It’s Al, his voice brimming with concern.
“I heard,” she whispers. “It’s unbelievable.”
“I’m coming over,” he says. “You can stay here.”
Wordlessly, she shakes her head, no, but he doesn’t wait for an answer.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
He arrives even sooner, bringing Jana with him.
“We’ll go back to my place,” he announces, holding the car door open.
“Did she hear?” Ellen asks, nodding at Jana.
Al nods. “Yeah. I thought she was watching cartoons, but by the time I realized what was going on it was too late to shut the TV off.”
“Joanne’s still here,” he adds. “Stan was supposed to fly out today, but all flights are cancelled.”
They return to Al’s house. Her house. When they arrive, Joanne gives her a quick hug, then takes Jana into the backyard while Al and Ellen watch the towers crumble again and again, seeing the stricken faces of the survivors, ghost-like in a white frisson of cement dust, the ravaged skyline raped by a terrorist hand.
In a world that moves in slow motion, they sit together, unbelieving and bewildered by the drama playing out before them. Anchors interrupt with breaking news. Additional planes have been hijacked. There are fears that further attacks will be launched against other, undefined targets. The president has been whisked away to a secure location, the vice-president to a separate bunker at an undisclosed alternate site.
Ellen feels vulnerable in a way she’s never felt before — unprotected, abandoned and bewildered.
“Nothing’s the same anymore, is it?” she whispers. “The world is changed.”
Al places his hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll look after you. You know that, Babe.”
She shakes free.
“No. You’d like to … just like we’d like to look after Joanne and Jana. But we can’t. There aren’t any more happy endings.”
Al looks hurt and bewildered.
“We can look after each other,” he offers.
“No, Al. I don’t think we can even do that anymore. We have to look after ourselves. I have to look after myself, because there isn’t anyone else I can depend on.” As she speaks, she feels empty, vulnerable and insubstantial. She feels as though there has never been anyone she could depend on, but she didn’t realize it until now.
He looks at her with those spaniel eyes, waiting for her to take back the hurtful words.
“I don’t mean it unkindly, Al. I’m not putting you down. I’m just saying my world has changed and I’ve had to change with it. Now it’s more important than ever.”
She isn’t telling the truth. She’s feeling incredibly sad. Everything is being destroyed; everything she’s believed in and everything she has dreamed of is being destroyed.
Then the sadness is replaced by anger, hot, roiling, burning anger. How dare they, whoever “they” are, to do this to her? To take away everyone’s dreams? To destroy so wantonly the things that made her world so unique and wonderful?
Suddenly, she’s tired. Tired of arguing. Tired of scraping along. Tired of getting the short end of life. Abruptly, she stands.
“Please, would you drive me home? I have things to do.”
He’s truly bewildered now.
“It’s important,” she says. “I really do have to leave. I’ll go say goodbye to Joanne and Jana while you start the car.”
In the backyard, she gives quick hugs.
“Joanne, I’m leaving on a trip tomorrow. I’ve been planning it for quite some time. I’m sorry to throw this at you at the last minute, but I can’t put it off.”
Before Joanne can voice objections, Ellen continues.
“You have my spare key. It’s up to you whether you stay here, with your father, or whether you go back to my place and stay there. If you want my advice, you’ll head back home and try to work things out with Stan. It’ll never happen as long as you stay here.”
“When are you coming back?” Joanne asks.
“I don’t know,” she replies.
“But where—”
Ellen cuts her off.
“I’ll let you know later. I have to go now.”
Quickly she turns, kneels down and hugs Jana tightly to her, kissing her cheek, then whirls out the gate to the driveway where Al sits, revving the engine.
“I don’t get it,” he complains. “What’s so important that you have to rush away like this?”
“I’ll tell you later,” she promises.
At the apartment she rejects his offer of assistance, closes the car door firmly, and lets herself in the front door.
There’s a note on the door of her apartment.
Call me when you get in. Tim.
She walks down the hall and raps quickly on his door.
“Cushla,” he says, reaching for her. “I was worried about you. Where were you? Have you heard—”
“I have,” she says, not moving quickly enough to avoid his grasp. She endures his hug but doesn’t respond.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Did you know someone …?” the question hangs, unfinished, in the air.
“No,” she shakes her head. “No. Not that.”
She takes a deep breath and looks at him squarely.
“Tim, I’ll be leaving for a while. I’m going on a trip, so we won’t be seeing each other.”
“You’ll be back.” He smiles.
She says nothing.
“Where are you off to, then?” he asks.
“It’s a bike trip,” she says.
“A long one?”
She nods. “Yes. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. As long as it takes, I guess.”
She looks at him and once again sees those damned spaniel eyes looking back at her. Does everyone in the world have those eyes? Does everyone look wounded?
“Would you be wanting some company?” His voice is charming, beguiling. Who can resist me? it asks.
“It isn’t that kind of trip,” she says. As he draws a breath, she interrupts. “I’m sorry. I don’t have much time and I’ve got a lot to do. I just wanted to say goodbye. It’s been good knowing you.”
“That sounds very final.”
“It isn’t meant to be. It’s just goodbye. That’s all. I’m sorry, I have to go now.”
Turning, she strides down the hall and enters her own apartment.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’ll leave. Not necessarily for California. Not necessarily for anywhere. Just go. For as long as she needs.
She sorts things into piles: what to take, what to leave. Stuffing the bike panniers, she makes further decisions, cutting out some items, adding others.
I’m being selfish. Truly selfish, she realizes, with wonderment. And it feels good.
At last her packing is done. She sets out the clothing she’ll wear in the morning: bike pants and jersey, a windbreaker, light socks to go with her bike shoes, a comfortable sport bra that neither bites into her ribs nor chafes under her arms. She adds a pair of boy-style briefs that won’t bunch up under her crotch or rub her cheeks raw in the course of a long ride. And this will be a long ride, she promises herself.
Laughing, she dismantles her “burglar alarm” from the bathroom window, then retrieves the book and wedge from behind her bedroom door, sending them all down the trash chute in a clump that bangs its way down with a satisfying clatter.
It’s past the hour when the chute should be used, as the bold faced sign reminds her, but at this moment, she doesn’t care. Not about the noise, not about the trash, not about anything but her trip.
I might die tomorrow, she acknowledges. Or maybe the day after. Or not for fifty more years. But I’m tired of doing what’s expected of me, apologizing to people and being nice whether I want to or not.
“It’s my turn now.”
She steps firmly back into her apartment, closes the door behind her, and clicks the lock. Her mind is whirling as memories flash by: her mother, h
er poor mother, who seemed always in the background; her father and his bossy, overwhelming manner; Al, with his assumption that he always knew best; even Tim, turning her weakness to his advantage. Mentally she rages at them.
It’s my turn now and no one, not a grubby bunch of terrorists or anyone else, is going to take it from me.
It’s after midnight by the time she finishes putting everything away, but she’s content with what she’s done. Tomorrow, she’ll go.
“Tomorrow,” she whispers. “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. They’re all mine. And I don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
Smiling, she slides slowly under the covers and drifts gently into sleep.
Copyright © Florida Ann Town, 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.
Editor: Allison Hirst
Design: Jesse Hooper
Epub Design: Webcom
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Town, Florida
On the rim [electronic resource] / Florida Ann Town.
Electronic monograph. Issued also in print format.
ISBN 978-1-4597-0520-3
I. Title.
PS8589.O957O5 2013 C813’.54 C2012-908615-0
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