Quiet Escape
Cathleen M.

 

It was a cloudy Tuesday morning. Bryan thought it had an “airport morning” feel to it. He could never accurately explain this feeling to anybody, but an “airport morning” usually meant that it was overcast and gloomy, and his stomach felt hallow because it was way to early to be up, especially up and running.
Bryan’s running partner today was Ron, a natural born athlete. He could run forever, or so it seemed to Bryan. Ron was on Bryan’s city league softball team. He was the reason the “Lions” were the best softball team in the Fullerton league.
Bryan loved to run. He loved to be outside. He loved the way running made his body feel and how it could clear his mind. But he couldn’t enjoy running this morning, not with the ultimate jock by his side.
He searched the leaves, looking for something to inspire him. But his neck started to hurt and his throat felt tight, so he looked down on the ground. The brown earth comforted him somehow. Dirt, rocks, green trails of horse manure spread out by tire tracks, “Inspiring,” he said to himself.
His eyes slowly raised and landed on the street that intersected the trail ahead of them. There was a red car parked to the right. He rested his eyes on the car, straining to see if someone was in it. It was filthy. The windows were caked with a brown film. As he got closer, Bryan could make out shapes, they were boxes – the whole car seemed to be full of them, even the passenger’s side. Bryan scanned the trees and then went back to inspecting the car. All the tires were spares. It was a station wagon, but he couldn’t tell what make. As they got closer to the street, Bryan got a better look at the rear of the car. It was a Pontiac. And in the rear window there was a globe pressed against the glass, floating among squished boxes and debris. That’s when he saw him. A man. Bryan quickly looked away.
Bryan strained to picture the man he had glanced. He was old… well, he had a long gray beard, anyway. He had his arms folded across his chest, his head back, and he was asleep. “I hope he was asleep,” Bryan thought.
“Ugh, that car reeks!” burst Ron.
“Shut-up, there’s a guy in there,” Bryan hissed, embarrassed for the homeless man.
“Like he could hear me. Who cares if he did, anyway?” Ron complained. “Such a waste!”
Bryan ignored the question and the remark. He felt bad for the old man sitting in that beat up old car. He pictured the man sitting in that car all day. Running became less burdensome as Bryan allowed his mind to be distracted by the image of this man. “That man had a life,” Bryan thought, “he probably had a job… had a family…”
***
“John! Jo-hn! John, tell me where you are this instant!… John! What are you doing in there? Dave, look where your son hid himself. John, you are gonna get all wet sitting under that sink, now get out from under there,” Peg said pulling on her son’s arm. Dave, go comb your hair! Honestly!” Peg dragged John to his room, muttering something about having to do everything herself, and is she “the only grown-up around here?” She instinctively stripped her son from his clothes, not checking if they were dirty, which they weren’t – the sink didn’t leak, but she wasn’t about to have her son wearing clothes that had been worn under the sink.
Dave quietly watched his wife undress their son. He knew what she was thinking. He understood the desire to have some control. He wanted control.
He turned down the hall and obediently went to the bathroom, wetted his comb, and pulled it through the few remaining brown-gray hairs.

Dave opened his eyes. He couldn’t remember his dream, but he felt sad. He put his hand on his head, as if to push his hair back, but he didn’t have any hair, really… it was more like fuzz.
Dave looked out his window. He saw runners in the distance. Their T-shirts had the letters, “L-I-O-N-S,” on them, but this meant nothing to Dave. Letters had lost their meaning a long time ago. He scratched his beard, rubbed his eyes, and proceeded to search his kitchen, a small blue cooler on the floor of the passenger’s seat, for some breakfast.
After polishing off his last can of tuna, Dave got out of the car, and searched for a secluded patch of trees. He found a big oak tree that had a limb bent over by a good windy season. He positioned himself between the cascade of leaves and the wall of somebody’s property, unzipped his pants, and aimed for the damp ivy-covered ground.
Walking back to the car, he didn’t notice the wet spot on his pants. He had gotten used to not noticing.
Dave reached through the open window of the driver’s street, and grabbed a thin, faded towel. He wiped his oily forehead with it, and stuck it in the back pocket of his blue jean shorts. He walked back to the trees, hoping to wet his hands with the morning dew. He picked up a dark green oak leaf, and cupped it in his hand. As he carefully tilted it from side to side, the dewdrops collected into one voluptuous ball that raced back and forth, picking up excess moisture like masking tape picks up lint. This entertained Dave for a while, until the dewdrop finally rushed off onto the outside edge of his palm. Instantly, his skin soaked up the water, and the fascination shifted to the damp lines of his skin.
    In a few seconds, the moisture on Dave’s hand was gone. It had just disappeared. But Dave was no less fascinated. His hand was open towards him. He stared at his now empty palm. He had no particular thoughts about it, he just kept looking, until his eyes traveled up his long thumb and jumped off the tip into the pool of green grass of the courthouse lawn. His feet followed his eyes instinctively. Leaving the trail’s shelter of trees, Dave slowly shuffled across the lawn, and down toward Ralph’s supermarket.

***
“Mommy, why’s that man not wearing any shoes?” Molly said, pointing at Dave, and immediately re-plugging her three-year-old mouth with her sopping wet and wrinkled thumb.
Lynn pulled her daughter’s hand a little more firmly, trying to get into Ralph’s without causing an embarrassing scene. As she crossed the cold metal threshold, she hushed her daughter with a quick, “I don’t know, Honey, maybe he doesn’t have any shoes.”
“Why doesn’t he have shoes, Mommy?” Molly mumbled, straining to look back as her mom continued to tug her along.
“I don’t know, Molly, maybe he’s poor.”
“Why’s he poor?” she pursued.
“Maybe he lost his job, Molly. Here, get up in the cart… oomph. Molly stick your legs through the holes, please.”
“I don’t wanna sit in here, Mom! I’m not a baby!” she protested, “I’m a big girl!”
“I know you’re a big girl, Molly, but Mommy needs you to sit in this special seat so that you can hold her purse. Now hold it tight, so it doesn’t fall out!”
Molly’s eyes softened, and she contentedly sat back, holding her mom’s purse with one hand, and sucking tirelessly on the thumb of the other.
Lynn glanced at her list and headed for the vegetable aisle. “Okay,” she said to herself, “I need potatoes, onions, and carrots.” Lynn pictured her mom’s vegetable soup and tried to think if she was forgetting something. Her mom always made the best vegetable soup. Lynn never got it right. Her soup always turned out too tomatoey. She pictured Ron’s face as he ate her vegetable soup last time.
“It’s great, Hon,” he said as he poured salt and pepper onto it, the red soup covered in black specks.
Walking up and down the aisles, picking up the rest of the items by habit rather than following the list, Lynn imagined her family sitting down to a good meal, the kind of meal her mom would have made. She imagined her husband sitting back grinning, satisfied with her carefully prepared dish. He would pat his stomach, sigh, and kiss her forehead, lovingly thanking her for such a wonderful treat. Then he would pick up Molly and convince her to help him wash the dishes “for mommy.”
Lynn daydreamed how she would spend this quiet time. She wouldn’t waste it on TV. Maybe a bath, yeah, a bath. “Ooo, I should pick up some bath oils while I’m here,” she thought. “I’ll have a warm bath, some Mendelssohn playing in the background, and the book I always get interrupted reading.” (It’s a depressing novel about a woman, Sara, whose best male friend was gay, and Sara’s mom thought this gay friend got in the way of Sara’s love life. She accused him of being the reason Sara hasn’t gotten married by the age of 28.)
Lynn wondered what it would be like to still be single at age 28. I wonder if I’d feel anxious… or free…
“Mommy!” Molly cried for the third time. “I want a candy!”
The cashier gave a wearied glance as she dragged the Honey Nut Cheerios across the glass, a little red laser flashed across the bar code.
“No, Baby, we’ll have a snack when we get home.”
Molly looked furious. “I’m not a baby!”
“Sorry, I know you’re not a baby.” Lynn gave the cashier her keys with the Ralph’s Club Card key chain. The two women smiled knowingly at each other. The cashier intentionally directed her gaze to a bowl of lollipops she had on her counter, asking Lynn if she could give one to her daughter. Lynn nodded with grateful approval, and the cashier handed a grape one to Molly, “Here, Sweetheart, I save these lollipops for big girls only!”
Molly looked to her mom with wide eyes and a hopeful smile. Her mom’s smile in return was enough of an answer, and she grabbed the sucker, handed it to her mom to open, and replaced her thumb with another plug.
Lynn pushed her cart towards the exit. Through the tinted sliding doors, she saw Dave leaning against the wall. Her gaze was drawn to his feet. They were swollen so large that at first glance, they didn’t look like feet at all, but like contorted continuations of his calves. They oozed some kind of fluid that was almost too repulsive to look at, but Lynn continued her gaze. Her body cringed.
Lynn did a mental check of what she had bought. “What would be appropriate for him?” she thought, “bread, no, I need the bread… soup?… no, how’s he gonna heat up soup? Ah-ha, a Lunchable! Oh, would he want a Lunchable? Well, it’s something.”
Lynn reached into a brown paper bag and pulled out a pizza Lunchable. She shyly handed it to Dave, gave him a quick smile, and pushed her cart on towards her Volvo. She heard a noise from the man as she past him.
 “Ank Ooo,” he loudly strained.
Molly jumped in surprise. She stared at the man with a confused look.
“You’re welcome,” Lynn called back, blushing. She buckled Molly in her car seat, and as she piled her groceries in the trunk, she wondered if the man was deaf or if he just could not speak very well. She wondered how he could walk. A tinge of guilt pricked her as she closed the door on a full trunk of groceries. “He needs so much more than a Lunchable,” she thought as she got in the car. She turned the ignition, put the car in reverse, and turned herself around to look behind the car as she backed out. Her eyes landed on her sleeping daughter, and a lump swelled in her throat.
***
Dave walked to the back of the grocery store. It had taken longer than usual to get a lunch today. He sat against the building, his knees cracking as they were bent against their will. He took out his pocketknife and shakily cut off the plastic covering of his meal. He ate the strange food.
After he made sure that every nibble was gone, he allowed his tired eyes to close against the mid-afternoon sun streaming through the broken clouds.
Petal looked up at him with her big blue eyes.
“Daddy, let’s play ‘What’s the story I’m not telling.’”
     “Petal, Daddy just got home, let him relax for a bit,” Peg told her daughter. Petal ignored her mom, “Daddy, you can relax while we play. I’ll go first. Okay, once upon a time... Daddy, are you listening?”
     “Yes, Darling, I was just closing my eyes. I can still hear your story... go ahead.”
    Petal pulled her sneakers off, sand pouring on the cream colored carpet. She began her story while tugging off her socks... “Once upon a time there was a beautiful young woman with short brown hair. She lived in a castle. Her boyfriend wanted to take her out one night, but she was locked up in her castle. He told her to...”
“Rupunzel.” Dave guessed.
    “Dad, that’s not fair! I didn’t even get to finish!”
     Dave smiled, his eyes still closed, hands folded on his lap, “Well, you’ll have to make it harder next time.” He shifted his head into a comfy position on the couch.
 “I get to go again because you cheated!”
     “How’d I cheat? You were the one telling the story!” Dave looked at his six-year-old daughter, grinning despite her indignation.
     “Well, I get to go again, anyway,” she insisted, “I didn’t tell it how I meant it.”
     “Fine, go ahead.” Dave leaned his head back into position, his nose up in the air.
     “Let me think... Okay, there is this boy named… uh, Pickle.”
“Pickle?”
“Yeah, Pickle. And he had special powers… he could, um, jump really high! And he loved to hear stories about himself. One night he went to the bedroom window of … Wallace because Wallace told stories about Pickle...
“Peter Pan,” thought Dave, as he strained against the temptation to sleep. “I wish Peg would turn out that light!” he thought, “And why doesn’t she have John watch his cartoons in the bedroom?”
Petal continued, “He sprinkled special dirt on the boys so they could jump high, too. And they all jumped to…”
Dave squeezed his eyes shut against the annoying light, lifted his eyebrows in relief, and then squeezed again.

He blinked himself awake, and struggled to focus while the sun relentlessly beat down. His face was sweaty, but he didn’t notice the sweat until it rolled into his already disturbed eyes. Dave took the towel out of his back pocket, wiped his forehead with it, and pinched his brow, relieving the burning sensation caused by the sun.
His chest hurt. He tried to cough away the hurt, but it remained. “Petal,” he groaned.
A delivery truck drove past him and pulled into the parking lot.
He walked back towards his car, staying on the sidewalk this time, rather than cutting through the courtyard lawn. He watched his feet taking small steps, three-year-old girl steps, to be exact. “It takes her three times the amount of energy to keep up with me!” he thought, “I’d be out of breath if I had to walk like that! No wonder she wants me to carry her.” Dave leaned over and picked up his imaginary Petal. He put her on his shoulders and stooped under her weight.

***
Natalie slowed her bike, not just because she was coming up the hill, but because she was watching the old man inch his way up as well. She straightened her posture without thought. She always did that whenever she heard the word “osteoporosis” or whenever she saw an old person bent over. Wincing at the obvious pain it took the man to walk, let alone climb a hill, Natalie promised herself that she would never look like that when she got old!
She shifted the right gear to 3 and the left gear to 1. Leaning her tired rear off the seat, Natalie pumped her way past the old man. He didn’t even notice her. But she could hardly miss him, “God, he stinks!” she thought. The smell reminded her of something… “Beach bathrooms!” she told herself.
“What the heck is that guy doing in this neighborhood?” She looked at the winding roads leading to the nice homes as she biked her way to her Wednesday night job, babysitting for the Reynolds. “He won’t be here long,” Natalie reasoned. She pictured a cop walking up to the man, a ticket book in hand, explaining, “I’m sorry, Sir, but you’ve loitered here long enough.” The image faded as she reached her destination, the walkway lights already turned on in preparation of an early autumn evening. She turned up the driveway, parked her bike at the side of the house, and walked to the front door, tightening her ponytail on the way.
Ding-dong.
Lynn opened the door. “Oh! … Natalie! I forgot today’s Tuesday! Come on in.”
“Oh, sorry, Mrs. Reynold, I don’t have to stay…”
“No, no, dear, it’s fine. I just forgot, that’s all. Umm, Ron’s not home yet, and I need to get cleaned up. Would you mind watching the soup while I go get ready?”
“No problem.” Natalie walked into the kitchen. Molly was lying on the tile floor, coloring a Winnie the Pooh picture. She looked up as Natalie walked in. A frown took over her previously contented face, and she ran screaming “Mommy!” to the front door, and then to her mother’s bedroom.
Lynn sighed as she heard her daughter cry for her. “I’m still here, Molly!” she called out as she partially opened her bedroom door with one hand and pulled off her jeans with the other. “So much for a bath,” she thought, “maybe I could take a quick shower before Ron gets home.”
Molly came running in and grabbed her mother’s bare legs. Lynn picked Molly up, sat her on her out swung hip, and soothed her while turning on the shower. Allowing the water to heat up, Lynn went back into her bedroom, turned on the television, popped the nearest Disney movie in the VCR and laid Molly on her bed. “I’m just going to take a shower, Molly. I’ll be out in five minutes. Watch, uh,” she turned to see what she had put in the VCR, “Watch Aladdin!” she persuaded, trying to sound excited.
Molly leaned back on her mother’s pile of mauve and green pillows, her eyes glued to the TV screen, already forgetting the approaching abandonment.

Lynn tested the water, turned the knob, ever so slightly, to the right, took off her T-shirt and got in the shower. “What should I wear tonight?” she wondered, picturing Trisha Morris in her pale blue slacks and perfectly matching cardigan. “I need some new sweaters,” she considered as she moved closer to the showerhead, cupping her hands in front of her, allowing the water to fill them and overflow on to her goose-bumped arms. “I should have bought that sweater at Macy’s yesterday,” she regretted, “now I have nothing to wear tonight!” She mentally shook her head from this thought, “You have plenty to wear,” she scolded herself. She stared at the water pouring out of her hands. Tears filled her eyes. She briefly wondered what emotion was causing these tears. She chalked it up to that time of month, and allowed the tears to run down her face and mingle with the water pouring over her warming body.

   “Molly, have some soup. Mommy and Daddy are just going out for a few hours, and when we come back, we’ll come and kiss you goodnight, okay?”
     Silence.
     “Now, be a good girl. I love you!” Lynn kissed Molly’s head and followed her husband outside. She closed the door, anticipating the heart-breaking scream, but when it came, she was no less heart broken.
    “She’ll be fine in two minutes,” she told Ron, trying to convince herself of this information.
     They got in Lynn’s car and drove down the hill. Lynn slowed the car as she came to the horse trail crossing. There was a man in the middle of the road. He had his arms lifted up towards the sky, and his face was lit by the red sunset.
     Lynn pulled over to watch him, parking her car behind a red Pontiac. “He’s the man from the grocery store,” she remembered.
“Yea, I saw him earlier today in his car when I went running this morning. Should I call the cops?” Ron asked as he pulled his cell phone from his side.
Lynn frowned at her husband and got out of the car. She turned around to see what was causing this man to stand in the middle of the street. She could see nothing but the sunset.
    The sunset! It was a brilliant red with an orange highlight, and the parted clouds were pink, as if blushing at the sun’s boldness. She turned back to the man and stared at him, a smile spreading across her face. “He’s fascinated,” she reflected. Standing there, watching the man watch the sunset, the image of her daughter’s face staring at the television floated across her thoughts. “Pacified.”
     Ron’s questioning look hanging out the window caught her attention. She got back in the car, answering his look by explaining that she saw this man earlier today outside of the grocery store. “I gave him a Lunchable,” she stated, as if that were a good enough reason to stop and watch this man.
     She quietly started the car, and drove off slowly, curved around Dave much further then she needed to, and resumed the drive towards the Morris’ house.
     Lynn had dragged Ron to this Bible study for the last three weeks, ever since Lynn’s mom had come back from the “I just want Jesus” seminar in San Diego. Her mom had been so cheerful after that seminar. She had told Lynn, “I never experienced peace like that before. I’ve never felt so complete.” Complete. That’s what Lynn wanted to feel. She had gotten married to feel complete, had wanted a baby to feel complete, went to church to feel complete, but the feeling never came.
     As Lynn drove away from the awestruck man, the word “complete” came into her mind. She looked in the rearview mirror at the now purple clouds and smiled once more. She felt good; she felt the way she feels when something new has been revealed to her, but she had no articulated definition for this feeling other than its association with her mother’s spiritual completeness.

***

Dave’s conscious confusion did not hinder him from appreciating the spectacular ending of this uneventful day. His attention lingered on this diminishing beauty until the sky faded from pink to light blue. Gray streaks of clouds finally disappointed his heightened aesthetic sense.
Walking back to his car, Dave paused and looked back up to the sky. This time his gaze was directed straight above him where the blues of day and night were casually intersecting. “Goodnight, Petal!” he called out. He opened the squeaky door, lowered his head, and sat on the jagged, over-worn seat. A sour taste in his mouth caused him to lean out the still open door and spit. He closed the door and folded his arms over his chest. He fell asleep easily; his head titled back on the seat.


He paused at the door to her room. “Go in, and check on her,” he told himself. “Naw, let her sleep, she’ll only wake up if I go in,” he replied. “Goodnight, Petal,” he whispered at her door.

Darkness.
A terrified scream echoed through the house. “She’s dead!” cried Peg. “She’s so cold!”
Dave hurried to Petal’s room, bewildered at his wife’s sobbed words. Ambulance sirens squealed in the distance. Men dressed in white were everywhere. Loud. “It’s very loud,” he thought. “Death should not be so loud!”

 Tears ran down Dave’s sleeping face. He turned his head to the right, hoping the movement would take away this memory/dream. It did.

***
“Goodnight, Molly,” Lynn whispered to her sleeping daughter. She leaned over and kissed her hot little head. Blond curls stuck to Molly’s forehead.

Ron handed Natalie a twenty-dollar bill, and walked her to the door, telling her they’d see her next week. He walked to Molly’s bedroom and peaked in through the cracked door. Lit by the rainbow nightlight, he noticed his wife’s tear streaked face in wonder as she slept beside Molly.

 

 

Copyright © 2000 Cathleen M.
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"