Tell me. Has this ever happened to you?
It’s Saturday night and you’re hosting your biannual dinner party. The marinade on you tri-tip is delectable. The smell wafts over the table causing saliva to puddle at the bottom of your guests’ mouths. Thick droplets of drool dribble from the corners of their lips and ooze down their chins, raining onto your plates. The food has been served. Knives scratch against china, chills climb up spines as metal meets porcelain. There are laughs, some hardy, some airy like bubbles. Your nerves tingle, a smile shows your teeth, you look around with pride, gazing at the atmosphere you’ve created. A place where good food settles in stomachs and witticisms whistle. But what is that? Across the table. Over there. Is that a frown? At the foot of the table, your wife sits back straightened with spite. Her arms are folded over her breasts, rising with her heavy sighs. Why is she doing this? She starts clearing the plates before they’re empty. Taking away wine bottles with merlot swishing at the bottom. She wants this to end. She wants to destroy this beautiful meeting of the minds that you made. Your palm closes around the knife in your right hand and you rip at your steak, treating it like the cooked flesh it is. And you have one thought zipping through your head: What is she thinking?
We’re here to help.
I’m Nia Tsuki, and I’m here to introduce you to a life-changing video series. This is Empathy, and we guarantee it will improve your relationships or your money back! Our film collection has changed the way our viewers understand other people. Just hear from one of our many satisfied customers––
“Hi, I’m Dean Hanger, and before Empathy, I was a useless husband. Every time my wife cried, I hadn’t a clue what to do. Should I pat her on the back? Should I step back and give her some space? I was ‘bout as worthless as an expired coupon. I’m a plumber, and when my wife springs a leak, all I can think about is fixing it. But I hadn’t the tools. Then I found Empathy and everything changed. Now when my wife cries, I’m right there to wipe away her tears. With the power of Empathy, I’m able to be the pillar of a man I ought to be. I’ll tell you, it works. I’m not a lying man.”
☽☾ ☽☾ ☽☾
“Mrs. Hanger here. Empathy saved my marriage. My husband is a changed man thanks to those darn videos. To the people at Empathy, Miss Tsuki, from the bottom of my heart, I just want to say ‘thank you.’ Thank heavens for you! God bless!”
Empathy is a six-videocassette journey to happiness. Each video guides you through a visualization to enhance the skills of empathy you already have inside you. But that’s not all––each film set comes with your own personal workbook filled with exercises to guide you through life’s trickiest situations, all for just $59.99. With Empathy, you’ll never have awkward moments at the water cooler, fights with the wife over nothing, or uncomfortable moments with passersby on the street. Empathy takes the stress out of life. Give it a try. Stay tuned for a sample of one of our acclaimed visualizations, narrated by yours truly, Nia Tsuki.
I want you to imagine you’re barefoot in the kitchen. Steam forms around your toes from the sweat of your soles. You walk to the counter. Browning bananas sit next to an opened bag of bread. A knife coated with peanut butter points toward your stomach. On the floor, next to the refrigerator, is the wet, weeping ball of your wife. She’s cowered into herself. You ignore her and reach into the bag of bread, your thumb denting the white center of a slice.
You pull two slices of bread onto the counter. No plate. And you walk over to the other side of the kitchen and pull out the drawer above your wife’s head. It clangs. With your right hand, you pull out a knife. A butter knife with a dull edge. The peanut butter still sits on the counter, aqua blue cap off. You stab the peanut butter. The ball winces. The scoop of peanut butter spreads thinly across the bread. Too much will suck out all the moisture from your mouth. You like your mouth brimming with spit. You push the dirty knife to the floor. You want it out of your sight. You want it to cower on the floor.
The jam is in the refrigerator, and you have half a mind to unravel your wife and stuff her hand in the cold to get it for you. Your knuckles crack as you clench thinking of roughly guiding her knifed hand over your sandwich. Ignoring your fantasy, you fetch the jam yourself. You wish your footsteps made a louder thunk as you approach her yet again. The tears have stopped, you think––at least the light doesn’t reflect in the wet of her face. You step back to your sandwich, your toes sinking into the stick of the peanut butter knife. An obscenity echoes from the walls. You grab the filthy knife from the floor and slam it down once again. This time it bounces up and hits the wood of the counter. Without looking, you know the tears are once again flowing. You slather the bread with raspberry and press the slices together.
Your chewing is slobbery and gummy. A piece of your sandwich lodges itself at the roof of your mouth, you press your tongue against it, forcing it to form a retainer against your palate. You swallow. You swallow wrong. And cough. Eyes watering. Tears leaving your eyes.
“Are you okay?” she says through a sniffle.
“Shut up!” you return.
You will the chunk of bread to unclog your throat. “Get up,” you bark. “Stand up.”
She sinks lower to the ground. Her wrists feel malleable as you grab them. If you squeeze hard enough, you can indent your fingerprint into the bone. You set her spine straight. Tug her chin away from her chest.
And you walk away to the wall where a magnetic strip clings to the metal of your knives. The sharp ones. A bread knife has two sharp points, like antlers, at the tip. You think that if you twist it, it’ll carve a perfect circle. But you don’t choose that one. You go for the chef’s knife. A knife begging for blood spilt.
She’s shaking as you walk to her. She can’t keep still. It’s as if she’s trying to bother you. Trying to call attention to herself. “Look at me,” she vibrates. But you won’t be bothered. You take the knife and place it calmly at the center of her throat.
Stop.
Now you’re angry. I understand that. Furious even. Ready to punish. But let’s think about her for a second. How is she feeling? Now I want you to back up and feel what she’s feeling. Empathize. Pretend you’re her.
You’re huddled on the kitchen floor, knees to your chest. How is your breathing? Even? Shallow? Deep and fragmented. That’s right. Let’s continue. Let’s feel a hand wrapped around your wrist, ready to snap it at a moment’s notice. Your ears are straining, ready to hear that crunch. You don’t. Your body is adjusted. Treated as if it was not your own.
How do you feel? Scared? That’s the easy answer. Dig. Dig deeper. The knife comes to your throat. The steel is cold and the blade feels sharp, piercing that first layer of skin. You’re aware of your pulse now. It’s beating against the metal. Bump. Bump. Bump. What are you thinking?
Now take that knife down. Don’t open her esophagus. Don’t split open the tube guiding her spit to her stomach. Put the knife to your side. And just stab her. Stab her. Stab her right below the breast. What does she feel? Does she feel her rib crack first from the tip of your knife? Does she feel her flesh split frazzling her nerves, exciting her platelets into action? What about the warm of the blood? Is it the warm she feels first? Dripping down her waist, drops curving at her hips?
Now stab her again.
What’s different this time? Does she feel less pain? More? Which wound is throbbing more?
Again. And again. And again. And again. At what point do you think she resigns herself to the fact that this is how she’s going to feel for the rest of her life? Do you think she accepts that there’s no escape? Is her mind racing? Or is it blank?
What is she feeling while she lies splayed out like a deer on the kitchen floor in a puddle of her own blood? Do you think a part of her wants to drink it? Take back into the body the blood that you spilt?
Watch her as the puddle of red grows larger. Take your sweaty feet and twist them in her mess. Your mess. And when she stops feeling, how do you feel?
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“Dean again! Boy, do I love those visualizations. I’ve never had a clearer head. And the workbook exercises to match. Golly! As I wrapped my hands around my Linda’s dear throat, I have never felt closer to her. The intimacy Empathy created for our marriage is priceless. After the choking exercise, we’ve never had another fight. Not one. She doesn’t even have to say a word. I know exactly what she’s thinking, cause I’ve got Empathy.”
You heard it. Dean is just one of our many success stories. All around the world people are telling their friends how much Empathy has changed their lives. No more fights about dinner parties. No more embarrassing moments with colleagues. With these tapes, you’ll live a life worth living. No more conflict. No more tension. And if you call now, you’ll get an extra two visualizations for free! A one-hundred-dollar-value all for the low price of $59.99! Call now and you’ll never again have to ask yourself: What is she thinking?