Texas Weather

by Guy Cramer

You ask him again if he’s called the councilor whose number you wrote on a small slip of paper, but he’s ripped it in half, folded it, and ripped it again and again until it scatters from his fist like a flurry of snowflakes on your living room floor. You’re only glad you’re not trying to fight midday traffic to take him to the ER again, like the last time when the staff stared at you funny as to why he was crying, screaming, and laughing all at once when they looked at the skin pealed back exposing his knuckles. “Did the wall hit him back?” They asked.

You know why he does it, because it’s either a wall, a window, or someone’s face. Bottle caps hiss, he hands you a cold sweaty one as a peace offering, you know for him drinking drags out the day. The Texas sun outside takes its sweet time going down, fitting, as his mood changes like the weather here. You enjoy the blue sky moment, knowing three more seasons will hit before the day is done.

You know once he leaves the kitchen he’ll sit in his chair and doom scroll, sending you reels where people nearly kill themselves doing risky things. He says at least he’s not that stupid. You take the rest of the six pack, pour them down the sink of dirty plates and bowls, and turn on the disposal, watching leftover peas and raisins scatter as a yeasty whirlpool as foam rises to the top. 

Guy Cramer likes to write when he has the time between raising three kids and thirty chickens in east Texas. His stories have appeared in Vestal Review, Major 7th Mag, Flash Frontier, and elsewhere. He's on Instagram: @guy.cramer