"Hey Reba. Got a minute?" Brock barged through the front door of Reba's home, a trying habit that he had acquired from years of living right down the street. Reba shifted forward to a sitting position on her worn couch, cradling her head in the palms of her hands. Frustrated, she retorted, "I got years, Brock, but they certainly weren't all made for you."
Unaffected by Reba's customary jab, Brock made his way to the deep seated chair that sat cock-eyed to the couch, falling into it, his usual clumsiness prevalent. He glanced upon Reba, but as he opened his mouth to start talking, an involuntary action snapped his jaw back closed. His eyes were locked on his ex-wife in a magnetic trance.
She'd changed over the past few years. Her hair had grown steadily longer, now levelling at her shoulders, but never lost its luster. She seemed thinner, frailer. I guess that's what age does to people. She was littered with a few more freckles on her forearms and her skin seemed paler. Her eyes drooped some and the laugh lines engraved themselves deeper. Much had changed about her, but Reba remained beautiful. Every aspect of her was absolute perfection; From the tips of her toes to the length of her every hair. Despite the beauty that everyone around her saw, what she assumed was a fact laid stolid on Reba's mind. She was not beautiful; she wasn't beautiful enough for her husband, so he left her.
"What business did you have comin' here, Brock?" He snapped out of his trance, wild-eyed. How long had he been staring at her? Dad blame it, what had he come here for? "I—I-uh—I uhh. I can't remember. I better get goin'." Brock jumped from his chair and stumbled over his feet as he practically ran to the front door. He opened it and slammed it shut behind him, placing his back flat up against the outside of the closed door. He slid down so that his knees were tucked into his chest, thinking back over how the past 5 minutes had gone; regretting how he'd done her wrong 7 years ago. He couldn't help but think about where they'd be now if he hadn't been so naïve.
"Hey Reba, what's new? Oh, nothing Reba…except that you live with and around complete morons." Reba battled with herself, eventually picking herself up, her legs carrying her to the kitchen. She made her way around the cluttered island and sighed at the cleaning task that lay ahead. She flicked on the faucet and began to run the dirty dishes under the warm water.
Outside, Brock pulled himself up and brushed the dirt off of his pant legs, realization of why he came over hitting him. He took a deep breath and twisted the doorknob once again. Reba called out from the kitchen, checking who it was that entered her house. He answered hear and an audible groan could be heard from the kitchen.
As Brock crossed through the doorway and Reba came into view, he joked, "Hey, you should really clean your front porch." Brock received an eye roll so big from her that it ought to have been painful. "Whaddya need now, Brock or is it just that I'm irresistible?" A sly smile crept across Reba's face while the complete opposite happened in Brock. It took all that he had to not to tell her how he really felt, which was the latter of the two. Again, he stumbled over his words, "I—uh no. Sorry. Um—I came to tell you something." "And?" Reba asked, growing impatient. "How do I say this? Um—Barbara Jean and I are getting a divorce. We filed last month and it should be final within a matter of weeks."
Reba's mouth hung agape. There was silence. An anger grew in her eyes.
"You what?" Her voice grew steadily more violent. Brock knew better than to get into this fight. He stayed completely still, waiting for the storm to blow through. "You are divorcing the woman you left me for? The one that you loved more than me? The one that I hated for so long but now have learned to love? You amaze me Brock! What did she do to you? Damn it, Brock! Was she no longer beautiful in your eyes, so you leave her high and dry, just like me?"
Brock had no idea what to say. Reba didn't believe that she was beautiful. The most gorgeous woman he knew didn't feel the same about herself. He wasn't able to look at her. He was so ashamed of himself. He stood there, the blow of the storm hitting him full force. Though the worst of it was over, the rain had just started. A tear, the first of many, hit the floor directly in front of Brock, pooling together with the ones accumulating from Reba.