Andrew and Lacey sat on the couch at his brother’s home in the middle of the same conversation they they had had ten thousand times since they had been married. He was ready to start their family, and she wasn’t. She still had dreams to chase, and she needed to catch them before they added another piece into their family puzzle.
Andrew couldn’t understand. He insisted that her desire to continue her education was about the money, but it wasn’t. It was about being better than what society had always expected out of her. Lacey begged Andrew to understand—that after she finished this next degree, they would discuss the idea again. He always brought up that they had been married for six years, and that there would always be another educational opportunity, another dream for her to go after, and that she would never feel satisfied. At some point, he seemed to give up and looked away from her, glaring at his brother’s wall.
When they arrived home, he went downstairs to their basement. Lacey sat her purse down on the kitchen counter and began to sift through the mail she had just gotten from the mailbox. Andrew came back up the stairs with a can of black spray paint. He walked over to a place on the wall in their kitchen where the previous owners had kept a record of their child’s height for a year and a half, marking every so often how much the child had grown.
Andrew shook the can furiously, and without speaking a word, popped the lid off, and let it fall to the floor. In one fluid motion, he sprayed a streak of black paint across the wall, through many of the dates, markings, and across half of their pantry door. He let off the trigger of the can only long enough to make a similar marl diagonally so that intersected his first line. Lacey watched, at first appalled, then in fear at why her husband was vandalizing their home.
After drawing five long strips across the wall, he turned around to look at her, clearly seeing the hysteric appearance of her eyes. “I won’t look at this anymore. I won’t be constantly reminded of a family living here when all I want is to have one with you.
He dropped the paint can to the floor and walked out the front door. Lacey stood there, staring at the black on her kitchen walls, and a single tear ran down her face.
Andrew couldn’t understand. He insisted that her desire to continue her education was about the money, but it wasn’t. It was about being better than what society had always expected out of her. Lacey begged Andrew to understand—that after she finished this next degree, they would discuss the idea again. He always brought up that they had been married for six years, and that there would always be another educational opportunity, another dream for her to go after, and that she would never feel satisfied. At some point, he seemed to give up and looked away from her, glaring at his brother’s wall.
When they arrived home, he went downstairs to their basement. Lacey sat her purse down on the kitchen counter and began to sift through the mail she had just gotten from the mailbox. Andrew came back up the stairs with a can of black spray paint. He walked over to a place on the wall in their kitchen where the previous owners had kept a record of their child’s height for a year and a half, marking every so often how much the child had grown.
Andrew shook the can furiously, and without speaking a word, popped the lid off, and let it fall to the floor. In one fluid motion, he sprayed a streak of black paint across the wall, through many of the dates, markings, and across half of their pantry door. He let off the trigger of the can only long enough to make a similar marl diagonally so that intersected his first line. Lacey watched, at first appalled, then in fear at why her husband was vandalizing their home.
After drawing five long strips across the wall, he turned around to look at her, clearly seeing the hysteric appearance of her eyes. “I won’t look at this anymore. I won’t be constantly reminded of a family living here when all I want is to have one with you.
He dropped the paint can to the floor and walked out the front door. Lacey stood there, staring at the black on her kitchen walls, and a single tear ran down her face.