Listen. Close your eyes and listen. Clear your mind. That’s right. Breathe in. Breathe out, and just listen … Ahh, you’re getting there … there, to the place where you’ll find me. Soon, you’ll be able to hear my voice, distinguish my words.

I dwell in the very core of you. Yes, you. You’ve been avoiding me all your life. I’m the reason your eyes shift away from your reflection in the mirror. I’m the why behind the, “How could I have done that?” and the little voice that adds, “Why didn’t I do it sooner?”

I don’t come out often. You don’t let me. But every now and then you need me. You crack the door; I step out, and then, as the old folks say, a bit of hell breaks loose.

I’ve been watching and waiting for a long, long time. I always knew it would come to this, to a time when you would not only need me, but have to acknowledge my help. I’ve been an unselfish giver all these years, but that’s going to stop. After this particular operation, it will be fifty-fifty, you and I. We’re partners, you see. Up until now, you weren’t willing to acknowledge me. I could understand that and for the longest time, it didn’t bother me. But now it’s different. I want credit where credit is due.

I know, I know. You’d like to go on pretending that everything is fine. You tell yourself he didn’t mean it when he said he wanted to be rid of you. But darling, he did. He meant it absolutely and now it’s simply a matter of doing unto him before he does unto you.

Shhh. Not another word of doubt. Let’s get on with it, shall we? How about a dash of poison in his soup? A cracked step on the basement staircase? Both methods promise nice clean ends. No muss, no fuss. And that’s the way we like them. After all, that’s one reason (one of the many) why he’s got to go, isn’t it? You just can’t stand cleaning up his mess anymore. After twelve years, eight months, seven weeks and four days, you’ve had enough. It’s time to clean house one last time and this time, clean it to the core.

How about some digitalis in his salad dressing? It’s bitter, but he likes his salad bitter. Says it packs an extra wallop. Well, we’ll give him an extra wallop all right. After dinner, tonight, he’ll never be the same.

Yes, tonight. So soon, you ask. Must it be so soon? Tsk, tsk. There you go again. Those doubts will be the death of you. Don’t lose your nerve. No ifs, ands or buts about it. This is the time to be brave. Carpe diem. Seize the day.

Look, I’m fighting for the both of us here. If you haven’t got the guts to do your share, then pipe down and step aside. Get out my way. That’s the only way I can do your dirty work for you. And doing dirty work is the only reason I’m here.

He’ll be coming through the door in about two hours. We have time to get ready. First, grab that basket. Yes, that one over there. Now, let’s fetch the garden shears. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? The sun is shining; the birds are singing. I’d sing myself if I had the voice for it. It would be lovely to grab a cool drink and relax on the porch, but we have work to do.

First, we’ll gather some foxglove. That’s right. It’s a beautiful plant, isn’t it, with those downy leaves. So deliciously poisonous, you know. They’ll make a lovely herbal addition to the salad. Speaking of which, we’d better make a quick run to the supermarket for that queer bitter lettuce he likes so much. Can’t stand the stuff myself, but that’s unimportant. What matters is that he likes it.

What’s that? No, you shouldn’t try harder to “make it work.” No, you’re not “jumping to conclusions.” I’d say the writing’s been on the wall a pretty long time. You’ve just refused to read it.

What do you mean, if we get caught, you’ll be the one who’ll —

Look, wherever you go, I go. I’m in this with you one hundred percent. So, calm down. And stop thinking. It’s dangerous when you think. Let me be the brains of this operation. I’ve always stepped in when you needed me, haven’t I? I’ve never failed you. Why when Jimmy Brannegan tried to waylay you, didn’t I come up and give him a well-placed kick that sent his voice up a notch? And when your daddy lit into you with that switch, didn’t I make sure it was the last time he ever raised his hands to anybody? Forgot about all that, did you? Just pushed it into a closet in some corner of your mind and closed the door. That’s what you’re planning to do to me when all this is over, isn’t it? Well, think again. I’m stronger than I used to be and growing stronger every day.

Strange, isn’t it? How you’ve always been so weak, yet been able to push me around. I suppose I let you. Yes, that must be it. Well, that’s the way it is between partners. Each has strengths that complement the other’s. I can’t say that about you and him, though. You really don’t need him.

Still tortured by doubts? I can’t understand it. Think about the time you caught him with your best friend. Or about how he took your favorite bikini and cut it into itsy-bitsy little strips. And what about that show he put on in front of your boss? You nearly got fired. All those little incidents – they add up, don’t they?

And now he tells you he’s been seeing a therapist. You didn’t even know he was thinking about it, let alone doing it. You had no idea, although no two people could live in closer proximity than you two. But, as usual, you had your head in the clouds. You’d always thought so much about getting rid of him. It never occurred to you that he was thinking the same about you. But now you know. He intends to wipe you off his blackboard and he wants you to know it. And that’s why you left a crack in the proverbial door. That’s why you turned to your old friend – me.

As much as I love you, it’s hard to look at you. I’ve never seen a person deeper into denial. Don’t be such a wimp. It’s either him or us. That therapist really got him going. All that double-talk about multiple personalities. It was horrible. And he bought it. That fool swallowed the story, hook, line and sinker. To tell you the truth, I thought him less gullible. Imagine, the idea that two souls can share one body, much less three! Hah! Whoever heard of such a thing! It’s true I can’t remember the last time you two had a face to face. But that’s because you’re both so busy.

Of course, the fact is, it is a bit crowded in here. But I think it’s very selfish of him to try to oust you and keep the place for himself. Thank goodness, he doesn’t know about me. He’d be livid if he did. As it is, I’m your secret weapon.

So now we’ve got everything we need, have we? Splendid! Let’s do something special with the table setting this evening. It’ll be his farewell dinner after all. Use grandmother’s china. Put out a nice bottle of Chardonnay. And let’s use that odd Erté stemware. Yes, yes, that’ll do just fine. Mm, hm. Excellent. A setting fit for a king. I couldn’t have done it better myself.

And now, let’s get that salad done. Clean it nice and thorough. He’s very picky about his salad being clean. Funny, isn’t it? That such a slob could be so finicky about something small like that.

Should I help you chop the mushrooms? Dice the carrots? It would go quicker. Hmm. On the other hand, this is really work. A bit more than I’m used to. But it’s worth it, I’d say… And into the big bowl with all of it. Don’t forget to add those lovely foxglove leaves. And mix, mix, mix! Now, for some vinegar and olive oil …

Oh, don’t cry. It’s going to be so much better without him. You’ll see.

Well, if you can’t stop crying, then add a tear or two to the salad. Tears are the bitterest herb of all.

I’m going to take a nap now. All this planning and plotting is draining. You’d realize that if you ever took responsibility for any of it yourself. Wait a minute. Ignore that last comment. It just shows that I’m whipped. I don’t want you to do any thinking. No, no, no. That’s the last thing I want.

Ah. There he is. I feel him coming back. Hmmm. A little snooze would suit me fine just about now. But do remember to wake me. I want to be there … when it’s over.

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