Salvatore Difalco

H₂S Blues

One night, a horrible stench awoke Sam from a deep sleep. He glanced over at Claudette and assumed it was her and had a hard time falling back asleep the smell was so bad. He awoke the next day slightly put off, indeed hating Claudette a little. Though she was no more or less flatulent than anyone else, she had never passed wind that smelled so awful. Was it a precursor of things to come? 

On another night, Claudette was awoken by a stench so terrible she thought she might puke. She covered her nose and mouth and glanced at Sam. She felt like punching him in the face. She couldn’t fall back asleep, and was so disgusted she wouldn’t talk to Sam for the next two days. 

Neither came forward to discuss their concerns. Then one night both were awoken by a familiar stench—that one, that horrific stench they had both experienced. 

“Was that you?” Sam asked, his eyes watering. 

“Me?” Claudette exclaimed, pinching her nose. “You thought that was me? I would have left me if that was.” 

After a pause they both burst into laughter. 

“You mean to tell me that it wasn’t you?” Sam said, holding his belly.

“No,” Claudette said, snorting with laughter, “I thought it was you!” 

They both laughed until their abdominal muscles ached. Then they lay there in silence, both looking up at the popcorn ceiling.