by Wendi Hulsey
Just beyond the casino is the Milwaukee Stadium, home of the Milwaukee Brewers, where I was able to spend alone time with my father at the ballgames. If I close my eyes, I can still hear the stadium noises, smell the stale beer, and remember the taste of those wonderful hotdogs. Was it just being a child, or would those hotdogs taste just as good today? Probably not, things seem different, almost harsher, as an adult.
I crane my neck around to peer behind me out the back window as we pass the massive Allen-Bradley clock. My father, the history buff, once told me this clock is the only four-sided clock of its stature and can be seen from many miles away. In comparison, the faces of the Allen-Bradley are nearly twice the size of the two-sided Big Ben in London. My heart feels heavy with dread, not knowing if I will ever see the sites that I love ever again.
My mind wanders to thoughts of my wonderful parents. Two of the most loving openhearted people anyone could ever want to meet. My father, Jim Jenkins, is ruggedly handsome, stays in shape by running, and loves to watch the History channel or NASCAR in his spare time. He’s employed at Harley Davidson and has been working there for over twenty-five years. This explains his impressive collection of Harleys in his garage. He has accumulated six, only two of which he will actually take out on the road. The other four are just too pricey for him to risk damaging. I never understood the theory of collecting items you are never going to use, but he seems rather content just washing and waxing them every Sunday. My mother, Cassandra Jenkins, is a very petite, spunky spitfire who has never worked a day outside the home, with the exception of helping with a few charities and fundraisers. Her prized possession is her garden and the love for cooking and canning. She’s one of the few people I know that actually grew up on a farm in Wisconsin.
They met each other in Algebra their freshman year in high school and have been inseparable ever since. Dad claims that she couldn’t resist his good looks and charm. My mom maintains he followed her around like a lost puppy before she finally took pity on him and gave in, agreeing to go out with him. I personally think they are both giving me a line of bullshit, but whatever the case; it has been working for thirty years. While dad has his expensive indulgences, my mother is his polar opposite and can pinch a penny with the best of them.
I love to sit back and watch them playfully bicker over something inconsequential, seeing the love they have for one another, dad is always the first to back down, knowing he won’t win an argument with mom. Normally, she is right. He usually gives her a love pat to the butt and a brisk smack on the lips. I can’t imagine the pain that I’m going to cause them when I call to tell them I have left. It has only been a few days since I last saw them but it already feels like a lifetime ago. I know they sensed something was wrong when I held onto each one of them a little longer than normal during our goodbye hugs.
“Ma’am,” the cabbie says, bringing me back to reality.
“Yes,” I reply.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Of course, why wouldn’t I be okay,” I answer, somewhat standoffish.
“Well, I usually don’t get pretty young ladies in my cab with tears rolling down their faces this early in the morning,” he states with a questioning look.
Wiping my tears away I respond, “I will be fine! Thank you for asking.” Wishing he would pay more attention to the road and less time studying me in the rearview mirror.
“It just seems you may be making a hasty decision if leaving has you this upset. Maybe you need to reconsider your options,” the cabbie suggests.
“Look mister, unless you can personally guarantee that my crazy ass psycho boyfriend won’t put me in a body bag, then NO! I don’t think there are any other options. Now could you just drive and let me decide what is best for my life?” I mean really? What is with this guy?
“Sorry ma’am, just trying to help. We should be at the airport in approximately five minutes,” he mumbles with downcast eyes.
Oh geez! Could I be any more of a bitch! The stress of this whole situation has me acting just as crazy as Dylan. I look up at the mirror ready to apologize but decide to let it go. Besides, he stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. In a few short minutes, I will be out of his cab and I will never see this man again, so what does it matter.
Dylan is going to go berserk when he can’t find me and no one has seen me since my run in with Patricia at the gas station this morning. To tell you the truth, it serves him right for all the anguish he has put me through for so long. I certainly have to remember to call my parents before he goes over there looking for me. I don’t want him to cause them anymore stress than possible. I definitely have to tell them not to mention to Dylan that I left or he’ll harass them to no end. I know firsthand how crazed Dylan can get and don’t want him to cause them any harm when he realizes I’m gone for good.
I can’t say our relationship was always bad. In fact, things were good when he was pursuing me. He was considerate, would take me out to restaurants, movies, and nightclubs quite often. He would even surprise me with gifts from time to time. However, once I moved in and he had me under his reign, it all changed so suddenly.
**********
I met Dylan when I was working at the casino. I usually worked the evening shift, from three to eleven. On that particular night, I was working from eleven at night to seven in the morning, filling in for a coworker who decided to get married and was off on her honeymoon. As she promised, this shift was much more profitable in tips. The more the patrons drank and gambled, the better the tips. I decided I might try to inquire about changing shifts.
It was a busy Friday night around the Black Jack and Poker tables. This was the area where Nichole and I worked. About an hour into our shift, she came rushing up to me and asked, “Do you know that incredibly sexy guy with the sparkling blue eyes and the body to die for, sitting at the twenty dollar Black Jack table?” I peered around and caught the person in question staring right at us.
“No, why?”
“Well, I tried to take their drink orders and Mr. Hot Stuff there politely requested you to be their waitress for the evening. I assumed you knew each other,” Nichole said.
“Umm, no. I have never seen him before. Doesn’t it seem a little strange that they would request a certain waitress?” I asked a bit freaked out.
“No, it happens quite often, men sometimes prefer a certain type or look. Tonight you are the chosen one. Can I just say I so hate you right now. I would have liked to get to know that one real well, if you know what I mean. Go get ‘em tiger,” she said with a little pouty look.
I remembered feeling a little awkward while making my way over to their table. I could feel his eyes on me the whole way. He really was hot stuff, with sandy blonde hair worn a little too long and crystal-clear blue eyes, that seemed to pierce right through you. He had on a well-worn faded pair of blue jeans, bulging in the right spots, and a button down, dark blue shirt that looked as though the sleeves would spontaneously rip with the slightest movement of his well-defined, perfectly tanned arms. As I approached the table, he gave me an award winning, devilish smile with the straightest, whitest teeth I have ever seen. Nichole was right, just the sight of him made your mind start thinking X-rated thoughts.
“Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?” I asked.
“My name is Dylan McCain. This is my friend Tyler, and we are anything but gentleman,” he admitted, pointing a finger between the two of them. His friend Tyler let out a chuckle.
“Oh shit,” I said before realizing the words had even came out of my mouth. He smirked and gave me his drink order and I quickly went running from his table to the bar. I get his order completed and bring the drinks to them. He was engrossed in his card game as I pass the drinks around the table. I stand there a moment longer, waiting on a tip, but nothing. Cheap ass, I thought to myself. This goes on several times over the course of the night, until I saw him start to rise from the card table. He looked around and locked eyes with me, and then gave me t
he come here motion with his pointer finger. I made my way over to him and we stood face to face for a moment without speaking.
“I have really enjoyed you taking care of me and my friends the entire night. I would like to take you out on your next night off. Think about it. Here’s my number and your tip,” he said, placing a piece of paper and a couple poker chips on my tray. With a wink, he turned and walked away.
Nichole rushed over to find out what just happened, because I was sure I had a shocked look on my face. Guess I shouldn’t have called him a cheap ass earlier in the night.
“Well, what did he say?” she demanded to know.
“He told me to call him and left me his phone number and a tip on my tray.” She looked at my tray then at me. “What?” I asked.
“He didn’t leave you a tip; he left you a whole shopping excursion.” Confused, I finally looked at my tray and see two pink poker chips.
“Holy shit, he just left me a five hundred dollar tip!” I hollered, extremely shocked.
“If you don’t call him, I will!” She tried to grab his number from my tray. I playfully swatted her hand away. It took me a week to decide, but eventually I called him and we went on our first date. We went to a high-end steak restaurant and shared a bottle of wine. Later that evening we walked along the beach, talking to one another so easily, that everything seemed perfect.
We dated for six months; dinner, movies, more walks along the Lake Michigan shore line, before he shyly asked me to move in with him. It took me several days to answer him but ultimately, I decided that I loved being with him. At night when I would lay alone in my bed at my parents’ house, I longed to be in his arms, to feel the warmth of his body against mine.
He helped me move my things in that next weekend and we fell into a routine just like a married couple. We went to work, did household chores, the cooking, and had wonderful overwhelming sex. I decided to stay on my regular shift at the casino so I could be at home during the night with Dylan. I can’t pinpoint an event or anything that I might have done to make Dylan change. About three months after I moved in, we had our first argument. I had already quit my job and was staying home day after long boring day. I wanted to go to a dance club with some of my former coworkers and he said, “You just want to go shake your ass with your slutty friends and see who you can attract. I won’t allow it Kylie, you belong to me.”
“Belong to you? I don’t belong to anyone. I just want to have some fun with my friends, let loose a little. I’m tired of sitting in this apartment doing nothing. You go out with Tyler after work whenever you want. How am I to know you two aren’t picking up women?” At this point I was seething, the nerve of him to tell me what I can or cannot do.
It happened so fast, I didn’t see it coming or have time enough to react. His fist shot out and connected with my nose and cheekbone. I remember my head snapping back and intense pain shooting through my entire face. The pain was so immense it automatically brought tears to my eyes. I instantly tasted that unmistakable metallic flavor of blood in my mouth. I stood there in utter shock with my hand over my nose and blood dripping on the carpet, not really comprehending what just happened.
**********
“Ma’am, we’re at the airport.” I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I didn’t realize the car stopped moving. I glance out the window and sure enough, we are parked at the curbside drop off area. I quickly dig in my purse and pay for my fare, leaving him with a huge tip. Somehow hoping the generous tip will make up for my behavior a few minutes ago. As I reach for the door, I feel obligated to say something. “Sir, about earlier, I’m really sorry about...” He puts up a hand and waves me off as if it’s not a big deal.
“No problem ma’am, you just take care of yourself.”
Chapter Three
I walk through the doors and into the airport, shocked by the amount of people hustling and bustling about. The airport is much busier than I anticipated for this early in the morning. Glancing at my watch, I realize I only have an hour before my flight takes off. I start to panic when I see the amount of people waiting in the ticketing line. Getting my ticket alone could take an hour, and somehow I have to make it through ticketing, security, and boarding. I realize I need a miracle to make it on time.
I spot a row of machines that resemble ATM’s, but the sign says, “Self-Service Check-In Kiosk,” and each machine only has a few people in line. I’m not exactly sure how to operate them but it’s worth a try. I get in line behind a good-looking, well-dressed man and try to watch how he goes through the process. It looks easy enough. When it’s my turn, I’m done in a matter of minutes. As soon as the machine prints out my boarding pass, I grab my duffel bag and head for the security check point.
If I wasn’t in such a hurry and feeling stressed, the security checkpoint would be quite comical; everyone removing their shoes, emptying pockets, and going through the metal detector, we look like a bunch of cattle being herded from one spot to the next. The line is moving rather quickly; it starts as one and then splits into three lines. As I approach the X-ray machine, I remove my shoes, throw them, along with my backpack, in a plastic tub and place it on the conveyor. I go through the metal detector without a problem, and then I’m detained at the end of the x-ray machine as they ask me to open my bag for inspection. Apparently, something looked suspicious going through. I open the bag and they pull out a bottle of perfume I had put in there. They inform me that I can’t take the perfume on the plane. “Why not? It’s only perfume!”
“Anything liquid must be less than three ounces or it’s not allowed as a carry-on, there are strict regulations against such items. There is a posting at the beginning of the line,” the TSA agent informs me.
“Sorry, I’m in a hurry and didn’t take the time to read the posting. Feel free to throw the perfume in the garbage, but I REALLY need to get to my gate before my plane is ready to take off,” I beg.
“Well, you know the airlines recommend you arrive at the airport two hours before your planes departure time, assuring you enough time to go through the departure process,” he states brusquely.
“Under normal circumstances I would have, but today hasn’t been a normal day,” I explain apprehensively.
“You’re free to go, I hope you enjoy your flight and your day gets better,” he smiles handing me my backpack.
Once free from the security area I check my boarding pass. I’ll be taking off from gate number C18 flight 361, Milwaukee to Orlando. I think to myself gate eighteen can’t be too far and start speed walking down the concourse. Courtney told me they had to fly me into Orlando instead of Daytona because otherwise I would have had to depart out of Madison. They knew there was no way I would be able to get to Madison, a two-hour drive, with my car not running.
I see gate eighteen on the left and can hear announcements over the loudspeaker. They are letting certain sections board at this time. I check my ticket and realize I’m in row three with a window seat. I approach the counter and ask the woman at the desk if they’ve called row three yet and she says, “Why yes honey, just get in that line, and show your ticket to the attendant.”
“Thank you ma’am,” I excitedly say, realizing that I’m going to make this flight after all. As I walk onto the ramp to enter the airplane, I feel as though a tremendous weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I’ll finally be able to do as I please and no longer live in fear of pissing Dylan off and the repercussions that entails. I feel sorry for the next unsuspecting victim he preys upon.
I quickly find row three, my seat and the middle seat is empty. Could I be so lucky as to not have anyone sitting next to me? A little, gray-haired woman probably in her mid-seventies, occupies the third outer seat. She sees me stowing my backpack in the overhead storage area and gets up to let me pass by and take my seat. She gives me a glance and a warm smile. “My name is Betty; I’m on my way to see my eight grandchildren in Orlando. Are you going on vacation? Meeting someone special? Relocating for a job?” she inqu
ires.
Geez, enough with the questions already, lady. I give her a pleasant smile back and simply respond, “My name is Kylie, and I’m relocating to Daytona. I’ll be moving in with my best friend and hope I like it there enough to make it my new home.”
“Well honey, you’re young and beautiful, you should be spending your days on the beach and enjoying life while you can. Before you know it, you will be my age. I like to visit but just can’t take the heat during the summer months,” she explains then opens a book by Nora Roberts.
Good, I hope she reads the whole way. She seems nice enough but I’m just not in the mood to make small talk today. Just as I pull out my magazine to start reading, I feel the vibration of the plane’s engines firing up. One flight attendant is working on shutting the door, while the other one is getting ready to do her safety demonstration with the oxygen masks. I’ve seen this demonstration so many times but I still crack up at their gestures while they’re doing it. The captain comes on the microphone and announces, “We are about to begin taxing down the runway, please make sure your seatbelts are fastened, once we get clearance from the traffic tower we will be taking off. From everyone at AirTran, we hope you enjoy your flight with us today.”
The flight attendants begin their demonstration and out the window, I can see them removing the blocks from in front of the tires. They begin to push the airplane back to align with the runway, and the flight attendants finish up with the demonstration and take their seats at the rear of the plane. We sit for what feels like forever, but it’s only minutes before the plane starts to move forward. Our speed increases at a rapid rate and everything outside my window becomes a blur, and then I feel that moment of uncertainty as the plane lifts off the ground. “Goodbye Milwaukee, good bye you fucking bastard,” I mumble under my breath.
