"Don't look at me like that. I'm the one looking for a job. I'm the one pulling the weight."
I laugh.
"What's so funny?"
"Poor Mommy wants to be the money maker, but the bank is already full."
"Unlike you I still want to do something with my life. I haven't given up."
I let off the brakes and kick in the turbo charge.
"Listen! I spent five years dealing with ugliness you can't even fathom!"
"Yes, I know. You told me about it."
"I never even told you the half of what went on!"
"So?"
"So do you think I tell you everything? I don't!!"
She speaks in a deliberately calm voice.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that there are things I don't think you're able to handle."
"Like what?"
"You don't really care."
"Like what?!!"
"Well, for one thing, ever since that lunatic attacked me I've been seeing things, okay? I hit my head pretty hard, and fighting like this doesn't help! It's killing me right now, all right?"
"It's just like you to be thinking only of yourself. Your head hurts? Go to the doctor."
I have such anger burning inside me right now that the only thought I have is of choking her. Some buried guilt over this snaps at my spine, opening my back up parachute. I turn, walking away, muttering for her to shut up.
I bolt straight through the front door, making a beeline for my car. I frantically search my pockets for keys, finding none I give the driver's side door a kick. I hold my hands out watching them shake. Thrusting them in my pockets I find several wadded dollar bills.
Good enough.
I turn to the house, and not seeing anyone in the doorway I leave.
Down the street a bus slows to stop. I run to make it. It begins to pull away.
"Yo!"
The bus stops.
The driver opens the door. I jump inside, sticking a crumpled dollar bill into the pay slot.
"Where ya headed?"
"Downtown."
I sit in the first empty seat I find, feeling like putting a fist right through my window.
I can't believe her! Coming home and tearing into me about some bread crumbs!
The bus stops, letting people off and on and I refrain from eye contact.
I wish I had sunglasses.
Why on earth do people get married? To test themselves? To see how much aggravation they can tolerate before they grab an ax and run amok?
A sharp bolt of pain slithers straight through my head causing me to close my eyes.
I open my eyes, leaning forward, holding my head in my hands, taking deep breaths. After a minute or so I sit up and a flush of nausea rolls over me.
I am going to be sick.
I push open my window to its maximum crack, inhaling the hot breeze, trying to regain my thoughts.
"Shut that window!"
"I feel sick!"
The driver glances in the big rear view mirror my way, then decides to let me be.
Why does she have to make everything so hard? We have plenty of money. There isn't a real need for her to have a job, yet she is on some personal crusade for employment. She is so selfish, pig- headed, short tempered, reactive, and defensive.
Just like me.
I guess that's why I love her.
This depressing realization hangs heavy on my shoulders. I close my window, staring stupidly out at the scenery.
There is nothing I can do.
I'm trapped.
"End of the line."
"Already?"
I stand removing a bus schedule from a plastic slot.
On the sidewalk a vendor wearing bright pink sun block on his nose sells hot dogs next to a cart with sunglasses. I remove my wadded bills and find I have only two dollars.
Damn.
I need sunglasses.
I see a crowd gathered behind a chain link fence. It is for the construction site of the new convention center. I cross the street to see what has their attention. I peer over an elderly woman. A portable toilet rests on top of a body. A twisted arm extends from underneath the commode.
A boy holding a skateboard with his bangs hanging in his eyes finds this funny and snickers while the police try to disperse the crowd.
No one leaves.
A crane is brought around, lifting the portable toilet off the body, revealing a young man, open eyed and crushed.
A bloody empty frame.
Nothing like the movies or television.
From the corner of my eye I see a shadowman bolt from behind the crane into the alley. I chase after him.
I run into the alley, searching high and low, finding only a transient digging through a dumpster.
I am back on the bus, thinking about the shadowman. The first time I saw it I thought I was hallucinating. Now I’m not so sure.
The bus stops near my house. I get off and head home.
It is one o'clock in the morning. I am sitting at the kitchen table making a list of all the craziness I have seen since getting hit by that car. The girls are asleep and the stove panel gives me just enough light. I can't stop writing.
"Honey? No, don't get up. I want to apologize for jumping on you the other day about the breadcrumbs. I don't know what came over me. I'm sorry."
"It’s all right. I know..."
"Wait. There is something I need to tell you."
"What?"
"I've decided to go ahead and check on a few teaching jobs out of town. I know we've talked about the possibility of moving, and you're right, it would be fine."
"Okay. What made you change your mind?"
"I don’t really know. It’s just this feeling I have. I think it may be time for a change."
The Fourth of July rolls around. My family and I are at the fairgrounds, sitting on a blanket watching the fireworks light up the sky. Our reactions to each burst of color is the same as the crowd’s. Oooh. Aaah. Wow.
My wife shakes my shoulder, whispering urgently.
"Honey! Honey! There's someone downstairs."
My temples boom as strain to hear.
There is movement downstairs.
I jump out of bed, standing with my back near the doorway, peeking out into the hall. Seeing no one, I motion my wife over, taking her hand. We hurry to our daughter's room.
"Sweetie wake up. Honey wake up."
"What's wrong?"
"Shhh!"
She rubs her eyes confused.
"Honey, we've got an emergency. Be very quiet and do exactly what Mommy and I tell you."
My wife stands by her bed.
"Okay, we're going back to our room. Stay close to Mommy."
I look out the doorway. Not seeing anyone in the hall we quickly move to the other bedroom with me in the lead. I shut the door and bolt to the bathroom, checking it for intruders.
No one.
I look under the bed and in the closet.
Safe for now.
"Here's what we're going to do. I'm going downstairs..."
"No!"
"Honey listen to me..."
The little one begins to cry. I pull her close.
"I'm going downstairs. After I leave, lock this door and then call the police."
"Daddy I'm scared."
"Everything's going to be fine. Just listen to Mommy."
She nods.
My wife bites her lip. I pass our daughter to her and lean back against the door. A tornado swirls inside my head and at its vortex I see my wife and daughter stationary while everything else just swirls.
Berserk.
Move.
"Honey don't go. This is crazy.”
I step into the hall, closing the door tightly behind me. I wait to hear it lock, then move to the stairs.
My heart is beating so wildly I fear who ever is here will hear it. I bring both hands to my chest in order to muffle the pounding.
I need a weapon
I consider all the possibilities, realizing all the best implements are in the kitchen or garage, settling for a mop from the hall closet.
I hold tightly just above the gray dirty cloth, with the wooden handle poised upwards, and creep down the stairs. Midway I get a glimpse of our intruder.
The same lunatic who attacked me several weeks ago stands nude in my living room rummaging through my wife's purse.
I sneak quickly up behind him bringing the mop stick down hard across the back of his legs. He yells and falls to the floor as the stick splinters in half. I'm immediately on top of him pressing the now pointed mop end into the center of his spine.
"Shut up!"
"Eddie, you're hurting me!"
"Shut up or I'll kill you!"
"Why are you--?"
Wham!
I smash his face to the floor.
"Are you alone?!!"
He stutters,"y-y-yes."
I push the pointed stick harder into him.
"You had better not be lying to me."
I remain in this state of murderous hysteria for what seems like an endless amount of time. Adrenaline rushes through my body, making me feel like I could lift the refrigerator and beat this guy into oblivion with it.
I stare madly down at my grip on the mop stick and decide I am taking my family far, far away.
There is nothing like moving and all that it entails to reaffirm one's faith in the powers that be.
Three days after our break-in, my wife received a call from a school district to the West of us, saying they were interested in interviewing her.
The family made the full day drive. The little one and I swam in our motel pool while my wife spoke with the district superintendent.
My wife signed a contract and a week later we bought the house across the street from her school.
When we told both our parents what was going on, oddly enough, their reactions were much the same. They expressed concern initially, but once convinced it was a sound and sensible mutual decision they all wanted to help and come along. That really wasn’t necessary, but, my wife and I agreed that there would be no real harm in having our parents join in our move. We thought it might even be interesting.
My father-in-law insisted on handling the sale of our old house. He put it on the market, listing it with a Realtor familiar to him through his bank. He expects it to sell soon, but I'm not so sure. Times are tough. It is definitely a buyers' market.
My wife called all of her family and acquaintances, while I spoke only to a few relatives and friends. The years have removed many people from my life. I do think of these people from time to time and wish most of them the best. Unlike my wife, I do not feel obligated to call them. She never lets any friendships fade completely away.
I did tell the nursing home I was moving, of course. My last day there was touching. I was given a large card signed by those that could and forged for those who could not.
I called B-2 every game.
The little one helped pack some mementos from her babyhood, and was fascinated by the idea that those things use to fit her. I caught my wife holding up a baggy denim baby outfit and staring at it for the longest time. I saw my wife fold them in half, tucking them gingerly into a box as if they were fine china. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and then smiled at the little one moving on to pack more items. I wanted to go and give her a hug. Instead I let her be with her thoughts and work.
And then it was time to go.
We went over the travel route. My father and father-in-law provided alternate routes. After much discussion, and me on the verge of coming unglued, the original route was agreed upon.
My mother-in-law asked my wife if she wanted to ride with them, but she declined. The little one wanted to ride with my parents, probably because she thought Grandma had a gift for her. I said it was important to me that she rides with Mommy and Daddy. I think she understood the significance of this to me because she did not protest at all.
We all sat in the driveway for a while not saying anything. I looked at the 'For Sale' sign pushed into the front lawn and felt strange. My wife looked at it for a long time too. Finally she put on her sunglasses and gave the order.
"Let's get out of here."
The little one sat low in the back seat with her arms crossed, staring out the window. I glanced at her in the rear view mirror and for a second saw maturity in her beyond her years. For an instant she appeared completely grown.
Four days later we are making progress towards getting settled. The parents left yesterday after helping move boxes around, all the while easing our blues. Our drive was uneventful.
"Where do you think these knickknacks should go?"
My wife points to a box filled with various items wrapped in newspaper and the little one pushes back one of the cardboard lips, peeking inside.
"Why don't we just leave the stuff packed until you decide how you want everything arranged?"
Our daughter reaches into the box and removes a wad of paper and begins unwrapping.
"Honey, be careful. I think that's some of Mommy's antiques."
"I am being careful."
My wife tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looking around at the various boxes scattered among the furniture.
"What do you think? Should we move the sofa over there?"
"I already had it over there."
"I know, it's just that it seems so crowded."
"Let's just leave the furniture where it is. Once we unpack the clothes, kitchen stuff, and appliances, then we can work with the furniture arrangement."
"That doesn't make any sense. We should at least get the furniture arranged, because where we put everything depends on that."
The little one unwraps a small ceramic kitten and crumples the newspaper into a ball.
"Then let's just leave the furniture the way it is and tomorrow we can start unpacking whatever is left."
"I don't know... The furniture doesn't feel right."
"Honey, it's getting late."
"I want to go to bed Mommy."
I look at our daughter, then back at my wife.
"I suppose we have done enough for one day... But having all this stuff around unarranged bothers me."
The little one walks over to me and I lift her. She rests her head against my shoulder.
“Be patient, Dear. It's going to take some time."
She forces a smile and follows me as I carry our daughter up the stairs to her room.
I set her down on her bed and step out to the hall as my wife helps her change into her pajamas. I go in, lean over, and kiss my daughter's forehead. My wife does the same and closes the door, leaving on a night-light. I follow her back downstairs and lock the front door. She laughs.
"Some habits are hard to beak."
"You can't be too safe."
I lean back against the door and she comes over, wraps her arms around my waist.
"So here we are."
Her breath tickles my nose.
"Here we are. Home, sweet home."
She looks at me dreamily.
"I think we are going to be all right here."
She runs a fingernail up my back and switches off the lights.
The police lieutenant who handled the case of our intruder called and informed me that the man who broke into our house was found dead in his jail cell. He apparently committed suicide by suffocating himself with a pillow.
My town sits in a valley.
It is a place where I can walk down the middle of the main street on Sunday morning as the sky lightens like a watercolor, encountering no traffic at all.
I hear birds chirp and feel life’s tender fire.
"Daddy, this oatmeal tastes funny."
Derek Henkel - The Tender Fire.txt Page 5
