Assessing the Apocalypse #6
Throwing a Rock at My Wife’s Head
The break of day saw us shuffling down to the lower deck of the illustrious Disney Wish, the mouse’s latest cruise liner, for our family’s booked excursion to a “private” beach area where lunch would be provided.
Our passenger boat sped off from the dock down a waterway flanked by the most brutal visual disparity in wealth I’ve ever laid eyes on. Looking starboard revealed dozens of millionaire compounds worth more than your dreams with the people who actually call the Bahamas home living in noticeably more humble arrangements on the port side. This violent confrontation of colonialism and economic inequality aside, the sun was shining, the boat’s radio was blasting…Journey(???), and a day of beach fun was less than a nautical mile away.Longtime readers or those who exist within earshot of my voice already know that I do not care for cruises. Not only was this a cruise, this was that cruise, my final cruise.
Once we got settled in the water, I’ll admit that I started to have a decent time. My son’s smile is a beam of light that can penetrate the darkest of clouds and it was on full display today. The water was a crisp blue, the sun was keeping a fair distance, and most importantly, the sands ‘neath the ocean floor produced many an aquatic curio to study. Namely, I was after flat rocks or hefty shells that I could launch across the surface.
I could never skip stones as a kid but once I perfected the craft in my early 20’s, I took every opportunity I could to make up for lost time. This occasion was no different and let me tell you I was on fire. Not only were my eager gams digging up some of the flattest rocks and heftiest shells in recent memory, I was hitting career high streaks. I’m talking 3–4 skips with a single stone; rookie numbers to some but it’s huge deal for me. This said, I wasn’t out there firing oceanic ephemera willy-nilly. I might be skipping rocks, but I’m also a responsible adult. This meant I took good care to ensure that there was no one in my line of fire before making another grab at the brass ring that is the ever elusive 5-skip-throw. But much like poor Icarus, I too flew (threw) too close to the sun.
After a couple close calls with distant strangers surfacing near the impact zone, I quietly decided to call it a day. Minutes later, my wonderful, supportive, beautiful, and tolerant wife handed me a few skipping candidates she herself came across. Though I had hung up my “gloves”, the gesture was so kind, and these specimens so skippable; I couldn’t resist.
The first rock did alright, but the consequences of the second are what bring us here today. My hand; My normal, average-sized, and ostensibly functional hand did not let go of it’s cargo in time. Indeed my arm had fully crossed the rock-throw event horizon by the time my fist released the projectile right into my wife’s face. She was standing right in front of me.
Immediately blood. Lots of blood. Small rock, small cut; big blood. I couldn’t feel my existence but all the same my mother and I escorted her to our beach chairs and began to plug the newly burst gash on her forehead with the resort towels. I apologize continuously and profusely. What in god’s name have I done? What can I even do? This isn’t an insult or an unkind word, you threw a rock at her head dude.
It becomes clear I’m causing more stress than I’m alleviating so I take a walk to the convenience store located on the premises to purchase what first-aid items they have, which is thankfully sufficient. I walk back and she’s fine. She’s annoyed at me but we’re okay. It was an accident after all.
Still, I can’t help but feel that my piss poor attitude surrounding our entire existence in that place, on the boat, is what brought all of this on in some way. Whatever light had broken through was covered up yet again as it was now lunch time and the beachside smiles deteriorated into toddler-brand hangry. I also can’t stop catastrophizing about what damage my stupidity might have brought on that we’re not aware of; does she have a concussion? Is there undetectable internal bleeding that will cause her to die next to me in our cabin that night? What would I do if I woke up having retroactively murdered the love of my life because I wanted to skip stones to deal with the fact that I was on a very nice vacation I wanted no part in. What did she or my son do to deserve this? Why couldn’t I have thrown a rock at my own massive fucking head? What the fuck is wrong with me?
She doesn’t have a concussion, she wakes up the next morning, we’re still trapped on a luxury cruise for another 4 days.
I give Throwing a Rock at my Wife’s Head 1 Lifetime of Regret out of 5.
Read the last review here!