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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “a Finch in the Window” Down in the Dirt, v150 (the October 2017 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

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Bee Happy Honey

Lisa Gray

    She could have killed him yesterday.
    Now it was today and she still felt she could.
    “I don’t feel well,” he said. “It was that birthday meal out in that crap restaurant you picked!”
    It was a lovely restaurant. Her favourite restaurant. Not that she’d had any food there. Paul had seen to that. He’d emptied her plate bit by bit, piling his already overflowing plate with a food capped summit. She’d lost her appetite from the moment they’d sat down. But then what was different? Wasn’t it always that way with Paul? She looked at her bony wrist that had toyed with the food on the plate. She’d lost a lot of weight since she’d met Paul. While Paul had gained.
    She looked at him sitting up on the litter-strewn bed in his flannel pyjamas. It was midnight. Paul usually never surfaced before two in the afternoon. It had been that way since he’d lost his job two years ago. Was it really that long? Not that he’d tried to get a job in the last five years. Why would he when his mother kept handing him pocket money while she paid the rent on the apartment and all the utility bills?
    “Make me a meal,” he moaned.
    “I don’t think you should eat something if you’re not feeling well,” she said.
    “Just damn well make me what I ask!”
    She took the last contents of the freezer out. Burgers. It would have to be burgers. There was nothing else. She laid them on the work surface, opened the cupboard above and removed the only tin. Beans.
    “It’ll have to be burger and beans,” she said.
    “For God’s sake, why can’t I have something else? That’s all we ever have.”
    If you would get a damn job then we might have something else, she thought. But she said nothing. The complaining would come on social media.
    Why am I so weak? she thought. Why can’t I tell him what I can tell thousands of people online? But she already knew the answer to that. Fear. Fear of him leaving. Fear of being alone.
    But wouldn’t being alone be better than this? she thought.
    She opened the can of beans. She wondered if there was any bacteria present. Perhaps some clostridium bacteria that cause botulism to grow lurked in the can. She pictured Paul passing some over his lips, becoming weak and dying from respiratory paralysis.
    I’m sick, she thought. But sick of what? Sick of not being happy?
    If only Paul was like that young man who had served them in the restaurant.
    Welcoming. Positive. Cheerful.
    He had cheered her up as soon as they had sat down. And she’d needed cheering up. It was her birthday. She should have been enjoying their shopping trip to the mall.
    But Paul hadn’t even mentioned her birthday. He’d been too intent on shopping for himself. Every time she’d mentioned her birthday and asked what he was going to buy her, he’d changed the subject and dashed into the nearest men’s clothing store.
    And when she’d mentioned going for a birthday lunch he’d said, “For god’s sake, stop going on about your birthday!”
    The restaurant hadn’t been Paul’s pick in the first place. Paul couldn’t take that. He was a control freak. It was his way or no other. So by the time they sat down in the booth, he was in a foul mood.
    “Welcome, folk! You having a good day? What can I get you?”
    Karen thought he must be about thirty with the sunny face of a six year old.
    A happy man, she thought. I could do with a happy man.
    She pictured him with five or six doting sisters and a loving mom.
    They’d ordered. Karen quickly, Paul, indecisive, even when the young man had come back to take their order.
    The food had looked delicious when it arrived and Karen picked up her fork.
    Then Paul had started, like he usually did.
    He looked at Karen’s plate.
    “I wish I hadn’t ordered this,” he said. “Yours looks better. And it’s bigger.”
    Karen sighed.
    He always did this. She’d never yet eaten a whole meal in Paul’s company.
    “Do you want to taste some of mine?” she said.
    Paul lunged across the table, removed most of the food on Karen’s plate and piled it on top of his. He started stuffing it into his mouth.
    “How much is all this going to come to?” he said when he’d consumed the entire plateful.
    Karen picked up the menu, scanned it quickly then told him.
    “We can’t afford to do this again!” he said.
    We? thought Karen. I’m paying for it!
    “It’s just for my birthday,” she said lamely.
    “Your birthday, your birthday! I’m sick of hearing about your birthday!”
    Karen felt a tear forcing itself up to her eye.
    She should have recognised the warning sign. She should have stopped. But she had to know. She had to know what Paul had got her for her birthday. She knew he couldn’t afford much but she reckoned he’d got her a small surprise from one of the stores he’d gone in by himself. He couldn’t be all bad.
    “What did you get me in the store?” she said.
    “Get you?” he said.
    “For a present,” she said.
    She hesitated to mention the word birthday again.
    “You’re always wanting something!” he said. “Do you think I’ve got money to waste on you?”
    Karen couldn’t control her feelings. Tears started to run down her face.
    “Dessert, anyone?” said a cheerful voice.
    The young man stared at Karen with a concerned look on his face..
    “I recommend the honey cake. Honey from our very own bees richly fed on rhododendrons, azaleas and oleander. Not your ordinary common flowers.”
    Karen nodded negatively, trying to avert the young man seeing her tears.
    “Not for me,” she said.
    “I’ll have that,” said Paul.
    A large slice was deposited deftly in front of Paul.
    The young man turned to Karen.
    “Be happy, honey,” he’d said.
    She should have thanked him. Thanked him for cheering her up. Maybe there was still time. The restaurant stayed open until the early hours. She grabbed her coat.
    “Where are you going?” Paul said.
    “To be happy for five minutes,” she said, somewhat surprising herself.
    Tomorrow I’m going, she thought. I’m going to leave Paul. There were better people out there. People who cared. Like the young man.
    He wasn’t there when she got there. And neither was Paul when she got home.
    He’d died before she’d got back.
    “Six hours,” the detective said. “For the poison to take effect. He plans them well. The honey from his bees that are fed on rhododendrons, azaleas and oleander is poisonous. Then he makes the cake. We’ve been tracking him for some time. But each time he sets his hives up in a new location and we’re just too late. His mother was poisoned the same way when he was a child by her no-good boyfriend. Now he takes random jobs in restaurants and targets what he thinks are no-good men. In a way you’ve got to feel sorry for the guy. He thinks he’s helping people.”
    Karen’s always nice to people now. And cheerful. Though it’s taken her some time. After all, you never really know what’s gone on in people’s background. She saw Paul’s father at the funeral and realised why Paul had been the way he was. She guessed she could have helped Paul more, had she known. And, if she couldn’t have helped, because he was beyond her help, then she could have been stronger and walked away so someone else could help him.
    They never caught the young man. Karen just hopes someone will help him so he stops killing. Like he helped her. In a way. Every day she thinks of what he said and tries to follow it. With the same sunny smile of a six year old.
    Like she knew he must have been once.
    So every time things are getting you down, be understanding, be strong, but, most of all, remember that wounded young man’s words.
    “Be happy, honey.”

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