WHY LEAVE ANYTHING
YOU THIEVING BASTARD?
Tammy Lynne spray-painted that question onto a piece of plywood, dragged it to the end of the driveway and leaned it against the mail post for all the world to see (well, at least the folks who screamed by in their cars and trucks along Route 481).
Tammy had returned home from her afternoon shift at the clinic only to discover that nearly the entire contents of the small cabin she shared with her husband Kevin had been removed. He left the bed, her dresser, a few chipped dishes, dented pots and pans, the worn couch, her CD player and all of her music.
The walls were bare. All of the art work that had served as memorabilia from their backpacking trips abroad had vanished. The pieces were the only thing of value that they owned. Well, maybe the snow blower and the tools; they were gone too along with the desktop computer that Kevin’s parents gave them as an anniversary present last year. He had the audacity to even take that with him too. Luckily, she saved all of her important information on thumbnail drives. Including those friggin’ incriminating emails between him and that case manager at the hospital. Did Kevin really think she would be that ignorant not to notice how those two looked at each other at the last hospital fundraiser? He spent most of the night ignoring her. Humiliated,Tammy spent it nursing one too many drinks at the bar and fending off the paws of Kevin’s mentor, Phil Keeley. He was one of those docs with big egos and small brains who was constantly trying to get in every woman’s pants except his wife’s. Tammy was sure the night ended badly because when she woke up the next morning, Kevin was sleeping on the couch.
Good thing he had no clue where she kept her secret stash of Hendrick’s gin. The stuff was expensive and hard to find. But Bobby, the bartender down at the Newtowne Tavern, was able to score some for her last month and didn’t charge her for it. She would probably have to find a way to return the favor someday. And Tammy knew exactly what Bobby liked as payments for his good deeds. Heck, he was a hottie; she might even enjoy paying back that debt.
In fact, it was the Hendrick’s that inspired her work of art. She was two drinks down and working on her third, listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Tuesday’s Gone” when the idea came to her. She found the plywood and paint in the shed. In her drunken stupor and the coming light, she tattooed her anger on a 10×12 sheet of pine.
*An older story that I found hiding on a piece of paper in one of my writer’s notebooks. Inspired by something I observed on a road trip last summer.