Her
Settled Division
I once dreamt about living in a
modern style loft above a coffee shop with the city at my fingertips. How silly
of me to actually think Donavan would ever share that same dream. When his
parents died, I really thought we’d try our luck in the big city, or at least
Louisville. Instead, we moved into his parents run down home just down the
street from the store. I didn’t want to sound insensitive at the time, but
never in my wildest dreams did I think we’d still be here after 40 years. The
devilish red brick is starting to chip away, but it does have some character,
I’ll give it that. The dark green shutters and white washed front porch are my
favorite things about it. I love to sit on the bench swing during summer
evenings, watching the neighbor children play. That squeak it makes is barely
audible, but its rhythm is comforting.
I’d like to, but, I can’t blame Don
for my unhappiness. I have only myself to thank for that. I suppose I shouldn’t
say unhappiness, because I have lived a happy life; a comfortable one. Don is a
comfortable man. He has always provided more than enough for our family.
The
little food and beverage mart on the corner of Moberly Avenue and Kettle Street
is his pride and joy. The place belonged to his father at one time, but it was
Don who made it what it is today. He spends the majority of his time there;
organizing displays, training employees, and ordering new products. Brownsboro
would be an even lonelier place if not for Druthers’. Even folks from Crestwood
drive an extra fifteen minutes just to buy groceries there. Just the other day
at Bible study, when I was talking to Eloise, and she asked me why I’d been
looking so down. She made a joke saying that my wrinkles were multiplying due
to my continuous frown. I knew she was right. We walked down the street from
the church to Rosie’s, the best coffee shop in town. “I was straightening up
the mess in the basement when I came across a list,” I said.
“A list of what Marlene? Why in the
world would a list of anything have you so depressed?” said Eloise.
“It was a list of things I want to
do before I die.”
“So, a bucket list?”
“Yeah, but it just got me thinking
about what I wanted to see and do in my life. Don’t you have a bucket list?”
“Yes, I suppose I do have one, but
I’ve long since forgotten about it. There’s nothing on it I would do now with
Rodger gone.”
“What is on your list?”
“Oh, I don’t know I haven’t looked
at in forever. I probably threw it out years ago. What’s on yours?”
“I wanted to see the country.
Everything on my list is a natural landmark, like the Grand Canyon and the Rocky
Mountains.”
“So why don’t you go see those
places?”
“You know why Eloise.”
***
Fried
chicken with mashed potatoes is Donavan’s favorite meal. I make it every Sunday
after church. This Sunday was no different, just the two of us ripping chicken
from the bone pausing often to readjust teeth that never stay in place. I don’t
know why I just don’t cut it off the bone, sure would make eating it easier,
but Donovan likes it that way. I was taking a sip of my iced tea when the phone
rings. I put down my glass and stood up to answer it. “Who do we know that
would call us in the middle of dinner?” I said out loud and walked into the
study to find out. Donavan, in the middle of chewing, nodded his head in
agreement. “Hello?”
“Hey Mom!”
“Ken! I’m so glad you called, how
are you sweetheart?”
“Good Mom, I’m really good. How are
you? How’s Dad?”
“We’re both doing just fine, we miss
you though. Please tell me you’re going to come home from Colorado and see us?”
“Actually, I called to ask you and
Dad to come here.” I could feel my pupils expanding, Kenneth has never asked us
to visit him. Not once. He and Don went through a rough patch while he was away
getting his degree in American History. Ken wanted to see America for himself,
not just look at pictures in a textbook. There was no way I was going to stop
him, so Don stepped in and made his opinion clear. I knew I had paused too
long. “I know Dad probably won’t go for it, but I would really like both of you
to think about it.”
“Well, of course honey but is
something wrong? Are you sick? Hurt? Why do you want us to come see you?”
“No Mom, nothing like that. Do you
remember Denise? The girl I was with in the picture I sent you from Niagara
Falls?”
“Yes, it’s still on the
refrigerator, did I tell you how beautiful I think she is?”
“Yeah you already did. I think so
too. I asked her to marry me last night, and she said yes!”
“Oh Ken! That’s absolutely
wonderful! Let me tell your father!” I held the telephone receiver to my chest
and went as far as the cord would allow to holler around the corner, “Don! Come
here and talk to your son! He asked Denise to marry him!”
***
That night was a long one. After a
heated argument between Don and me, I ended up clearing the dinner plates alone,
and he stormed out for a walk. I had confessed to him how badly I wanted to
visit my son and future daughter in-law, and maybe we could see the sights as
long as we were there. He was excited and happy for Ken. He congratulated him,
of course, and told him how proud he was of him and the man he had become, but
I’m not sure how much of it he actually meant. His voice sounded happy but
tight lines around his eyes and the sagging skin at the corners of his cheeks
told otherwise. This wasn’t the first time he argued with me about leaving our
tiny town. The first time I noticed his inability to leave home was the day
after we were married. I had let him make our honeymoon arrangements in hopes
that he would want to get away from our families. Instead, he surprised me by
taking me to the other side of town and pulled into a gravel drive way.
The house was completely white and
looked as if there wasn’t a stain on it. The landscaping was simply gorgeous.
Don had planted as many yellow and orange tulips that would fit in every flower
box beneath the windows. It was the house
of our dreams, but our honeymoon was spent moving in and making renovation
plans.
Our marriage was seemingly just as
perfect and stainless, but it’s impossible to keep white houses white forever.
The lawn mower threw shared grass deposits against it and over time our little
dream house grew stained and much less than perfect. Our marriage resembled the house, with its
stains and carelessness. I was bored with our life and didn’t have the heart to
tell my husband.
The problem was that he never wanted
to leave. He would make excuses like, “there’s too much going on at the store,”
or “you look like your catching cold dear, probably not a good idea to travel
now.” I wanted, no, I needed to get
away.
Kenneth was 10 years old. I had
planned a trip to Washington D.C. because he had taken a special interest in
the history of America, and I thought he would enjoy seeing our country’s
capital. I had everything ready to go: the flight booked, the hotel
reservation, and the tour times. The night before we were supposed to leave Don
shook my shoulder to wake me and told me he wasn’t going to go. “Why not Don? What’s going on?”
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea
alright.”
“Ken is really looking forward to
this. I can’t tell him we aren’t going anymore.”
“Then you take him alone. I can’t go
with you.”
“Tell me why Don. I just want to
know why. Why can’t you just come with us? You’re being ridiculous!” Hot air
escaped from his lungs when he sat up in bed. I sat up with him and put my palm
against his back, it was drenched with sweat. He was rubbing the tips of his
fingers in little circles against his temples, his eyes were squeezed shut and
a few tears escaped. I’d never seem him so distraught. Fighting the urge to
shake the life out of the thing inhabiting my strong husband was overwhelming. Fighting
tears myself, I listened as he proceeded to explain his fear of traveling, of
leaving home. The things he was saying didn’t make any sense to me. He was just
rambling on about crowds, noises, and stress. Nothing he was saying made any
sense.
It wasn’t until later that he was
diagnosed with agoraphobia, which is a panic disorder. For some reason, his
brain cannot reason with him and allow him to leave the “safe zone” also known
as Brownsboro, our small little town. I didn’t have the heart to take Ken and
leave my troubled husband alone.
Eventually, I came to terms with his
fear and got over it. We went about our lives doing what we’ve always done. Don
works at the store, I clean house, and we go to church. We participate in
community barbeques and picnics at the park. That’s pretty much the extent of
it. I want to share an experience with him that we can both look back on and
remember joyfully.
I hadn’t spoken to Don about going
to Colorado for an entire week. I think he thought I would just forget about it
and move on, but of course I couldn’t. I spoke to Ken daily, discussing tactics
that could get Don on that plane. None of which we would ever really go through
with. Sedating him and making him go against his will is not an option. Ken
finally convinced me just to go alone. He didn’t have to try very hard because
that thought had already been playing out in my head. “I’m going to do it Ken.
I’ll buy my ticket today.”
“That sounds good Mom. Let me know
what time your plane lands and I’ll pick you up from the airport.” I decided
not to tell Don about it. I just left him a note on the counter telling him
about my decision. I could deal with the consequences later.
The taxi cab picked me up at Rosie’s
that Friday afternoon. Eloise had offered to drive me but Lord knows she can’t
see worth a darn. The cab cost a fortune but I didn’t care. I had never been on
a plane before, so it took me some time to navigate through the airport. I was
surprised at the number of people coming and going. All of them from different
cultures, backgrounds, and races. There was one young lady I thought to be particularly
interesting. She had black fishnet tights and a short blood red mini skirt. Her
blouse clung to her body for dear life and half of her head was shaved. She
must have noticed that I was staring at her because she looked back at me. She
raised an eyebrow and stormed down the hallway towards the restrooms.
I checked my bag in and made it
through security with no troubles. I found my loading gate and took a seat. I
had some time before we were actually boarding so I bought a book from the book
store and began reading it peacefully.
I got two chapters in when I heard a
voice behind me. “Marlene?” I turned around and there was Don, holding my note
in his clenched hand. “I got your note.” I didn’t know what to say. I knew I
had made a mistake. “Don…” I said lost for words.
“No, it’s OK Marlene. I know why
you’re here. I’m not angry.” He took the seat next to me.
“I shouldn’t have left like that.”
He nodded his head and put his strong hand on my thigh. We sat there in silence
for a while. Don just focused on the tile beneath his loafers and swayed back
and forth. Tiny beads of sweat still clung to his forehead. He drove to Louisville. That’s something,
I thought to myself. “I still want to go
you know,” I whispered in his ear.
“Yeah… I know.” The attendant at the
gate called for the Louisville to Denver flight. I continued to sit there with
Donavan. He squeezed my leg and used it to push himself up. I looked up at him
hoping that somehow he would decide to come with me. I longed for him to share
my desire to leave our home, just for a little while, and be there for our son.
He had to have already bought a ticket to get this far into the airport, right?
Would he have done that just to bring me back home? He extended his hand to
help me stand. I took it and he kissed my forehead tenderly. “Let’s go
Marlene.” He held my hand tightly with his twitching fingers and sweaty palms.
Together we walked toward the gate.
No comments:
Post a Comment