The Trouble With

It wasn't until the Toyota rolled itself down the driveway  in the middle of a brisk spring night that I realized what  time it was. 

"Jillian, It finally happened. I knew it would," he cleared  his throat loudly, abruptly like he always did.”I wish you  would have done something about this earlier. When are you  gonna learn? Now you have to deal with it the hard way,” he  said dogmatically. It was his style. 

There was a long pause. The air thickened like the day-old  pudding that sat in the fridge. Jack loved pudding— butterscotch like his momma made. 

"I mean, once it's in the street you really just have to  come to terms with it, Jill. There's a problem. You know  that,” he continued. So matter of fact. So right all of the  time. I told you so and other phrases of a similar sort  seemed to move around him like a wicked Salem dance. They  were just part of his biography—the self appointed king of  responsibility. And to make matters worse, it was true. I’d  been having trouble for years and hadn't done anything  about it. 

Jack reveled in his superiority, taking in my failure as  one of his successes. This was his moment of glory and you  could almost hear the crowd cheering him on."Damn, girl!  He's got you. He told you to take it in. You deserve it.  What are you going to do now? Ha ha!" The roar continued to  reverberate through the house until my ears ached. 

He stood across from me with his burly, monstrous shoulders  and his favorite red flannel, staring me down. So many  accusations, so little words. Words weren't necessary. I  had gotten into the habit of filling myself with a  Catholic-style guilt the moment I laid eyes on him each  morning. 

The air grew thick, a dense steaming jungle, and became  complicated with twists and turns. I swallowed hard. Why  was I so fucking weak? It was difficult to catch my breath  in the stifling humidity.

"It's no big deal, really," he said, acting as if he were  beyond it when I knew that he was actually etching a tally  mark on the thick eternal stone he monitored daily. 

"Yes it is, Jack...I know..." It was time to tell him, to  show him that I saw through his facade. However, when I  tried to formulate better words, they just came out as  fragments. I could never talk to him. Not in complete  sentences. “I just..I wanted.” I stuttered as I brushed my  hair away from my face. It was useless. I moved my  attention to something else, anything else. 

The final layer of cement on the crack I had been so  carefully mending had burst open though, and I looked  around our house to survey the damage.  

It was old like so many houses, with peeling paint and  chipped tile. The counters were cluttered, so full of items  used for comfort and disguise. Things I just needed. Cheese  Puffs. Oolong Tea. Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies. Tomatoes  on the vine. One ripe tomato dangled off the ledge as if  deciding whether to jump or not. Dog hair floated across  the kitchen floor in large mounds, like miniature  tumbleweeds on a Texas road. It was my job to keep this  tidy. I had failed miserably and everyone knew it.  

Jack shifted his weight. "It seems the brakes may have gone  out. Just call for a tow. I’d help you, but I feel like you  need to learn a lesson.” 

In this, he was mistaken. The brakes had only been working  too well. The car was eternally in park. But the slide was  inevitable-no caliper could clamp it in place. 

"Yeah, I'll do it after breakfast," I said, obsequiously,  as to go unnoticed. Just leave already. 

“Uh, I’d do it now, Jill” he said as he smiled in his  confidence and turned into the den. 

Tale walked up to me panting and rubbed against me in his  usual loving manner. He was such a great friend, so  understanding and unassuming. I gave him a rawhide bone to  gnaw on. He followed me into the living room wagging his  tail as I contemplated my life.

Family pictures stared down admonishingly from our mantle,  and I begin to feel claustrophobic—all eyes on me, but in  an instant I knew I had to get out. 

"I hope it works out,” he yelled from the kitchen as he  left for work. The door slammed and the walls shook as they  always did when he exited. Outside the window I could see  my car sitting lonely in the middle of the road, as he  pulled out of the driveway and maneuvered his car around  mine. 

The living room grew dark as clouds obscured the sun and  then parted to reveal a new stream of pure light. I gained  energy from this beam, and with it I began to throw a bunch  of summer shirts, linens and airy clothes into my duffle  bag. I had no intention of returning and for this reason, I  abandoned my cell phone—left it lying innocently on the  coffee table. 

Leaving was so much easier than I had expected. Tale and I  walked down Wright Street, turned left on Jackson, the  opposite of our usual direction, and picked up our pace. I  had to move fast so that I wouldn't stall, wouldn’t change  my mind. There had been too much of that. 

I don't know how long we were on the road but I do know  that after awhile, I found my place and it was away.  Anywhere away. Away from those dark and crowded hallways. 

The trees took on a lighter hue and the birds began to  chirp an unfamiliar song. The further we walked, the better  I felt, and my walls began to melt as butter does. I threw  off the years that had grown on me, weighed me down, and  remembered my old self, the one that had been light. 

Long unpredictable roads, unmade beds and glances that were  void of meaning looked possible for the first time in ages.  "I made it!" I said under my breath as a smile gradually  formed on my lips. “I made it.” 

A stiff twig brushed against my leg as I stepped off the  asphalt and onto the trail that runs along the river. It  hurt but I just rubbed it a bit and kept on going. Green  foliage covered the trail in all directions and I could  

barely make out the path, but I knew it didn't matter.

Tale caught sight of a gray bush squirrel and tugged at the  leash in hopes of an adventurous pursuit. I laughed to  myself as I imagined letting him off of the leash so that  he could be free too.  

Jack had strict rules against that.  

I decided to do it. The clasp on his leash was too tough to  unlock however, and it was this fact that made me realized  how cold my fingers had become. I hadn't thought to bring a  jacket. Although it was May, it was still chilly in the  evenings, and dusk was setting in. 

My heart began to thump as I felt the pressure to find  shelter for the night, and with a dog at that. I had been  so anxious to get out previously that I hadn’t thought  about this. 

To be independent essentially means to be alone and I  hadn't been in years—ten to be exact—so it was with a  frightful exhilaration I moved on. With only a bag full of  clothes and a credit card, I felt underprepared. Who would  take a meandering woman and her dog in off of the streets  without question? 

I began to look ahead for a hotel. I had to make my way and  do this alone. Up ahead I knew there was a small town. I  couldn't recall the name of it, but I'd been there a few  years back. Twin Oaks Inn. That was it. This was the place  I was looking for. It had the look of an old French  cottage, all covered with tangled green vines, as to invite  the weary traveler. A pair of red bells jingled as I  propped open the door to peer inside. 

"Is there any special occasion?" The elderly hostess asked  as I inquired about a room, and I wanted to scream, "yes!  I'm free!" but instead settled on, “No, I’m just in need of  a little break. Thank you." 

She smiled knowingly, “Aren’t we all?” she returned in  gratitude. I felt at ease. 

Tale began to growl outside the door and then a loud door  slammed behind me. The air in the room changed, dampened,  as my chest tightened. 

He moved up behind me with finesse, as if he had known  where I was all along, and handed me my phone. What a cute  little adventure she’s had. 

"I've been trying to find you, Jill. The car is still  sitting in the street. What's going on?” he feigned  confusion.  

I turned to face him, for once, and straightened up like  grizzly. It was now or never. 

"I tried to tell you this morning," I said. "It's not the  brakes. The car is history." With this I exerted all of the  courage and outrage I had collected during those long  years. It surprised us both. Our story had shifted and I  held the winning hand.  

"But I..." he hesitated, bewildered at my newfound  strength, “I just…I just,” he stuttered as the weight hit  his brain and he watched his long held power crumble to the  ground. 

The revolution was complete.

Written by L. Masaracchia, May 2016

All Rights Reserved ©2016.

Do not print or post without written consent of the author, L. Masaracchia.