It was then I realized Roy had murdered his first wife and cared
nothing for his son, Little Jimmy.
I strolled with little Jimmy to the New Haven Green and asked if
he wanted a new Mommy.
“N-Not if Daddy kills her!” he replied.
It was then I thought of cigarettes and contrived a plan.
I married Roy and slowly introduced him to cigarettes.
He smoked a carton a day by our first anniversary.
One day, twenty years later, Little Jimmy returned from Yale.
Roy wheezed as I lit his cigarette.
“Trina!” Roy gasped, “You whore!”
“Shut-up,” I snapped. “Here! I’ll break off the filter!”
“Muthuh!” cried Jimmy, “Leave Fathuh alone or I’ll report you to the Surgeon General!”
“You and what lobby?” I sneered.
However, I was nervous and hastily swallowed the lit evidence.
I asked Jimmy what he had learned at Yale that day.
“Schematics,” he replied.
“Liar…” I grinned. “You were cruising the men’s room in the library. I slipped into one of your Father’s jackets and wore his aftershave.
I saw who you did in the stalls vile boy!”
Roy chortled and slid face first into his ashtray.
I held a mirror to his lips and caught the ashes of his last breath…
(C) Rob Goldstein 1986-2017 All Rights Reserved