The pull tab…

It was just a bit of sliver, a glint that caught her eye. Slightly off to the left, 
caught in her peripheral vision, her head followed its flash. Now in her line of sight she shook her head at the “typical” occurrence. There it lay, the pull tab from a beer can, sans the can.

It was a reminder-as her weary eyes close for a pausing blink-of the current state of  her life with him. How many had she picked up through the years? The layer of symbolism thickened each time she bent over to pinch, to grasp…a familiar movement of her fingers.

This tiny piece of metal, held in her hand represents his attitude towards their life together. Basic lack of care! No concern! Neglect evident,  dropping little pieces of  “don’t give a shit” wherever (usually on the floor)!

She took a long sip of her Tanqueray and tonic,  letting the bitterness slide down her thoart and into the acid of her stomach, mingling, churning, waiting for it to be eroded. There’s no reason to hold on to it. It wouldn’t change the situation. 

No good to point out the pull tab he didn’t throw away, the rolling of his eyes, if she asked him to pick it up, would further exasperate his already contemptuous attitude.  Not to mention it would cause more stress to her to confront him. Only making herself ill if she were to hold on to the stress, and any bitterness or resentment. Yet, as she took another sip, she thought to herself;  it is getting harder and harder to swallow…