Another hypo, again not on a Monday. Apparently I am not Solomon Grundy. The tale is based on actual events, incidentally, though the identifying details have been changed on account of me wanting to change the identifying details.
Today’s story is about Amy and Rick, whose names have no special significance. They’re in their 30s and married in all but name: that is, monogamous, cohabiting, and raising a child together. Both work: Rick is a surgical resident, Amy a counselor at a group home for the mentally ill.
Amy’s job is a source of tension. Rick is something of a worrier, you see; he frets that the residents of the group home, being by definition somewhat unstable, may one day get involved in something violent that may harm Amy. So while he doesn’t object to her working–not even her working such long hours–he wishes she would do it in a different environment. Amy things Rick’s concerns are overblown. She’s been a counselor at the home for years (longer than she’s known Rick) and nothing dangerous or untoward has ever happened.
Until two weeks ago, that is. That was when one of the group home residents, for reasons I see no reason to contrive, went batshit. The resident trashed her own room, destroyed two televisions, broke windows, even ripped the door off a refrigerator. Nobody was hurt, but it was a near thing for Amy, for during the meltdown the resident threw a small, hard, heavy object directly at her head, missing narrowly. The police were called, and the resident was taken to a more … stringent facility. (None of those details are fictional, incidentally.)
Amy did not tell Rick about any of this. In her judgment it was an anomaly unlikely to recur, and telling him could only serve to feed his fears. But he found out anyway. Yesterday he decided to surprise her at work with flowers and candy, and one of the other counselors, impressed by his no-particular-occasion gifting, chatted with him; seeking to praise Amy’s general comptence, told him about the meltdown.
Rick was pissed. When he and Amy were alone, he asked her why she had kept this story from him, as they generally tell one another about their days. She told him that she didn’t want to distress him, that the violence was anomalous, and that it wasn’t important overall. He replied that she was being inconsistent, for if the meltdown truly was a rare event, it was important. He still wishes she’d find another position, but that isn’t what vexes him; what vexes him is her keeping such an incident from him.
This remark pisses Amy off. “I’m a grown damn woman,” she says. “You don’t get to control me. I don’t have to tell you every little thing that happens to me, and you don’t get to tell me where to work.”
“I’m not trying to control you,” Rick replies. “But we share a home and a bed; we’re raising a son; we’re building a life together. This is something I had a right to know about.”
Whom would you say is right here?