry so much; it’s not healthy for either of us. I’ll be here next time anybody comes around our way.”

Two blue eyes still bore down on me, extracting more concessions lest I face the terrible wrath of a woman scorned. I said, “Hey look, I can see I’m being useless right now, so here I’ll cook and clean the dishes for the week. Okay?”

Cassie said, “Two weeks.”

I bit my tongue and said through gritted teeth, “Fine two weeks.”

Cassie nodded once and added, “Good, but don’t think you’re off the hook. You haven’t learned your lesson quite yet, but I show you. Don’t worry about it though; it’s bad for your health.”

Thus I was defeated in pitched battle. Cassie left me to stew alone in my loss, a prisoner of war with no recourse, what a rout. I’m young and stupid that’s for sure, but on the bright side there’s a lesson here for us all, namely the next time I’m in trouble with the Law here I need to sympathize, sympathize and redirect here ire towards a common enemy. There is still hope for me, as this failure is worth ten thousand victories in the wealth of knowledge gained. I only need to apply my learning to achieve my goal in life to make Cassie happy, that and buy a good present.