Sunday, October 13, 2013

The Road Trip


Samantha was barely speaking to Matthew when they crossed the border in to Labinnac County, a tiny speck on the map in the western most corner of Pennsylvania.  At this point, even his breathing was making her squirm with rage.  He had told her they were going somewhere as a “surprise”.  A trip he said, “she’d never forget.”  He smiled his smile and she bounced with glee.   
 
Hours later, she realized that the “surprise” was a road trip to visit Matthew’s shirttail relatives, and not – as she had assumed – the trip to the Bahamas, as he had been promising.  She should have known better then to think Matthew had it in him to come up with something that grandiose.  Plus, he told her not to bother packing anything – everything they would need was right there.  She had still slipped a bikini in to her purse, the thought which now infuriated her more.
 
Matthew cleared his throat and she gave him a sideways glare that could cut a diamond. He glanced over at her and tried to restart their conversation from where it had left off.
 
“Honey, I’m sorry you’re disappointed.  I don’t know what gave you the idea that we were going to the Bahamas.  That type of trip takes a lot more planning, and I really thought you’d appreciate meeting my relatives.”   If he had left it there, Samantha might have tried to thaw the iciness that was hanging in the air.  Oh no.  He just had to go on.  “Besides, babe, you can’t honestly be angry with me for something that you made up in your own mind, can you?”  That was it.  That was the final blow. 
 
“You’re right, honey,” she started, “I shouldn’t have assumed you would do anything that you said you were going to do.  I should know better than to -what was it you said - ‘make things up in my own mind’?  Yes, that’s what you said.  I should have known better than to think you might actually try to surprise me with something we’ve been talking about for months.  Yes, snookums.  Visiting your backwoods relatives is a fine, FINE alternative to lying on the beach and sipping a Pina Colada.  Whatever was I thinking?”  Her sarcasm was cutting, but Matthew couldn’t help but smile.
 
“Like I told you, Sammy, this is going to be a trip you’ll never forget.  You’ll love my relatives.  They’re quirky and unique.  I guarantee you that you won’t have a thought of the Bahamas once this trip is over.  Come on, babe.  Let’s make this trip special.”
 
Samantha stared at him.  There’s no use in making a complete jackass out of myself in front of his family, she thought.  She better put her disappointment away with her bikini, because she knew they couldn’t be far now.  She tried to soften her voice when she next spoke.
 
“Matt, I’m letting it go.  For now.  There’s no sense in us driving out all this way just to argue.  I’m just not sure why you picked now to visit relatives that you’ve never even spoken about.  It just seems odd.  You can’t blame me for being disappointed – especially since we’ve been talking about going to the islands for ages.  Let’s just put it behind us and deal with it on our way back to civilization.”
 
“That’s my girl.” Matthew said, giving her a wink and a smile.  “I know you’ll have the time of your life once you meet everyone.”
 
“Alright, so tell me something about these relatives I’ve never heard a peep about,” Samantha said.  “I’ve never even heard of ‘Labinnac County’ before.”
 
“Ahhh. That’s because only a special few even know it exists,” laughed Matthew.  “Labinnac County is the best kept secret this side of the Pacific.  My family owns a lot of the business in town – the Bed and Breakfast, the Café.  If they don’t own them, then another distant relative does.  Everything in Labinnac  County has been built by my family.  It’s in our blood.”
 
“Well, if it’s so important to you, then why haven’t I heard anything about it before,” she questioned.  “We’ve been together for years and I never knew you even had family way out here, much less owned a town.”
 
Matthew answered with a smile and a pat on her hand.  “I had to make sure you were the perfect person to meet my family, Sam.  And you are.”
 
Samantha smiled and her feelings of anger quickly drifted away.  Matthew might not be the most romantic guy in the world, but he sure did know how to say the right thing sometimes.  Besides, it looked like they’d be spending the rest of their lives together, so she should learn to put away her pigtails and accept what she had.  A good, solid man who was dependable.  Romance was over-rated anyway. 

***

They crossed over a covered bridge into the center of Labinnac County.  She had to admit, it was beautiful and serene.  The town looked like it was a direct copy out of a Norman Rockwell painting, and the few people she saw, tipped their hats to her as they drove by.  “What the hell”, she thought to herself.  “Did I just step into Mayberry?”
“Here we are,” Matthew said, with joy in his voice.  “We’ll be staying here tonight. This is the place I was telling you about.   My Aunt and Uncle – well that’s what I call them anyway – should be inside waiting for us.”  Samantha smiled, and glanced at the sign: 

Niks Nook – Bed and Breakfast
The Dining’s on Us

That’s a cute slogan for a B&B, Samantha thought.  Maybe these people aren’t hillbillies after all.  Matthew held the door for her, and they both walked inside, hand in hand.
“Matty!!” an eldery woman called out from behind the desk.  Samantha’s eyes were still adjusting from the bright daylight, and couldn’t quite make out the figure speaking yet.    She could tell the woman was old, but her eyes were playing tricks on her.  For a brief instant, she could have sworn she saw yellow eyes and pointed teeth.  Quickly her eyesight came back in to focus, and standing before her was a grandmotherly lady, probably in her late 70’s.
Aunt Livee placed her hands on Samantha’s shoulders and gave her a firm squeeze.  “This must be your Samantha, the one we’ve heard so much about.”  Aunt Livee never took her eyes off of her and Samantha was getting a nauseated feeling in the pit of her stomach.  Why did Aunt Livee know so much about her, but she had never heard anything about Aunt Livee?  She put it off to having not eaten all day and the long car ride. 
“Yes, Auntie.  This is my Sammy.  I’m so glad you two can finally meet!  I know you two will get along splendidly.  Where’s Uncle Stan?” Matthew inquired.
“Oh, sweetie.  Your Uncle is still feeling a bit under the weather.  I’m hoping he’ll be up and about by tomorrow morning,” Aunt Livee replied.  Samantha couldn’t help but feel like she was being watched and judged, but she knew it was only her imagination.  She always got a little uneasy around strangers.

***
Since they brought no luggage, Matthew decided to show Samantha around town, promising Aunt Livee that they’d be back before dark.
Starving, they headed to the nearest –and only- café in town:  The Yendik and Revil Café.  Before Samantha could ask, Matthew said, “It’s an old family name.  Aunt Livee was originally a Yendik and Uncle Stan is a Revil”.  She nodded and smiled, pleased and a little confused, to find out so much new information about Matthew. 
They stepped inside and Matt was once again greeted with warm hugs and pats on the back.  “He wasn’t kidding when he said the family owned the town”, she thought.  Matt introduced her proudly and food was ordered for them by some relative or another.
She wasn’t sure what she was eating, but it was delicious.  As soon as she finished her plate, seconds were provided from out of nowhere.  She had never had such a voracious appetite in all of her life.  By the time the meal was over she felt like a bloated tick.
They walked back to the B&B and Samantha started to feel increasingly ill. Her sides were cramping up and the pain in her abdomen was almost unbearable.  “ I’m really not feeling so well.  I think I might need to go to the hospital,” she panted to Matthew.  “Nonsense”, he smiled “you just overdid it at the restaurant.  We’ll go back to Aunt Livee’s and you can take a nice long bath.  You know you always feel ill when meeting new people and, honestly…I’ve never seen a person eat so much in all of their life.” He took her hand and looked in to her eyes. “You know, Samantha.  Right here, right now.  I know you are the perfect person for me.  I’m so glad you’ve gotten to meet my family.”  She smiled through her pain and hobbled inside to the Inn.


***

She soaked in to the tub for what seemed hours and didn’t feel any better.  In fact, she felt worse.  She crawled in to bed and Aunt Livee gave her a sleeping pill, “to ease your tired mind, my dear.”
The last thing she saw before drifting off was a bubbling pot of water.  She was dreaming she was still taking her bath, her mind told her, and she passed out.

 ***

The next morning Matthew came downstairs with a spring in his step.  He greeted Uncle Stan with a warm hug and a satisfied smile. 
“Feeling better, Uncle?”  Matthew asked. 
“Much better, thank you my boy.” Uncle Stan replied. “That Samantha sure was a good sport.  And you, my boy have this down pat.  Bring the young things in, fatten ‘em up and have him soak.  Don’t much get the point of bringing a bikini, though” Uncle Stan chuckled.  He reached for his toothpick and picked out a piece of bone.
“It’s a shame, you know.   She seemed a good lot.  But she had a bitterness to her.  Some sort of acidity to the last bite.  Probably the sleeping pill.”  Uncle Stan chuckled.  “I’ll tell you, though.  She definitely put up a fight!  Your Aunt just ‘bout had to sit on top of her to get her to stop squirming.  All she kept doing was screaming:  I get it now!  Labinnac is Cannibal!  Yendik and Revil is Kidney and Liver! Niks is Skin!”  Uncle Stan kept laughing.  “That’s about one of the smartest broads you brought here yet.  Lot of good it did her. ”
 
 

December Rose

 
 
Sara had never smiled as much as she did the night of their first date.  It had been 4 years ago this coming December.  She knew immediately that Robert was “the one”.  She loved his nervousness, she loved his self-deprecating humor.  She loved him almost immediately. 
They took things slowly and after the 3rd year, Robert proposed.  He was so nervous that his teeth were chattering and his hands were shaking.  Sara loved him even more for that.  Of course her answer was “Yes”.  She would have said yes that first night.
They were now planning a December wedding to commemorate their first date and the date of the proposal.  Everything good and true in their lives together seemed to happen in December, and it seemed perfect to plan the wedding at that time.  They decided to have the wedding and reception at one of the smaller ballrooms of the Ski Resort an hour north of them, thinking how beautiful it would be with the fireplaces warming their friends and family, and the flames reflecting off the snow.  The flames dancing in rhythm to the celebration going on all around.  It was going to be magical.  She just knew it.
Flowers, music, food and entertainment were arranged.   Sara and Robert got a kick out of the menu tasting and everything that was offered as an “extra”.  They were laughing so hard at one point that a noodle actually came out of Robert’s nose -which only made them laugh even harder.  The wedding coordinator eyeballed them suspiciously, thinking them too low-brow to have a wedding at his establishment, and too silly to even get married.  His disapproving looks were not lost on Robert, who decided to needle the coordinator with inane questions.  “So, Goodman,” said Robert, “can you ensure that a bottle of ketchup is on each table?  Our family just loves smothering their filet mignon with a bottle of Heinz 57, makes for good eats. Plus the bottle can serve as a centerpiece.”  Robert continued, “I see that there’s no trash cans throughout the dining area, where are the guest to dump their paper plates and plastic utensils?”  Ending with, “If we bring out own salt and pepper shakers from home, can we get a discount?”  Getting the hint, the coordinator took his leave and left them giggling to each other. 
Sara found her dress in a little store off the beaten path.  A beautiful off-white floor length gown, with delicate bead-work at the bodice, and scalloped edges at the hemline.  Simple yet elegant.  Robert chose a traditional tuxedo, with a red cummerbund.  Their wedding party was small, with a maid of honor and a bridesmaid, a best man and a groomsman. 
The BIG DAY was 24 hours away, and Sara kissed Robert on the nose.  “The next time you see me Mister, I shall be standing at the altar, all in white.  A glowing vision. Follow the light, my love.”  She kissed him again and set out with her bridal party to the Ski Resort.  Robert watched her go and knew he was the luckiest man on Earth.
The morning of the wedding, the snow started to fall. It was perfect, just as she had wished.  The roads weren’t bad, and she could see people starting to arrive to check in to their rooms.  Her hair was set in curlers, and her makeup was being applied.  She had no nervousness, no butterflies.  Just pure excitement for what she knew the future would hold.  A house, kids, a dog – the whole white picket fence ideal was their dream.  And it started with today. In 3 hours.

****

There was a soft knock at her door, as she was putting her veil on.  She knew it was time to head downstairs, so she answered with “Be down in one minute.”  I’m the bride, she thought to herself, what are they going to do?  Start without me?  She smiled to herself at her the thought.  “I’m the bride.”  She giggled and took one last glance in the mirror.  The knock returned.
She opened the door to find Robert’s brother and best man standing before her.  “What are you doing here, Steven?  I don’t know, but it feels like bad luck for the best man to see the bride before the wedding, too,” she said with a smile.
“Sara, I’m afraid I have some bad news,” Steven started.  He sat down and put his head in his hands and started to sob.  “What is it Steven?  You’re scaring me.”  Sara had never seen him like this before, and for the first time in years, felt a shiver race up and down her spine.
“Sara, I’m so sorry.”  Steven kept repeating those words over and over again, in between his tears.  “Sorry for what, Steven?  What’s going on?”  Sara was shaking at this point and thousands of thoughts leapt through her mind at once.
“Robert is…gone, Sara.  He was struck by a car and killed just over an hour ago.  Sara, I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry.  He loved you so much.”
She stood there, in her simple yet elegant dress and stared at him.  Disbelieving.  “What do you mean he’s died?  What does that mean, Steven?!”
“Robert wanted to surprise you.  He knew how you loved red roses, so he made the plan to line your pathway to the ceremony with long stemmed roses.  He knew the roses in the snow would make you so happy.  He wanted you to be surprised.  He just loved you so much.”  He went on, “He forgot to bring the roses this morning, so he called the wedding planner and he gave the name of the local florist who could help him out.”  Steven caught his breath.  “As he was coming back up the mountain, a truck coming down lost control.    The truck hit the driver side door.  They said he died instantly.  I’m so sorry, Sara.”
The world went white, and Sara dropped.

Sunday, October 6, 2013

The Storm


The Storm 

The rain battered against the windows and doors, demanding to gain entrance.  The shadows of the leafless branches swayed in the driving winds, their skeletal arms performing a dance of the dead.  Lightening illuminated the world and thunder shook the earth - Mother Nature's equivalent to shining a spotlight on the players and giving a standing ovation.  There was no visible life outside.  Just echoes of the storm and whispers from the grave.

They had been prepared for this night their entire lives.  Their mother spoke of it with reverence, and told them how lucky they were to witness this miracle.  "Do you know how fortunate we are, children?" she would say.  "This is a gift.  This is an honor." She would speak in hushed tones, to convey the seriousness of the night. 

Since the twins birth, they were brought up to believe that they were the Chosen.  They were told time and again that when the storm approached on the eve of their 12th birthday, all would see what their Mother had always known.  They were not like all of those little brats running around the seaside town.  They were more than the bastard children of a woman who found herself pregnant after a drunken one-night stand.  No.  They were Chosen.  They were better than all of those other creatures that sat in school, with their shiny white sneakers and their designer jeans.  They were above material things.  They were above everything.

The storm raged on and their mother took out the battered book of poetry and rhymes that they each knew by heart.  The three sat in the flickering glow of the candlelight reciting each verse, as if an incantation:

I am not of this world, I am of the sea
My father is King and watches over thee
One day he will come, to reclaim what he owns
In a storm of great strength, and a rattling of bones 

My father the King will look down from his height
Casting a curse that will rage most the night
He will gather us children, and save us from strife
My father the King will give us new life.

The verses were read with the solemnity of a religious service.  Both children were hopeful and excited, but took great care not to show their mother their joy.  For "Joy", she had always reminded them, "was nothing but giving in to your weaknesses.  Joy is for fools.  You are the children of Kings, and no King wants a fool for a child."  The children were expected to appreciate their good fortune, but not to show happiness with it.  "Royalty is not happy to be royal," she would chastise, "Royalty knows it deserves its place.  To show happiness would mean you don't truly feel you belong in the Kingdom.  We can't have that."


**** 

The storm raged on and there was a knocking at the door.  The three of them looked at each other with apprehensive glances - this wasn't how they were to be given life.  A knock on the door was never in the tale. 

The Mother opened the door cautiously, carrying the candle and leaving the chain lock on the door.  Through the crack, their neighbor appeared.  A gentleman who can only be described as "round".  He was one of the only people who spoke to the family of his own free will.  He was kind, but the mother distrusted anyone who was kind.  "Yes?"  The mother asked, in an annoyed tone.  "I was just making sure you and the kids were safe, Ma’am.", said the neighbor.  "It's one heck of a storm and it looks like the sea is rising fast.  If you'd like some company and some hot food, my wife was able to make dinner right before the electricity went out.  There's more than enough and we'd love to see you."  He peeked through the small crack in the door, "I know these types of storms can scare the kids."  The mother swallowed hard and tried to hide her displeasure at the interruption.  "Thank you Mr. Shielding.  We are doing just fine.  Best you get home now to your wife and make sure she's safe and secure."  Without another word, the Mother slammed the door and slipped the deadlock in to place. 


****

 The storm raged all night.  The candle was quickly losing its flame and they had not another to light.  As the light waned, the last thing the children saw was the time on the windup alarm clock that read 11:11pm.  It wasn't much longer now, they both thought.  Instinctively reaching for each other's hands.


**** 

September 14, 2013, Massachusetts (AP) - by Kaylee Kreiger:  In an unexplained and tragic scene, the bodies of two boys, aged 12 years old, were found on the beach in this small seaside community of Monarch, Massachusetts.  Due to their age, the names and details have not yet been released to the press.  During the storm that ravaged the coastline last evening on September 13, it appears these boys might have been playing in the surf when the water overcame them.  More details to follow in the coming days.  Mr. Shielding, a neighbor, can account for their safety around 8:00pm, during the night of the storm


September 21, 2013, Massachusetts (AP) - by Kaylee Kreiger:  More details are emerging about the two boys who were assumed to have drowned during the storm on September 13th.  The coroner’s office has issued a statement indicating that the boys death was not due to drowning.  The apparent cause of death was a deep and fatal slash to both boys' throats.   There are no suspects at this time; however investigators have not yet been able to locate the boy’s mother.

 September 25, 2013, Massachusetts (AP) - by Kaylee Kreiger:  The police have issued an arrest warrant for the mother of the two slain boys, found on the beach on September 14 in the seaside town of Monarch, Massachusetts.  Any information you can provide should be communicated to the Monarch Police Department.


September 30, 2013, Massachusetts (AP) - by Kaylee Kreiger:  The mother of the two slain boys found on the beach on September 14, 2013 has been located 15 miles from the seaside town.  Ms. Green was found in a bar off of Route 18, her whereabouts called in by the proprietor of the establishment.  A fellow patron of the bar at the time of the arrest indicated that Ms. Green was continually repeating a poem about a King and the return to the sea.  “She seemed off her rocker, if you asked me.” The anonymous patron commented.
 



Dedicated to Ben Roach, for being a pal.

Sunday, September 29, 2013

The Mist


The Mist

 
 
The loneliness was creeping in
The blackness and the cold
She had tried so long to stave it off
Unspoken would be untold. 

 
She did her best to find the light
Working to stay afloat
There's nothing to do when darkness comes
The captain stays with the boat. 

 
The creeping monster would rear its head
A mist that seemed to smile
Inching toward her in the day and night
Ever patient, all the while

 
The monster knew to bide its time
The question only of when
For she was his, they had conceded
Both underworld denizens.

 
She felt his presence before his face was shown
Like a shiver down her spine
A cold wind blowing from the sea
A heavy swallow of the brine.

 
She breathed a sigh of impending doom
Knowing which path this was to lead
Preparing herself for the approaching dusk
As if her soul was part of the devil's deed.

 
She braced herself and carried on
Her optimism still flickering through
"Perhaps it will pass and be just a shower"
Perhaps it won't leave her broken and blue.

 
She trudged along, each day getting darker
The monster approaching with skill
She turned her cheek and gave her back
But she knew he was coming in for the kill.

 
"How many more times of this can she stand?"
She asked as she was swallowed up whole
A person can face only so much
Before the darkness has taken its toll.


She remained in the cloud, in the dark, in the mist
Living, but joy being barred
Until the day she was finally released
Her being a little more scarred. 

 
She could not explain to the people around
The extent of what she was feeling
They knew she was off or just a bit moody
They knew not that her mind was still reeling.

 
Another episode like this, she thought to herself
And something must surely "give"
One can't continue on in this way
This was not the way life was to live.
 
 

 

Sunday, September 15, 2013

The Event


Hi Readers:  I'm trying out a new writing experience.  The below story is inspired by a song, but in no way is a continuation or background to the song.  It's a companion piece.   
My hope is that you read the full story, and then listen to the song that inspired the piece.  I selected a You Tube video that has scrolling lyrics and not the actual video for the song.  I hope you enjoy.

The Event



Her face was wrinkle-less; showing the glow of a woman in her early 30's, a woman not yet creased by time, but also aged to reveal a certain knowledge. Her eyes were a light brown, almost hazel, and still had a spark to them. Oddly enough.

Her long auburn hair was usually put in an Up-Do on special occasions, but the decision had been made to wear it down today. It suited her better. She looked a bit softer and more angelic, for lack of a better word. It flowed in loose waves down her back and chest, curling up perfectly at the ends.

Her makeup was done with the utmost care and scrutiny. This was no day to do a slap-dash job. For such a fair complexioned woman, a soft color palette suited her best. Peaches and blushes were required. Reds and harsh pinks drowned out her natural beauty and made her look harsh and cold. She had always wanted to be able to buy that perfect shade of red lipstick, and her makeup drawer at home still carried at least 20 tubes of varying shades. All of which made her look like Cruella DeVil. Without the charm.

Mascara was applied quickly but effectively. The brush grasping each eyelash, applying a thin coat to define her eyes. Her brows were filled in expertly and a light shimmering brown eyeshadow was applied over each lid. Her face was complimented by the makeup, not overtaken by it. A knowing hand completed the finishing touches. She had always loved getting her makeup done.

Her dress had been chosen for its femininity and sentimentality. It was such an event, that the dress required some thought. While not her favorite by far, it was one that her Mother had bought for her, and had so admired her in. A dress that was chosen for her for this specific occasion.  A lightweight eyelet dress, with an empire waist and light pink sash. She had always felt like she should be wearing pigtails and holding a lollipop when she wore it, but it made her mother happy. It was the perfect dress for this event, as it was neither extravagant nor dowdy. Neither Showy nor plain. It zipped up the back and had faux pearl buttons to hide the zipper.

Adding the finishing touches, she was almost complete. All that was left was to put on her necklace, bracelet and earrings.

***




Groups of small circles, consisting of 4-5 people each, stood whispering to each other throughout the room. Like a cocktail party where no one is yet buzzed enough to actually start a conversation with a stranger. People clung to those they knew and eyeballed those they didn't. These things are always so uncomfortable. No one is good at them.

More people arrived and glanced around for a familiar face. Those who couldn't find one took a seat, or walked with purpose out in to the hallway, making an unnecessary call.

She was at the front of the room. Flowers surrounding her - her face a sea of calmness.  Positioned next to the podium and before the crowd. As more and more people arrived, the chairs in front of her were taken up, with the first row reserved for her family and friends.

A brief speech was made by her mother, a retelling of some old jokes with a few uneasy laughs coming from the audience. Then the procession began.

One by one they gathered 'round her. You could hear one after another say, "They really did such a beautiful job. She looks at peace  So young to die."

The satin pillow matched her sash.





Arms of an Angel , by Sarah Mclachlan
 

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Hold On

Hold On

 

Hi Readers:  I'm trying out a new writing experience.  The below story is inspired by a song, but in no way is a continuation or background to the song.  It's a companion piece.   

My hope is that you read the full story, and then listen to the song that inspired the piece.  I selected a You Tube video that has scrolling lyrics and not the actual video for the song.  I hope you enjoy.
 
 
****


She sat in her idling car, twirling her ring absentmindedly. Dark clouds were beginning to roll in, but she wasn't seeing them. Her mind was in other places. In other times. Happier times. Or at least, less unhappy times.


****


She had met Charlie when she was 24. She was his waitress at the local diner one night, and it was near-closing time. He was 28, and as charismatic as they make them. He could sell water to a drowning man, as the saying goes. He certainly sold her. It wasn't that he was necessarily good-looking, or even exceptionally bright. He was neither tall, nor short. Heavy nor skinny. He just had that spark. That magnetic personality. The moment she first saw him, he seemed to glow from within. She imagined that this is what meeting a celebrity in person must feel like. He was like no one else she had ever met, and she was hooked the moment they locked eyes.
 


Charlie was a smooth talker, without being cliché. He could make you feel that you were the only person that mattered. Not only in the room, but in the whole world. He had danger in his eyes, there was no mistaking that. His eyes were a light brown that seemed to be lit up from the inside. The night they first met, they flashed with specks of gold and amber, and she thought they were the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen in her entire life. She later learned that they could turn black as tar in a flash.
 
Their chemistry was instantaneous and the relationship moved forward at a pace that worried her friends and family. She shrugged them off, telling herself that they didn't understand what it meant to really be in love. After 3 months, they had already moved in to his place - a run down 1 bedroom house on a dirt road, a road that had no name. Looking back, she admits to herself that she wasn't so fond of living "nowhere". How can you call your house a home if you live nowhere? At the time, though, she just called it romantic.
 
The first few months were paradise for her. Even the month they spent without electricity because Charlie said the "Goddamn Company had lost his payment." Who needed electricity? He would just buy his beer cold from the liquor store and drink it up before it got too warm, anyway. Charlie was very economical that way.
 
After a few months, when the phone was shut off, she asked Charlie if the bill had been paid. She always gave him her waitressing paycheck and all the tips she earned from the diner - that should certainly have been enough to at least cover the utility bills along with the groceries. His reply was a quick and hard punch to her cheek. She didn't even see it coming, and ended up on the floor, her tooth knocked loose. She knew Charlie had a temper. She shouldn't have questioned his ability to provide for her. Men have their pride.
 
He tossed a dirty dish towel on top of her, and told her to clean herself up. And while she was at, she should scrub the "Goddamn kitchen floor, since her Goddamn blood was all over the place." She heard the front door open and slam, and the car spraying dirt and rocks as Charlie put it in reverse and sped away. She lay there awhile, then got herself up to her knees. Her waitress uniform had spots of blood down the front and she tried to rinse it out before the stain set in too quickly. She couldn't afford a new uniform. Maybe she could place her name tag over the bigger spot. Or say that it was a pie stain. She'd think of something. She had in the past.

****

Time passed, months turned in to years. There were good times, she can't say there wasn't. The good times were always appreciated fully, since the bad times became more and more frequent.
 
4 years in to the relationship, she happened to catch a glance of a woman, her reflection appearing in the diner mirror that was behind the customer counter. In that brief moment, she felt automatic pity for the face she was looking at. In those seconds, she knew that the woman she was looking at was old beyond her years. That she had once been a pretty girl, but the pretty had been stolen. She could tell that the woman was merely surviving. It's amazing the thoughts that can float through ones head in microseconds. It took no time at all for her to realize that she was staring at her own reflection. In between the pity and the realization, though, a change had finally started.
 
She made a promise to herself, right there, staring at this strange face in the dirty reflection, that she was not going to live like this anymore. She made a promise to start saving her tips and start planning an escape
 
****
Charlie would never actually say he was sorry for his outbursts. He would come home with a trinket or two to show his remorse, without saying he was remorseful. A watch, a teddy bear, a small token of some sort.
 
A ring.
 
Charlie had suspected something was up. He had sensed a "change". So he did as he always did. He bought her a gift. A ring bent from a spoon. A ring that he said "Was a promise that I will always scoop you up." He thought this quite clever. She smiled to show she found him clever and sweet. It was a bit too small, so it skinned her knuckles as he pushed it down her finger. Even then he was beginning to lose his cool.
 
It's beautiful, she had told him.
 
****

She sat in the parking lot, still twirling her ring. Over time, the ring had loosened up and now spun on her skinny fingers. She had driven 50 miles at least, and knew none of Charlie's friends would be way out here. She had saved enough money, and the car was in decent shape to take her where she needed to go. But where was that? Where was her final destination?
 
She decided to check into the Riverside Motel and figure things out. It was turning cold and she couldn't sit in the car all night deciding her next move.
 
She got a single room for the night, in the dingy motel on the highway and turned the radio on. Charlie never let her listen to the radio. He always said those "Goddamn people don't know how to make Goddamn music." Charlie was a failed musician and had nothing but scorn for those who actually received airplay.
 
The thought of this made her get up and start dancing. Swaying, really. She hadn't danced in years and it felt so good. She felt free.
 
She didn't know what her next move would be, but she knew wherever it took her, it wouldn't be to a road with no-name.
 
 
 
Hold On, by Tom Waits