Backseat Writer

It was another day to him at least. He woke up and drank his coffee and left work. She woke up, found nothing, cleaned up his mess and went to work. Just another day with the Haages.  At work he administrated and sat there looking important sipping his coffee every once in a while . She rubbed her head as the kids whirled around her in a frenzy. No flowers, no cards, no fanciful greetings. Another day. Her mind was exploding as she drove home, the car horns around her were not helping the case. She turned down her radio as she saw the sun set glinting on top of the metallic cars that lay in front of her. When she walked in she could smell the food. She could smell her hidden candles. But when she walked into the kitchen, nothing. The dining room, nothing. Outside, nothing, but her husband holding the rusty shed keys. “We’re going to go clean out the shed,” he said in his most monotone voice. Her heels hurt, her back ached, and her headache was getting worse. She took off her shoes and walked reluctantly to the shed. The shed had transformed. There were pillows on the floor, food on the coffee table, and a screen put up with an eight millimeter film of their wedding being run. “Happy Anniversary dear” Just a normal day.