The Eyes Of Men: A Collection Of Short Stories

The Suitcase

Phillip Dimmle sat on the edge of his neatly made bed, still in his boxer undershorts, but with his finest button-down dress shirt on, with his red and blue stripped business tie, also wearing his black socks pulled up to his ankles in sharp contrast to the pasty white legs speckled with dark little hairs, as he watched a baseball game playing on the television perched above the dresser in his bedroom.

Phil was a slightly shorter than average man, with a less then average job, and a less then average house, and in it, he lived a less then remarkable life with his wife of thirty-four years, Marjorie.

Marjorie's voice, like the grinding of a jammed garbage disposal, could be heard distinctly over the sound of her hair-blow-dryer through the closed bathroom door, yammering on about God knows what-usually gossip or nagging-but tonight Phil detected a mixture of both.

The mysterious purpose of this evening's coming dinner had her worked into an anxious fit. She was positively livid over the not knowing of it. "I just don't understand what the point of all this secrecy is." Marjorie complained, " Why couldn't she just tell us what this big surprise is over the phone?"

Phil missed the last thing that she had said as a double header played out on the television. "Phil... Are you even listening to me?" She said, poking her partially made-up face out the bathroom door like a half-baked loaf of bread that needed to be cooked a bit longer.

"Phil!"

"What... Oh yeah yeah, secrets don't do anybody any good."

"Like you've heard a damned word I've been saying, and why aren't you dressed yet? Turn off that damned baseball and get moving. We're going to be late."

Phil was hoping to watch the next batter in the lineup as he approached the plate, but Marjorie starred fire at him until he complied with her demands, so he rose to his feet sluggishly in protest and turned the knob off. At which point, she returned her ungodly face to the restroom to finish applying the layers of make-ups to hide the damages of age and time.

As Phil pulled his slacks on he bitched to himself underneath his breath something about how it only takes him five minutes to get ready but it takes her an hour, and that's the real reason why they're always late, but never speaking loudly enough for her to hear it of course.

He glanced over at the closet door, which contained his carry-on suitcase. Over the years, it had become a symbol of his fantasies about leaving her, only being able to carry enough of his possessions for travel, but that would be all that he needed.

He could sleep in a van like a vagabond, and park out in the wilderness somewhere to live off the land like a real man's man, testing his survival instincts. He never really needed any of these comforts he thought; they were all for her, everything he did and gave of himself over the years, for her. But it was never enough, not by a long shot.

She wouldn't ruin tonight though-tonight was his daughter's night to break her big news. It was a secret that he alone had been privy too; a fact that pleased him immensely-knowing something before Marjorie. It was his daughter, Jenny's boyfriend, Eric, who had called him personally to ask his permission to marry her; a true sign of respect.

Also, inside his coat pocket, Phil had concealed a little surprise of his own. Just a small, something personal for him to add, and he was not going to let Marjorie's nagging ruin it-not tonight. He patted the jacket against his chest to feel the shape of the object inside and he smiled.

"Well... what are you standing around like an oaf for?-let's get a move on." Marjorie said as she ushered him from the bedroom, goading him along all the way through their house and out the door into their car.