Domestic Bliss

By David Halliday

I wait. It feels like my life no longer belongs to me. I wait for Aristotle to go to sleep. I cook dinner. I wait for Frank to come home. We eat. Frank talks about what some kid said in his class today. I listen. For Aristotle to wake up. I smile at Frank and pretend that I am relaxed. That I am interested. That I am in one piece and not imploding. Will Aristotle have another rash? Frank helps to clear the table and then retreats to the living room to read the newspaper. I put the dishes in the dishwasher and listen. I carry the speaker for Aristotle’s monitor around with me into every room. I don’t trust it. Sometimes I can’t hear Aristotle breathing and I rush to his room to check on him. Sometimes he is sitting there looking up at the mobiles hanging from the ceiling. What does he make of them? Frank yells up the stairs to tell me that there is someone on the phone. Aristotle looks at me, smiles. When I turn to leave, he breaks out sobbing. I carry Aristotle downstairs and dump him in Frank’s lap while I talk on the phone. Aristotle needs to be changed. Frank looks pissed. It is my mother on the phone. She was watching the news and they were talking about a new flu that is running through the daycares. I tell her that Aristotle is not in daycare. She sounds relieved. Has Aristotle had a flu shot? He’s too young. Am I sure? No. I’m not sure of anything. Mother wants to see Aristotle tomorrow. A break. My spirits rise. She’s coming over tomorrow for tea. My spirits sink. Off the phone, Frank hands Aristotle back to me. He still needs to be changed. Frank has no time. He’s working on a lesson plan. Aristotle starts crying. I change him. His bum is as red as the Maple Leaf on the flag. I put talcum powder on his bum. Aristotle smiles. Time to sit down in front of the television while Aristotle plays in his pen. I fall asleep for a minute during a sitcom. Aristotle screams. He has thrown something out of his pen and can’t reach it. Frank is going out the door. He’s meeting a client from the travel agency. Aristotle needs to eat. Heat up a bottle. Aristotle finishes dinner and needs to be changed again. I give him his bottle. He falls asleep. As I put him down, he wakes up again. I rock him. He gurgles and laughs and falls asleep. I put him down and climb into bed. Catch up on my reading. I open a book and fall asleep. I wake to find Frank nestling up to me in the bed. I can smell the beer. He wants sex. I wait.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Halliday
• Release date: Aug 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370113880

David Halliday

I have published poems, short stories, plays, art works in reviews and publications across the United States and Canada. I have several published books:murder by Coach House Press. This book is a series of poems and illustrations set up like scenes in a movie, describing the murder, trial, and mob execution of an innocent man. Winner of the 2001 Eppie for poetry.The Black Bird by. The Porcupine’s Quill. This is a book of poems, illustrations and short prose pieces describing the fictional making of the John Huston film, The Maltese Falcon.Making Movies by Press Porcepic. This is a book of long poems, interviews, short fiction pieces about a fictional BBC documentary about a fictional Canadian film maker, Samuel Bremmer and his company of actors and colleagues. It follows his career through the creation of a series of his movies.Church Street is Burning, a book of poems, was a finalist in the 2002 Eppie for poetry.The God of Six Points, published by Double-dragon-ebooks. A man who believes he is a god believes he has murdered one of his subjects.Sleeping Beauty, published by LTD ebooks.com is a murder mystery. A woman lands in a small village where the only escape is to be murdered. Finalist in the 2003 Dream Realm Awards. Winner of the 2004 IP Book Awards.The Hole, published by LTD ebooks is one in a series of cop stories. There are unusual happenings in the quiet suburb of Islington. People have begun to disappear. And they have been disappearing for generations. For the soon to retire Sam Kelly, this is his last case as a detective. All the clues point to a mysterious hole, which appears to have no bottom.In 2007 I was short listed for the C.B.C. Literary Contest in poetry.

Book preview

Domestic Bliss

by David Halliday

Invisible Man Part 4

Published by David Halliday at Smashwords

Copyright 2016 David Halliday

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

1. Home Life

I thought that we had enough money with your retirement. Monique placed Aristotle in his playpen. The child looked up and smiled than gripped the bars of his pen and attempted to pull himself to his feet.

Frank Craven hid behind his newspaper. A scowl crept across his forehead. Before the baby had arrived, the living room had been his private enclave where he came to read, think, and smoke his pipe. In all the years that he and Cecilia had been married, the living room had never lost its meaning. Even when their children came along, it was agreed that Frank needed his private domain. In his second marriage, it appeared that there were no such non-negotiated agreements. The living room was part of his son’s growing empire, invaded by toys, playpens, and diapers.

A child hadn’t been part of the plan. Frank turned his paper slightly as if he was actually reading it.

Aristotle climbed to his feet, smiled triumphantly but then crashed to the floor when he realized that his mother had turned away from him to address his father.

You didn’t want a child?

The newspaper lowered. Frank looked over the ramparts. What have I gotten myself into?

I didn’t plan on a child, dear. It was a financial assessment. Desire had nothing to do with it.

Monique’s voice rose in pitch as she spoke.

So there was no passion in his conception?

The newspaper crumbled like the walls of Jericho into Frank’s lap. Ladies and gentleman, I give you Meryl Streep.

Monique, you’re twisting everything around. We were talking about balance sheets, not bed sheets. Have you been taking those pills the doctor prescribed?

Monique slipped to the floor, sitting with her back against the playpen. Aristotle chuckled as he played with his mother’s mane, spit running from his mouth over her hair. Monique passed the back of her hand over her forehead.

"Ever since Aristotle arrived you’ve used every excuse to get out of the house. It’s as if