Every right to be furious
TUESDAY, December 1, 2009 – Glad to be mad. Eamonn exploded at last, and to my great relief. After four weeks of frustration, pent-up emotions, and often hellish silences, he finally vented his anger. The rage had to surface sometime, and this morning it was unleashed in my direction in a salutary avalanche of reproaches.
First he demanded that I get rid of the dog. It was all her fault, he raged. ‘ If Elsa hadn’t dropped her toy…’ That same reasoning had briefly gone through my mind, only to be rejected. I was able to make it clear to him that it wasn’t her fault and that we should focus our rage on the motorcycle cop, and on him alone.
The cop had made the mistake and we have a right to be angry with him. We were lying on the bed and I was holding him tight. I asked him to explain in words how he felt. ‘Tell me exactly what you’re thinking now.’
He said he’d tell me, but he was afraid I’d be angry about his choice of words. I told him not to worry.
‘I’m pissed at the motor guy for the shit mistake he made.’
So am I, I said. So am I. We hugged.
But there was more.
‘And I want the bitch to drag his dick into jail.’
What? The wording was so comical that I couldn’t help laughing. Eamonn as well, but only for a fraction of a second since he was too furious to laugh.
We went on hugging each other. Then, he began lashing about with his fists and hammering the pillow as hard as he could. The pillow went flying across the room. Then he started pounding the mattress, after which another pillow went sailing off in the direction of the window. Then he got up, went downstairs, had a snack and sat down to read his book.