Fact #1: My wife left a butcher knife in my scapula.

Fact #2: My wife left.

Fact #3: My wife left me the butcher knife.

Fact #4: When you print your wedding invitation on a photo, you're saying to your guests, "Take this picture of us and give it back to us in a slightly different form."


Facts #1-4: The Johnsons simply framed our wedding invitation and gave the picture to us as a wedding gift. The Jamesons superimposed our wedding invitation on a deck of cards and gave the pack to us as a wedding gift. The Joneses lacquered our wedding invitation onto the cover of an antique book and gave the relic to us as a wedding gift. The Jacksons made a jigsaw puzzle of our wedding invitation and gave the game to us as a wedding gift. The Johnstons sewed our wedding invitation into a quilt and gave the blanket to us as a wedding gift. The Jensons painted our wedding invitation into the bottom of two cereal bowls and gave the dishes to us as a wedding gift. "I feel paralyzed." That's what my wife said. She said our marriage was a revolving door with no opening: "Our marriage is a revolving door… with no opening." She said she was leaving. She said she was leaving me everything, even the one wedding gift that didn't have our faces on it: "I'm leaving. This has been the worst two weeks of my life. I'm not taking anything. Not even the butcher knife." She tossed the butcher knife in the air before she walked out. She shut the door before the knife landed on the floor. She wanted the symphony of knife-slapping-floor and door-slamming-wife to be her finale. But the knife made no sound when it met the floor—the linoleum floor, the rubber-handled knife. The knife bounced towards my torso. I ducked and caught it in the scapula. I was wearing a T-shirt with our wedding invitation ironed into the back of it, a gift from the Jenkins.