I watched Dr. Phil yesterday. Everything he said was so right. So true. I was humbled in his presence. I took green beans out of the fridge and spooned them into his pixilated mouth. I saw him flinch a little before saying, “You’ve got to learn that marriage isn’t some roller-skating party. It takes work.” I knew he felt my offering. I took macaroni and cheese out of the fridge and stuck them onto the TV around his hair. He was getting lighter, I could feel it. Dr. Phil looked a little panicked. He wasn’t ready for his apotheosis. I touched his wrist. I said, “Phil. Phil.” He looked at me. He was hurt. I said,
“Phil.” I lowered my eyelids. I leaned against the TV. His shirt was warm. I touched the space in between his eyebrows. I noticed he probably hadn’t shaved that morning. Phil said, “We are ready.” I said, “Yes. You got us here.” The TV turned off and I lay down on the carpet. There was a hum- ming and it was new. It was the sound of a bitter savior.