He left a trail of filth all across the house.
I forgot to make his lunch.
He said I was being overtly emotional.
I turned to ice.
He created a scene in front my friends.
I keyed his car – one hormonal spool of venom from bumper to bumper.
He grew a mood and threw a punch.
I cut out his shirt sleeves – all of them.
He attacked. I retaliated.
I attacked. He retaliated.
We matched each other step for ugly step. When he inched ahead, I pulled out my claws. When I nudged to the lead, he jerked his way back to even. It was intense. It was exhausting. But we were so focused on going for the jugular, we lost score. And in the sudden silence that spooled forth, we sat numb and confused. What comes next, we wondered; it was our first civil conversation. It felt alien, uncomfortable. Like a dental procedure.
Before the evening ended, we figured there was only one way to get back on track – we had to start afresh. The ticker went back to 0-0.