by Kilby Blades
“No, I don’t think so,” she said without making any effort to define what she meant. “Memories can be sneaky teachers,” she whispered into the phone while staring at the ruins.
“Tell me about it,” he said.
Fury bubbled up in her again. He didn’t care about her. He just wanted his car back in mint condition.
“Don’t patronize me. . .”
“Wait, wait,” he said interrupting her, “please don’t hang up again. I’m trying here, I’m really trying. I don’t know you. But you’ve got my car. I can’t call the police. Your right. I gave you my keys. I was an ass to do it like that, but I was trying to figure out what that girl was saying. It just seemed like the most logical thing to do. That’s not normally the way I am,” he said and stopped talking, and took a big breath.
“So, you couldn’t understand what Janie was saying?”
“No, I was confused and then I gave you my keys and you took so long to come back in the building. Hell, what am I saying, you still haven’t come back in the building.”
“Did you ever get the help you needed?”
“Do you care?” he asked.
She turned back on the engine of the car and pulled away from the curb.
“No I don’t, sorry. It’s just habit to ask.”
There was a long silence while she puttered through the town.
“Is it always your habit to be habitual?” he asked.
She thought about the question.
“Yes, I think it is. But I don’t habitually borrow cars,” she said.
She didn’t hear anything for a minute then shrugged and kept driving. She could hear his breathing—even, deep, and strangely intimate.
“If you don’t habitually steal cars then why are you doing it tonight? If you don’t mind my asking?” he said, his voice a little deeper than it was before—more personal, more real.
Instinctively she wound through town, no particular destination in mind. Just driving.
“I’m on a quest. Just so happens, it was your car that inspired me,” she said.
“A quest? What do you hope to find?” He sounded genuinely inquisitive.
“Myself,” she said pulling up to the first apartment where they had lived in nuptial bliss, just after the wedding.
It looks smaller now, a little cheap.
When they’d first rented the apartment, it had been such a luxury, and right around the corner from where her parents had lived. It had recently been built and everyone in town was talking about it.
Of course, rent had been on the high end of the market, but they’d wanted to live in style. Why, she wondered now, was she bemoaning her fate and blaming Robert? Perhaps she hadn’t known what was important in a marriage at eighteen. Had the talk show been right?
She heard the man clear his throat on the other end of the phone.
“Is it far, where you left yourself?”
“Are you teasing me? Because if you are. . . “
“I’m not, I know the consequences. I’m serious. Where did you leave yourself? Do you know?” he asked.
“What’s your name?” she said just realizing she was sharing some familiarity with a man, over the phone, smelling his cologne and enjoying his company and didn’t know his name.
“Logan, Logan Wong. And yes, my parents did name me after a character in a movie. I wish they hadn’t but they did,” he said.
Interesting reveal.
“Well, Mr. Logan Wong, named after a character in a movie, I’ve never owned a new car.”
Silence rested between them.
“Not that I own your car, but I’ve never been so fortunate to sit in a car like this,” she said with a sigh.
“You and your husband never bought a new car together?”
“Ex-husband, thanks for asking. And all the cars we owned were his. Literally, he said that to me, many times, just to make sure I understood.”
“That sounds like he drew battle lines.”
Instantly, her thoughts were pulled back to memories of Robert and even her father. A mosh of memories collided in her mind’s eye. Her ex-husband and her father, swimming together in her thoughts, both of them making demands, controlling others, putting their needs before the rest.
“Yes, you could say it that way—battle lines—and you’d be right,” she said.
“Did they get what they wanted?”
“Always. Otherwise there was hell to pay,” she said staring up at her old apartment. “I wanted to teach,” she coyly added. She heard him chuckle, just a little. She didn’t feel ridiculed but more like he really heard her.
“I get a little misty when people talk about teaching,” he said. “My mother was a teacher. Not my father—he worked in an office and quite honestly, I’m not sure what Dad did for a living. I’ve found, through the course of my life, teachers are great people. Sorry if I sound sentimental, but my mother passed several years ago. If I had a nickel for every time she was right about something, I would be wealthy man,” he said.
“You own this car, you must do well,” she said almost wanting to know more about him and thinking better of it. She has the kids to think about now and getting too interested in another man was not part of the game plan.
“So what cologne do you wear? It’s familiar and yet not so familiar?” she said and realized too late that was not the best subject to change the conversation to.
“What I mean is. . . “
“I know what you meant,” he interrupted.
Then she heard a long slight moan.
“It’s not an expensive cologne, it’s Grey Flannel, by Geoffrey Beene. I’ve worn it for years. You hate it?”
She laughed, “No I don’t hate it. Why would you jump to that conclusion?”
“I don’t know. Have you found yourself yet?”
“Sorry, I’ll be back…no wait. This journey isn’t about you. I can’t capitulate again, never again. I’ve destroyed my life and probably my kids’ too, because…oh it’s a long story. You don’t have to keep talking to me, you know. You can wait,” she said.
“I am waiting, and listening. Look, let’s step back a second. Journeys are about discovery, right?” he said.
She snickered. “Are you a therapist or something?”
“Not even close. But we’re not talking about me. Look, to be perfectly honest…”
“What’s up with being perfectly honest? Isn’t honest just honest. Why do you think there are levels of perfection around honesty?”
“Still, that’s more about me than I’m willing to discuss. This is about you.”
“I don’t like being the focus of this conversation,” she said.
“No, you’re not going to change the conversation now. It’s all about you. And, by the way, where are you?”
“I’m sitting outside my first apartment. It’s difficult to look at. I feel so much shame and I don’t know why. It’s like I’m stuck in some strange emotional place. It’s holding me back in a time that I’m not living anymore. I don’t know where I am,” she said.
“Are you in a safe location?”
“I meant psychologically,” she said
“I understood. I mean physically, do you feel safe?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Lock the doors and close your eyes, let’s just explore a minute. Okay, can you trust me?”
“Ah, I don’t. . .”
“Just for a couple of minutes. If you don’t like anything I say, hang up on me. I’ll get the message,” he said.
To Grace, it sounded as if he were smiling, not laughing or ridiculing her, but smiling.
“Okay, but what happens if . . . “
“Grace,” he said, so soothing, so calming. She was a little taken back.
“How did you know my name?” she said sitting bolt upright in the seat.
“Your work friends know your name. They shared,” he said.
“Oh, that’s right. Thanks Logan,” she said.
“Okay I’ll s
hut my eyes but if you try to manipulate, connive or . . . “
“Got it,” he cut off her thought, “you don’t have to worry. I’m really not that kind of a man.”
She could lie, say she’d closed her eyes and then didn’t.
Geez, what have I gotten myself into. Who’s the fool here? Him, asking me to trust a total flipping stranger? What has my life devolved into? I had dreams, goals, plans, big plans to change the world. Now, I’m losing my kids, I’m totally broke, I’ve stolen some idiots car in a feeble effort to save myself. Next thing to go is my sanity. Closing my eyes in the dark while being locked in a stolen car. How do I know he’s not some kind of pervert? I don’t know if I should laugh with embarrassment or cry with shame. Oh what the Hell, what have I got to lose? My dignity? I lost that years ago.
She took a deep breath. “Okay, so you’re not some kind of strange…”
“Deviant? Sexual predator?”
“I wasn’t going to say that, exactly, but now that you mention it, are you?” she asked as innocently as possible. “Cause I’m not really into that kind of thing.”
All she heard was a slight, impatient groan.
“You are, aren’t you?” she said, really not sure of herself.
She heard another deeper groan and half-laugh.
“You’re right; let’s think this through,” he said and chuckled. “I came to your craft store tonight, a place I’ve been stalking for months, looking for my target employee. The one who might steal my car so I can, what, practice my sexual prowess over the phone? What do you think is my next move?”
“Since you put it like that…” She didn’t know where to take the conversation.
“Look, you’re in some kind of midlife crisis, right?” he asked.
There was a long pause.
“Right?” he asked, a little more demanding this time.
“Yes, a crisis. Mid-life is a little much. What have you got in mind for me, Logan?” she asked.
“I was just going to offer you a little visualization. It’s a trick I use to help me through difficult times. If you don’t want to do it, that’s fine, but I will need my car back. I have to deliver flowers to my mother. It’s her birthday.”
She took in a gasp of air.
“Your mother? Are you teasing me? Or just trying to get the car back and you’re using sentimental means to do it?” she asked, and afterwards felt entirely foolish for having made the accusation.
“Close your eyes. I’ve got a little time,” he said.
“Okay, here goes,” she said, shutting her eyes and relaxing her neck and shoulders into the head rest.
She took a deep breath and let his velvet voice brush against her ears. It was a throbbing rush like she had never known before.
“Imagine your fear, your biggest fear. What does it look like?” he asked.
There was silence.
“That’s a big question. One thing first,” she said, but her eyes were closed. “Why did you think cologne needed to be expensive to be enjoyed?
“This is a stalling tactic if I’ve ever heard one. But I don’t know. I guess it’s an insecurity of mine. Or, I’ve always thought, women like expensive things, and wouldn’t cologne fit in the same category? Does that answer your question?” he asked.
“Alright, thanks. But, for the record, cologne doesn’t have to be expensive to impress,” she said starting to enjoy her eyes being closed.
“Now, I’m serious, what does your biggest fear look like? It’s a real thing. Is it hairy, got one tooth, a loud roar, the voices in your head telling you your insignificant, unimportant, incapable?” His voice was so gentle, soothing, and compassionate that Grace felt safe in the hands of this man.
“Wait, wait this tickles. Your voice tickles a little,” she said with a slight giggle.
“Really?” he said, “‘cause your voice feels good to me, and I love that little laugh.”
“I don’t know.” Her voice felt feeble, timid.
“Don’t know what?” he asked.
“My biggest fear.”
“Oh, we’re back to business then. Right, I disagree. Most people know what they fear. Some run towards it, some run away from it, and nobody likes to admit it, but they know what they fear,” he said.
She could feel the honesty in his voice, and the sting of tears rolling down her cheeks told her she knew her own fear as well.
“You can’t fight something you don’t know. Come on, we’re not boxing ghosts here—we’re looking at real life…gut wrenching, got-to-get-over-the-hurdle-in-order-to-get-to-the-finish-line kind of work. You know what I mean?”
“Are you a therapist?” she asked again.
She felt his breathing ripple all the way down her spine.
“No, but I see a therapist, or at least I used too,” he offered.
She sighed. Sucking in another gulp of air, she started to talk. Her shoulders softened.
“My second biggest fear is that I will have to admit my first biggest fear,” she said holding her breath.
“I didn’t ask about your second biggest fear, only the first one. My therapist used to say that our fears will guide our lives until we grapple with them, and win. What other options do you have right now?” he said and fell silent.
She imagined his lips, so close to her ear she yearned to have him with her, beside her, arms around her. His voice was seeping into the sad and lonely part of her life and washing it away without ever even trying.
“Okay, my biggest fear is that I will never be deeply loved. Never. And my divorce put the nail in the coffin on that thought,” she said holding back her shame as best she could.
“Oh. Sorry. That’s painful. But now, we have to reframe that thought. We do. You can.” he said.
She felt his masculine, deep voice touch her soul, filling her body with low-grade passion. Her anger was softening. It felt like a gift: the idea that she could give herself permission to stop being afraid of her life and face the challenge.
“My future looks awfully dim right now, and I really, really don’t know how to reframe the bullshit that was just thrown at me,” she said.
“Let’s work on one thing at a time. I’ll tell you what I believe and then you can tell me what you believe and we can talk out the difference, okay?” he said.
“I believe we are all born important to this world. Sometimes, we get lost among other people’s opinions and swallowed into their lives without meaning to,” he said and then left room for Grace to talk.
“You do, you really do, believe that we are all born important?”
“Yes, and well, all I can say is that you deserve love, Grace. We all deserve to be loved. I can’t promise you’ll get it. But I also notice that people receive as much as they give. I know that sounds trite and yes, I heard that from my mother, but it’s true. People get as much as they give. So you can’t shut down, and steal cars, and avoid life and reach the goal of having love in your life,” he said.
“You sound a lot like a talk show I heard not long ago,” she said with a sigh.
“One last thing: if you don’t fight for what you deserve then your children will learn not to fight for what they deserve. You know that’s true, don’t you?” he said.
She slowly opened her eyes, looked at the old apartment, the disrepair of the building. Picking up the roses, she drank in a deep breath of their delicate scent.
“You’re right. I have a situation in front of me that I have to fight. With your indulgence, I have one more thing to do, and then I’ll be back at the store. Okay?” she said and immediately hung up the phone.
This was it. She was at the moment of take-off.
“Come on, Goddess of the Divine, take me home. Please,” she said turning on the engine of the car.
Slow and steady, she pulled away from the curb and started driving toward her future.
“He thinks he can waltz off with the children because I’ve allowed him to take everything else from me without a struggle.
I’ve gone along, I’ve capitulated. I’ve given him everything. My submission is his permission. No more buddy, no more,” she said and held firm to the steering wheel.
Grace was headed toward the old dam, the long road that leads to the edge of town. But mostly, to where she could think, and drive, and find her courage again.
Her head was spinning.
Money buys space, distance which breeds disinterest, indifference and a disconnection from everyday life. Will he even be able to deal with our kids, all the activities, the clothes, meals, endless energy, fulfilling their constant need for attention?
Soon she’d hit sixty five miles an hour, then seventy, then seventy five. She managed the car with confidence and style. The headlights were glaring into the distance. Tonight, for the first time, Grace would travel past the edge of town, climb her mountain, and move into her future. She was keeping pace with the wind now: eighty….eighty-five miles an hour. It was the fastest she’d ever driven in her life. She moved through town, empowered, having given herself permission to engage fully in her own life.
“I will not let my mind swerve from my commitment to my children,” she said, roaring into the night sky, going ninety miles an hour.
She slowed, cautiously, and pulled out onto the edge of a cliff. The hidden place where, legend has it, that if you need help from a power greater than yourself, then you go and offer the Goddess your sorrows and she will heal your heart. She pulled the car to the side and stopped the engine.
Opening the door slowly, she pondered what she would offer as her sorrows. Without thinking, Grace started to walk around and pick up little sticks, twigs, dry leaves and bits of bark. She gathered the small pile and stared at it for a while. She could feel her confidence rise like heat from the fire in her belly. Breaking free from the confines of traditional expectations, she threw her arms open to the night.
The denial of a lifetime was lifted—like the sunshine on heavy morning fog, it was all fading away. Clarity broke through to her senses. Grace knew she had drowned her energetic spirit by trying so hard to please others.
Rearranging the makeshift campfire, she puzzled through her own attitude. The opinions of others eventually sucked her into a demoralizing spiral heading straight into the hell-mouth of complacency. The bits of kindling had become quite a small mountain of fuel. She needed more.
