view guestbook
                                                                        

   Finnegan wears his shoes on the new carpet but leaves no mark. I hardly find it worth it. He crosses the room
with one long stride, his arm outstretched. I shake his hand for the first time today and he smiles with a dry
politeness. I like him so far. He'll do just fine.
    Grace looks like she is not all here this morning, and I would like to know just where she is, and how she
expects to get  anything done with hair in her eyes.
    Week-old coffee stares at us from behind a brown stained pot. None of us care that it''s still there. No one
here even drinks coffee. Truth is, it has become a part of our office. The sun shines through the orange curtains,
casting a candy-colored glow on the furniture. I am not quite sure what the three of us are supposed to be
doing - it's still up in the air - but this office would be the perfect place to do it in.
    Grace is passed out in the middle of the floor.
    "Finnegan, get her some water, will ya?"  I take charge.
    "Don't call me Finnegan."
    I put my comic book down on the desk and pick up my Dixie cup.  I unroll the rim with my finger and sigh.
Rainbow colored jellybeans smile up at me from the paper cup and I drop one into my mouth.
Finnegan is now practicing his foxtrot with the secretary.
I would join them, but it's not in my job description.

    There must be something I can say to keep him here, to make him want to sit down and pursue an intellectual conversation with
me until my cappuccino is ready.  There's nothing I can think of except "thanks," and I hand him my menu.  He smiles politely, as
it comes with the job, then disappears among the small round tables and the cloud of smoke that hovers over them.
I feel as though everyone is watching me, though  I know they're not.  Their caffeine-jolted eyeballs would be scanning my features,
trying desperately to listen-in on the conversation I'm having with myself.  I would tell them to mind their own business if I didn't
love the attention so much.  I cross one leg over the other and smile at nobody in particular.
     The passing headlights shine across my face as I'm stepping on to the curb in front of the little coffee shop.  The air smells wet,
and I wipe my nose with the back of my hand.  My  cold fingers reach for my hair in desperation, hiding it under a big woolen hat.
I squint into the darkness before I step  out into the empty street.
     There is no one here.  I feel like I'm in my own dream, and I'm grabbing at my own eyes to wake up.  I long to be swallowed
whole by the cold night.  To be swept into the air and never come down.  As I'm waiting for my fate, I walk slowly, my steps muffled
by the wind in my ears.  I don't even want to think, but I am haunted by an image of that woman passed out on my bed.  A woman
who doesn't know and doesn't care if I'm still alive.  Her beautiful husband will be sitting quietly on the front steps.   I am a fool.
I should turn and run. I unbutton my coat and the wind blows it behind me like a cape.
My shadow lifts me off the black road and carries me home.

     I am frozen in my steps at the end of the dirt path that leads to the pale house.  I taste my own tears as they stream down my
face.  I think of the tiny white rooms that wait inside.  Still full of me, and everything that I am.  I long to be back in that
quiet blue apartment, left behind with no traces of me except for a framed photograph on the night stand.  I blow a kiss to everything
I was there and new tears fall. The house is still, but for a dim light in the kitchen.
Unkept ivy climbs the broken stone and lays among the eaves.
I walk carefully around the side.  I can hear Carol's voice, and I am not surprised she is awake at this hour.
She has no concept of day or night. For her they both run together, with a couple of breaks whenever she needs them.
Sometimes she'll just pass out somewhere and wake up a day later
in the same spot.  Life goes on around her.  Without her.  It's easier that way.  It's actually bearable.
    Though he always promised he would leave her, Carol's husband is most likely sitting at the table, listening to her complain about
food or money...or me.  He won't say anything.  He'll just sit there, nod his head, and wish he were man enough to end it all.  He's not.
He knows it, Carol knows it, and I know it.  That's why she likes him around.  Cole is her security.  I hate it.
I lift myself so I can see into the living room window.  The hall cabinet glares back at me reflections of my family in the glass.
Cole is there.  He is just where I knew he'd be.  His hands are holding his face, and every few words he shakes his head.  He looks
tired,  and somehow old, though he is only in his mid-twenties. His blonde hair is hiding under his favorite baseball cap, and
he is wearing a sweater I have never seen before.  For a moment
I pity him.  It only lasts a moment.

    I always knew I was not the kind to go after a married man, even if the marriage was an unhappy one.  I have never been that
brave, or that stupid, although I loved Cole more than anything. But it became apparent that he too loved me, and our home became
our own little world, and my step mother hated me for it. When Carol brought Cole home that first night, they were like
giddy children.  They seemed so in love,  or so infatuated with each other. Nonetheless, I was happy with this arrangement, because
it took her attention off of me.  I could disappear for days on end, and she wouldn't even notice, or care.  She was happier, and
I was happier.  The two were married shortly after, and they got to know each other. Cole also got to know his new bride's second
love.      Every night it happened in the same order.  First we would hear the car screech into the driveway, or somewhere near
it, then the staggering footsteps. Then the door.  Sometimes  she wouldn't even get that far.  Cole would carry her, red faced, up
the stairs and drop her in bed.  He would spend the rest of the night with his face in the newspaper at the kitchen table.  Carol
didn't talk to me about anything, so I never brought it up.  I knew I would get slapped and told to mind my own business.  Cole hated
her more every day, and I always wondered how he couldn't have seen this coming, though I never did try to warn him.
    Carol's behavior was nothing new to me.  I had lived with it for years before my father died.  It got a little worse after the
funeral, then it was steady again.  As long as she tended to her habits outside of our home, I was okay with it; but I always secretly
hoped one night she just wouldn't come home at all.
    I don't know if that was Cole's silent prayer.  He was a mystery to me.  We hardly spoke to each other for the first year, except
for the occasional, "Did you put gas in the truck?" or "Mail come yet?"   I always liked Cole though.  Aside from his
lovely brown eyes, he had a good heart.  He was always very good to me...and to his wife, though she never deserved it.  For those
four years before I left, it was just the two of us taking care of the house and ourselves, with awkward glimpses of Carol every
so often.  For the first time since my father's death, I felt safe.

    One night Carol didn't leave the house, and everything felt unusually disrupted.  I heard her heavy footsteps on the floor above
my head, and the creak of her bed.  Cole was putting away groceries, and I was finishing the laundry.  I had planned on skipping Carol's
filthy pile altogether, but I knew it would never get done if I did. The basket held only a few pairs of jeans and a thin sweater,
so I emptied them into the washing machine.  A small package fell out of a pocket somewhere, and landed on my foot.  My ears burned
as I bent to pick it up.  Anger ached inside of me and I flung myself up the back stairs and into Carol's quiet bedroom.
    She was asleep, and it felt strange seeing her sober.  For a split second I felt I had made a mistake waking her up. Her face
was expressionless as she sat up in her bed.  She didn't move, yet I don't think she even cared that I had found her stash in her jeans
pocket.   I waited for her reply, but she just stared at me.  Her eyes were cold and dry.  Her mouth still.  I clenched the package
between my fingers, then to her surprise, ripped it open, scattering all of its contents onto the floor in front of me.  As quickly as
it happened, I wished I hadn't done it.
    Carol's face distorted and she dropped out of the side of the bed, landing hard on the wooden floor.  I tried to back into the
hall but she had already clutched my leg with her nails.  I crashed into an end table, sending glass shatters across the room.  My arm
throbbed with pain and I reached for Carol, who was now pinning my legs to the floor. Her face was a red, angry blur.
She reached for something that I couldn't turn my head to see, and there's no doubt she would have hit me with it if
Cole hadn't pulled her off me. Her arms flailed wildly, and she was still screaming names at me like a frustrated child.
The two of them disappeared into the hall and I heard the
bathroom door close and lock.  The water splashed, and Carol moaned.
    I lay still on the floor, clutching my head, which was all I had the strength to do.  It was a few minutes until the bathroom
door opened again, and Cole reappeared.  He knelt beside me and placed a wet towel on my face.  He didn't say anything.  He held
it there, and I realized I was bleeding.  My heart was still beating like crazy, and I would've started crying but I just didn't have
the energy.  I let Cole pull me to a sitting position, and then he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me for what
seemed like forever. We heard a moan from the bathroom, and Cole felt me cringe.
    "Go see what she wants." I found myself telling him.

    I am now laying in the grass behind the shed, looking up at the black sky.  Carol's voice can still be heard from here, but
I can't make out any of the words.  It's better that way.  I close my eyes and wish it would stay dark like this forever.  Then I could
be home, and no one would have to know.  But since it never stays dark,  I wish I could die, and in the morning they would find me
out here.  Cole would tell that woman to leave me alone, to let me stay here in the grass.  He would want me to be where I'm happy.
I open my eyes.  The sky spins.  I stand to my feet. Everything is quiet and I see nothing but my bag, a heap in the
bushes.
    The front door slams and a figure is walking slowly down the steps.  I blink.  My breathing slows. I can't move.
Cole is walking toward me.  He calls into the darkness, he thinks I'm Carol.
    "Cole."  I whisper.  "It's me."
    He says nothing.
    We stand, staring at each other.  His face is barely visible.  He is breathing hard.
    "I'm home now."  I say.
    Truth is, I didn't think I would ever see home again. Cole moves slowly, his hand reaching for my arm.  He holds it,
and continues to watch my eyes with his.  He looks so tired.
I stand there, feeling overwhelmed by everything all at once.
Finally he leans in close and speaks.
    "Why?"
    I can't answer.  I don't know why.  I just move closer.  He lets his head fall on my shoulder and empties all of his weight
on me in a hug that, this time, does last forever.  All of the weight he's been carrying for so many years.  I feel his breath lighten,
and I hold him harder.  I hear a muffled choke, and I realize he is sobbing quietly into my hair.  I don't know what to say to him,
so I don't say anything.  I just close my eyes and say a silent prayer.
 
 
 

BACK TO home