Popcorn
Come on, open your eyes, let me see... ahh, that doesn't look so bad, now does it? Hmm? You took a bit of a fall, but everything seems to be in working order.
At this point you're probably wondering why you're tied to the chair. Bound and gagged, actually. Well, frankly, I had held out some small hope you'd understand when you saw how much trouble I've gone to, but then you're pretty oblivious aren't you?
I'll spell it out. You're tied to that chair because I don't love you anymore. I'm leaving you, as a matter of fact.
Don't give me that look. I tried, I really did. I put everything I had into this relationship, heart and soul. Remember how happy we were? Remember the night we met, at the late show of some godawful art film? Those were the fucking days, let me tell you. You always had the most beautiful eyes. We got along right from the start, didn't we? Shared a bag of hot popcorn and a bad, subtitled foreign film. The next week, we did the same. It was wonderful.
We got serious, as they say, and things were still fucking wonderful, weren't they? Hmm? Here, let me get that cut on your eyebrow....
Where was I? Oh. Right. We were seriously dating. Things couldn't be better. We moved in together, discussed where we wanted to be in ten years. Neither of us wanted kids. We both agreed. Wanted to live our own lives, no rugrats, no pitter-patter of little feet. No disagreement there, no sir.
You hear me, WE BOTH AGREED: NO KIDS!
Ah, but then, it was never my decision, was it? Not really. You pretended I had a say, but of course that's a lie. Did you plan it this way from the very beginning? I wonder. Or were you so weak and addled that when the little stick turned pink that you just couldn't do the right thing? The honorable thing?
“We're having a baby!” you said. You told everyone. I told you that's not what we agreed; you sulked. You screamed. You threatened to take me to court, to ruin me. You'd win, too, isn't that the funny thing? You're the liar, the ungrateful slut, but you'd win, oh yes. Because that thing in your gut has more rights than I do.
It wasn't fair. It isn't fair.
So I moved to the couch, and the torture began. The phone calls, night and day, congratulating you, as if you'd moved heaven and earth, healed the sick and the lame, multiplied the loaves and fishes, instead of lying on your back while my no-good spunk got past a layer of latex and ruined my life.
You got flowers and candy and stuffed animals and I got the shaft and it just couldn't get better for you, could it? Weeks went by and you just got fatter and happier. That wasn't enough though; I had to be happy too. God forbid if I wasn't happy. God forbid if I wanted a life, if I didn't want to spend the next two decades doing hard time raising your fucking kid. I wish you'd cheated on me. I wish it was anyone else's spunk that swelled you up like a rotten pumpkin.
Then came the day you asked, no, demanded that I do something 'for the baby'. Make a nursery you said. We have room you said; we have this nice little townhouse. All we'd have to give up was the silly little home theatre. The theatre I made for you as a wedding gift. The place we went to watch movies, eat our own hot buttery popcorn, any time we liked. Just the two of us. JUST THE FUCKING TWO OF US.
Well, of course you got your way. How do you like it? I went with a sky blue theme, pink fluffy clouds. It works for a boy or a girl. The crib's over there where the couch used to be, and the concession stand I made out of kitchen counters is a changing station. You like it? Aww, good. That's good.
You might notice all the wires and little metal boxes on the wall, leading to those hollow metal pipes. See those? That's the best part, my little spark of genius. I wanted to make sure we could keep one happy memory from this room. I wanted to remember the smell of hot popcorn.
It took some work, the rewiring I mean. That many magnetrons sucks a lot of current. The circuit breaker never would have handled it.
Confused? Oh, right. You're not the technical type. Well, dear, the magnetron is what makes a microwave oven work. These walls are lined with thirty of them, and those metal tubes are called waveguides. They focus the microwaves on a given spot. If I've done my work properly, they focus right here, right at this chair. About waist high.
Ahh, now you get it. You know how a microwave works, don't you? It heats from the inside. Excites the water. The reason a popcorn kernel, er, pops, is that it has a big, fluid filled sac, right in the middle.
Remind you of anything?
Now you just sit there and relax. I'm going to pop out, get some salt and butter from the kitchen. Should be back in a couple of minutes, tops.
After all, nothing's worse than burnt popcorn, is it?
Word Count: 911
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