324
Sitting
in the passenger seat of a car again was freaking me out. After only
being able to walk or maybe hitch a ride on the back of an animal-drawn
cart, the speed at which the scenery was streaking by was alarming.
Without wanting to, I was clutching the "ohshit" handle and my legs were
stiff in front of me. The smell, too. It reeked in here, though I
know I reeked to Richard. I smelled like animal, but the car smelled
like chemicals and it burned my sensitized nose.
Labels:
fantasy,
perspective,
time
Richard kept stealing glances at me out of the corner of his eye and just as he pulled up onto the part of the highway that sped up even further, he put his hand on my knee. I can imagine now that he must have thought it would be comforting, but my reaction was a violent twitch away from his soft hand. I tried to explain it was the car, the increased speed, the raised highway, but I didn't sound convincing even to my own ears. Memories of our apartment were coming back, and, to my horror, I didn't want to go. That apartment was what I dreamed about, prayed for, cried over when I was first gone, and here I was ready to leap out of the car flying at nearly seventy miles an hour onto the pavement.
What was worse was the guilt. When I appeared at the hospital, dazed, scratched, bruised, and a little dehydrated, I didn't know, exactly, how long it had been. I didn't give my name, I suppose that in itself is telling, but the young doctor who examined me knew who I was from the news reports and called my emergency contact, Richard. He must have flown to get there, and his face lit with relief and the fulfillment of all his hopes. Richard had waited for me.
I hadn't waited for him.
One year to the day of my disappearance and, I have no doubt, to the minute and second, I reappeared. I thought it was longer. I had been out for a walk. Richard and I used to walk together, but he only walked to humor me while we were dating. Once we were married, I went alone. It was fine by me because he always power-walked and didn't talk the way I would have with a friend. We had gotten married because it was the correct order: date, become engaged, marry, move in together. I know moving in together before marriage is "living in sin", but there are worse things to live in, the most insidious is unhappiness.
Our apartment was small, and most of my belongings--toys, knick-knacks, school papers from Kindergarten through college--were still at my parents' house. Richard didn't have anything but his clothes and his car, which he loved. He installed a premium stereo and speakers, replaced perfectly good floor mats, sewed on a leather steering wheel cover himself, and bought himself "driving gloves". It wasn't that nice a car, but he loved it. Richard boasted he didn't have to press the clutch because the sound and feel of his car would tell him when to shift. He boasted that he could tell the make and model of any car at night by the shape of its headlights. He said American roads were over-engineered and, therefore, curves could be taken faster. I believed cars were for transportation.
No. I didn't even believe that anymore. I only wanted to be still again. And quiet. And with Jacob. I felt my insides clench. The urge to run had me levitating off the car seat, but I couldn't. Being here was part of the plan, and I had to stick to the plan. The plan. The last-ditch plan that we didn't really believe would work except here I was again, nearly back to the apartment where I lived with Richard and where I left for work and where I did laundry and cooked one-pot meals with food from a bag.
Richard hovered around me all the way into the apartment, like I was a stray sheep and he was my concerned and knowing sheep dog. He unlocked the door, but didn't open it. "Cara, I..." I don't know what he expected me to say, or what he wanted right then. I wanted a shower. I wanted to run. I wanted to go home. "I kept everything the same. I knew you would be back."
Not for long. God, please, not for long.
One year ago I went for my evening walk and got whistled at by a bunch of men I couldn't see who were drinking on a porch across a busy street. I kept walking, my destination the woods and the gorge along the river that was one of the only truly natural parts of the city. I risked stumbling into homeless people's camps and teenage drinkers, but it was usually quiet and I hardly ever saw anybody. The city streets were more dangerous.
I always told Richard when I was going out. I used to ask him to go for a walk, and I used to not walk if he said no, but I stopped doing that some months ago. I think he would have walked if it had been his idea, but since it was mine, then, no. I didn't know or care what he did after I left. He didn't seem to care how long I was gone. This particular walk, I would be gone for one year.
Richard locked the door behind him, and I started to hyperventilate. "Cara, sit. Are you okay? Should I take you back to the hospital?" I shook off his hands again, registered the hurt look, but I didn't care. I fell to the edge of the sofa and leaned down to catch my breath. Richard tried to give me water. He hovered by the phone. He asked if I wanted him to fill the sedative prescription, he would be right back. I kept shaking my head no and staring at the cheap carpeting. Richard had vacuumed, and he never vacuumed. I hated that I knew, and I hated Richard for trying to help, and I hated that if I left, they'd drag me back to the hospital and, this time, they'd put me in the psych ward.
Where do you go when you don't want to be where you are? When the ties that hold you become thinner and thinner and people start letting go? Who would believe that I found a way out? Temporary, though. Temporal-ary. My brain was split in two.
Doctors here. Healers there. Cars here. Horses there. Stripmalls here. Peddlers there. Television here. Magic there. Richard here. Jacob there. Me here. Me there.
"Richard," saying his name made my teeth squirm, "I need some space."
I don't think it mattered what I had said, just that I said something to him because Richard looked more pleased than he should have. "I'll go pick up your prescription, then. You... have a shower?"
He didn't want to offend me. I nearly laughed. "Yes. Fine. I will. Please." Please go away, please leave me alone, please don't come back, please let me get out of here. Except for the plan. I had to prepare, and that meant staying for a while.
I showered and made myself a temporary plan. I couldn't stay with Richard, but I had to stay nearby, so I would go home, if my parents would have me, their thirty year old married daughter, back in her childhood room, interrupting their retirement. I needed to call them, anyway, since only Richard had spread the word I had been found, and I didn't get to talk to them myself.
I have to be honest; the shower felt damn good. I soaped and scrubbed head to toe three times. My hair was long and the quitters covered the drain. I actually considered not shaving, since I hadn't in so long, but the urge to be smooth again was too strong now that I was surrounded by soaps and creams and scents. All the fragrances in the tiny, steamy room were a little overpowering, and I promised myself to restock with unscented varieties.
What was worse was the guilt. When I appeared at the hospital, dazed, scratched, bruised, and a little dehydrated, I didn't know, exactly, how long it had been. I didn't give my name, I suppose that in itself is telling, but the young doctor who examined me knew who I was from the news reports and called my emergency contact, Richard. He must have flown to get there, and his face lit with relief and the fulfillment of all his hopes. Richard had waited for me.
I hadn't waited for him.
One year to the day of my disappearance and, I have no doubt, to the minute and second, I reappeared. I thought it was longer. I had been out for a walk. Richard and I used to walk together, but he only walked to humor me while we were dating. Once we were married, I went alone. It was fine by me because he always power-walked and didn't talk the way I would have with a friend. We had gotten married because it was the correct order: date, become engaged, marry, move in together. I know moving in together before marriage is "living in sin", but there are worse things to live in, the most insidious is unhappiness.
Our apartment was small, and most of my belongings--toys, knick-knacks, school papers from Kindergarten through college--were still at my parents' house. Richard didn't have anything but his clothes and his car, which he loved. He installed a premium stereo and speakers, replaced perfectly good floor mats, sewed on a leather steering wheel cover himself, and bought himself "driving gloves". It wasn't that nice a car, but he loved it. Richard boasted he didn't have to press the clutch because the sound and feel of his car would tell him when to shift. He boasted that he could tell the make and model of any car at night by the shape of its headlights. He said American roads were over-engineered and, therefore, curves could be taken faster. I believed cars were for transportation.
No. I didn't even believe that anymore. I only wanted to be still again. And quiet. And with Jacob. I felt my insides clench. The urge to run had me levitating off the car seat, but I couldn't. Being here was part of the plan, and I had to stick to the plan. The plan. The last-ditch plan that we didn't really believe would work except here I was again, nearly back to the apartment where I lived with Richard and where I left for work and where I did laundry and cooked one-pot meals with food from a bag.
Richard hovered around me all the way into the apartment, like I was a stray sheep and he was my concerned and knowing sheep dog. He unlocked the door, but didn't open it. "Cara, I..." I don't know what he expected me to say, or what he wanted right then. I wanted a shower. I wanted to run. I wanted to go home. "I kept everything the same. I knew you would be back."
Not for long. God, please, not for long.
One year ago I went for my evening walk and got whistled at by a bunch of men I couldn't see who were drinking on a porch across a busy street. I kept walking, my destination the woods and the gorge along the river that was one of the only truly natural parts of the city. I risked stumbling into homeless people's camps and teenage drinkers, but it was usually quiet and I hardly ever saw anybody. The city streets were more dangerous.
I always told Richard when I was going out. I used to ask him to go for a walk, and I used to not walk if he said no, but I stopped doing that some months ago. I think he would have walked if it had been his idea, but since it was mine, then, no. I didn't know or care what he did after I left. He didn't seem to care how long I was gone. This particular walk, I would be gone for one year.
Richard locked the door behind him, and I started to hyperventilate. "Cara, sit. Are you okay? Should I take you back to the hospital?" I shook off his hands again, registered the hurt look, but I didn't care. I fell to the edge of the sofa and leaned down to catch my breath. Richard tried to give me water. He hovered by the phone. He asked if I wanted him to fill the sedative prescription, he would be right back. I kept shaking my head no and staring at the cheap carpeting. Richard had vacuumed, and he never vacuumed. I hated that I knew, and I hated Richard for trying to help, and I hated that if I left, they'd drag me back to the hospital and, this time, they'd put me in the psych ward.
Where do you go when you don't want to be where you are? When the ties that hold you become thinner and thinner and people start letting go? Who would believe that I found a way out? Temporary, though. Temporal-ary. My brain was split in two.
Doctors here. Healers there. Cars here. Horses there. Stripmalls here. Peddlers there. Television here. Magic there. Richard here. Jacob there. Me here. Me there.
"Richard," saying his name made my teeth squirm, "I need some space."
I don't think it mattered what I had said, just that I said something to him because Richard looked more pleased than he should have. "I'll go pick up your prescription, then. You... have a shower?"
He didn't want to offend me. I nearly laughed. "Yes. Fine. I will. Please." Please go away, please leave me alone, please don't come back, please let me get out of here. Except for the plan. I had to prepare, and that meant staying for a while.
I showered and made myself a temporary plan. I couldn't stay with Richard, but I had to stay nearby, so I would go home, if my parents would have me, their thirty year old married daughter, back in her childhood room, interrupting their retirement. I needed to call them, anyway, since only Richard had spread the word I had been found, and I didn't get to talk to them myself.
I have to be honest; the shower felt damn good. I soaped and scrubbed head to toe three times. My hair was long and the quitters covered the drain. I actually considered not shaving, since I hadn't in so long, but the urge to be smooth again was too strong now that I was surrounded by soaps and creams and scents. All the fragrances in the tiny, steamy room were a little overpowering, and I promised myself to restock with unscented varieties.
