And That’s When I Killed Him
Posted: Thursday, July 14, 2011
by Brianna Popsickle
It was ten p.m. My shift had just ended. I’d worked in heels for four days straight and my feet were killing me. I purchased some groceries and lugged them out to the parking lot where I waited for my husband. He was picking my son up from work then getting me.
The lump on the top of my left foot was swollen the size of a golf ball. Various tests revealed arthritis. I decided to sit on the curb next to the streetlight. An old, warn woman with crazy eyes shuffled by. “You shouldn’t be out here alone at this hour. You need to be careful,” she said waiving her finger at me.
I knew what she meant. I worked every Monday at the uptown location, but had agreed to work a few shifts at the new boutique downtown as well. My husband had reservations. It was located a block from the beach and a block from the methadone clinic. We’d heard stories about the sorts of characters who came out at night.
Just then two young men with hats turned sideways, large hoodies and pants that hung to the ground, walked slowly towards me. I stood up tightening the grip on my purse and breathed a sigh of relief when they kept walking. Don’t judge a book by the cover, I reminded myself. I looked at my watch. Twenty after ten.
Damn, I thought. Where was my husband?
It was starting to get chilly so I dragged my groceries back inside and waited some more. Then I remembered I had the cell phone. (We’re the only couple on earth who share a phone and rarely use it.)
I called home. No answer. I tried my son’s cell. He picked up on the first ring.
“Where are you?” I asked, thinking he and his dad were on their way to get me.
“I’m at home,” he said. “Dad said he waited but you didn’t come out. He just dropped me off and is on his way back to get you.”
“Well, I’ve been waiting here the whole time,” I said. I hung up and dragged my parcels back out to the parking lot.
People came and went while I waited. An old guy with long hair and missing teeth mumbled as he walked by pushing his bicycle loaded with stuff. I pretended not to notice when a young couple started making out in the corner of the parking lot. A guy in his twenties with a bright pink Mohawk, tattoos and many piercings, lit a cigarette a few feet from me.
I called my son again. He answered with, “Where are you?”
“What do you mean, where am I? Where do you think I am? I said getting frustrated. “I’m still in the parking lot waiting for your Dad”
“Well, he’s been home again,” he said. “He thought maybe you got a ride home with someone. He just went back to wait again.”
Then it hit me.
“Which store is he waiting at?” I asked.
“At the uptown store,” he replied.
“Well, I’m at the downtown store. Everyone knows I only work uptown on Mondays!”
Of course, because he didn’t have a cell phone, there was no way to reach him. I wondered how long it would take before he realized I wasn’t there.
Just then a guy walked by me making his way from the store to his car.
“Hey! Feel like making ten bucks? I asked. “Drive to our store uptown, and tell the guy sitting in the empty parking lot, his wife’s downtown!” He looked at me like I was crazy and quickened his pace.
My son, hearing the exchange over the phone said, “Okay mom, take it easy, don’t start talking to random guys in the parking lot.”
“Well, do you have any suggestions? I asked. “You may have to ride your bike over there and tell him he’s in the wrong place.”
To which my son replied, “Mom. I just got home from work, I’m tired.”
I looked down at my swollen foot and bit my lip.
Just then I heard my husband walk in and yell, “She’s not there.” He sounded annoyed.
At the same time my son and I hollered, “You were at the wrong store!”
I heard my husband curse and the door slam behind him.
Meanwhile the cashier came out and said sympathetically, “He’s still not here?”
“He’s on his way,” I said. “And do me a favour. If you hear yelling and screaming coming from the parking lot, don’t call the police. It’ll just be us.”
Two weeks later, my husband was on holidays. It was Monday so he drove me to work at the uptown store for my usual shift.
“Going to stain the deck,” he said as he pulled away.
“But you’ll pick me up at two o’clock,” I reminded him.
“Two o’clock,” he said.
I called home at noon and left a reminder on the machine to pick me up. He’ll remember to get me, I thought, especially after the incident two weeks ago.
My shift ended, I purchased some groceries and waited outside. It was a hot sunny day, 90 degrees.
Twenty minutes later I called him, but there was no answer. I started to walk.
I was wearing my uniform; a long sleeved black blazer, black pants with pantyhose and high heels. I was not a happy camper. Three blocks later, beads of sweat were trickling down my back. I took off my jacket. I had a black camisole underneath and was beyond caring what it looked like. My foot was throbbing and the longer I walked the hotter and more angry I became. I stopped periodically to set down my bags.
I had just stepped onto our porch when I heard the van pull in our driveway and the horn beep. I turned to see my husband looking sheepish.
He noticed my camisole, raised his eyebrows and started to say something, then must have decided it was safer not to.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
I glared at him.
“You didn’t walk home did you?” he asked nervously.
“How do you think I got here,” I blurted back.
“I can’t believe I didn’t run into you at the intersection,” he said.
“Well, did you have your windows down? Cause if you did you probably would have heard me crying,” I lied, wanting him to know how angry I was.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I thought you were working at the other store,” he said, like it was an acceptable excuse.
Then it hit me.
He dropped me off at work that morning. How could he not remember which store I was at?
And that’s when I killed him . . .
This Article has been viewed 995 times. (Not updated in real-time.)
More commentsOh I've been there just not as long and involved. I love the tinge of humor but I'm sure it wasn't funny then. It certainly is a war story that you masterfully told. I love the way you ended it. Fits the crime tee he heWe've probably all been there, waiting at one place while your ride is waiting at another. Frustrating for both parties I suppose. Thanks for reading Heidi!
that is too funny. I have bone spurs on both of my heels and I can so relate.. :)Ouch! Sounds painful Danni. Thanks for reading and commenting and also for joining my fan club. I appreciate it!
i laughed when I read this. Love it love it love it!I'd like to say I laughed looking back on it, but I didn't. Glad though, that you got a laugh! Thanks for reading.
I laughed out loud. 12 of your "peers" will never convict.
Hi Brianna.
Things sure can get mixed up sometimes. But forgetting where he'd dropped you off that morning ... really!
I enjoyed your story ... but not your pain! :)
Hugs,
DianneMy memory is not what it used to be either but that was kind of hard to take. Thanks Dianne.
Well, I'm sure he lived a relatively happy life before his demise.
Maybe the fume from the wood stain melted his brain?
Great story, and I admire your strength!!I'm surprised he didn't come up with the wood stain excuse. Thanks for reading and commenting Ken. Nice to hear from you!
hi bri,
excellent article.
you must have had fun writing it. it was fun reading it.
it might be time to buy one of those cell phones with the credit cards, just for emergencies.
i don't have one, but hope to get one.
sorry fo your loss :)
my best to you,
sueI wouldn't say it was fun to write, but a good way to vent. We are still sharing a cell phone but need to look at changing that. Thanks Susan.
What a great article!Thanks for reading and commenting Taylor, I appreciate it.
Oh Brianna that had me in stitches. Just how can men be so dense. I would have killed too.As I said to someone earlier, my memory isn't what it used to be either, but this was a little ridiculous! We'll see how it goes today. I work 9-2. We've just come back from a week at a cottage, and I think both of our minds are still there. Thanks for reading and commenting Jill.
Very funny article. Husbands can be so forgetful. I know mine can. We are coming up on our 10th anniversary Sept. 1. I was wondering, is Popsickle really your last name?Happy Anniversary to you and your hubby! Do you know, he actually left me stranded once again AFTER I wrote this article. He really is lucky to be here. LOL Thanks for commenting Krista and for joining my fan club, I appreciate it!
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