#god i LATCHED onto this man when i played pla | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lashofer · 7 years

Text

Resolve

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I'm in the passenger seat next to Ruby. Her fingers are white on the wheel, and her eyes are fierce. I haven't seen her in a long time.

Bruises, the latest ones,

are in blotches that run down the side of her neck and

disappear into the collar of her plain, black t-shirt.

Her dark hair is in a ponytail. She is silent as she stares at the oncoming road. Pepper, her Chihuahua, keeps looking at me like she doesn't know who I am. A bright red cast is around Pepper's right foreleg.

"That's it." She mumbles it like she's done before, but her eyes are bright. I can tell that she means it this time. She doesn't address me; nobody ever does.

Brian's Jeep isn't in the driveway, but we park the old Volkswagen Bug along the street anyway. She scoops Pepper out of my lap. Pepper whines, and she kisses her on top of her balding head. "Nobody's gonna hurt you."

A large chip of white paint comes off the town house's front door as she opens it. She looks at it for a while. She knows that this place needs some work, but it took her until now to notice how truly run down it is. How many years has she lost to this place? She can barely remember them all. The front entrance smells of cigarette smoke and spilled booze.

Kicking aside the liter of vodka,

she makes her way to the bedroom. She sets Pepper down on the bed and opens the closet. An old backpack from university lies in the far corner, but she keeps looking; she doesn't want to look like she's leaving. Her hands grab the largest purse she owns instead. She doesn't need much, just enough clothing to last a couple of days. The underwear drawer is ignored; anything in there will only serve as a reminder of him. Her actions are methodical; she hardly notices what goes in the bag. Three random tops. The jeans that Brian always found too tight. Pepper's stuffed duck and leash goes in too. She'll grab dog food along the way.

The bathroom is next: toothbrush, flattening iron, deodorant, tampons. She knows she's forgetting things, but doesn't care. She opens the makeup drawer, something she hasn't done in a long time.

The mascara feels innocent and small in her hand, not whorish or provocative.

She unscrews the cap and brushes some on her upper lashes. It's clumpy from sitting in the drawer for so long. There's a lipstick tube in the far back, behind some heavy foundation. She puts some of that on too.

She stares at her reflection for a full minute. Her blue eyes are doll-like, large and vulnerable.

She turns to the side, placing her hands on her flat abdomen. All she's eaten for the last two weeks is salad: a cup of spring greens, a teaspoon of balsamic vinaigrette, and ten kidney beansthrown in to make it more filling.

Pressing her lips together to spread the red dye, she hardly recognizes herself. That suits her just fine. Pepper moves around from the bedroom; Ruby can hear her trying to dig around in the blankets. How her cast gets in the way.

Ruby snaps away from her reflection. Brian will be back any minute.

The door opens with a bang.

I feel myself fading.

She zips the full bag closed, swings it over her shoulder.

"Ru?"

She emerges from the bedroom with Pepper on her hip. Pepper struggles when she sees him, so she sets her down behind the couch.

Brian looks relieved. "Babes, are you alright?" Something is different, but he doesn't know what.

She looks at him directly. She's tried to stand up to him hundreds of times, but I was never there. I am now.

"I'm so sorry." His fingers dance over the purple and brown splotches on her neck. He kisses them softly and lifts her up with strong, tanned arms so he can bury his face in her shoulder. He's careful not to press too hard. "I just … get frustrated. Work is insane, and I don't mean to take it out on you. You never give up on me." Tears well in his eyes. "You're the only one who hasn't."

Ruby melts into him. His words are maple syrup, and fill her whole again.

I'm almost gone.

Ruby catches a glimpse of Pepper trying to lick the fur under the cast, and her resolve strengthens. Her anger is tangible. Hot steel lines her stomach.

"I need to go back to the vet," she lies, and does her best to keep her voice light. "They said to pick up the prescription in an hour." He nods and sets her down. "Take my Jeep."

"No, the receipt is in my glove box." With the challenge of his authority, his demeanor changes. She hurries on. "Want me to pick you up anything?" Good. Make him think you're coming back.

"Your dog spilled my shit." He eyes the vodka bottle.

It takes everything she has not to let her anger show. She hates him, and hasn't realized how much until this moment. "I'll stop by the liquor store on my way back."

She grabs Pepper and a throw blanket from the couch, and heads out the door without saying goodbye. Her arms are full, and she fumbles with the keys.

H e r ha n d s s h ak e, and she misses the keyhole twice. I sit in the passenger side again, and Ruby spreads the throw on top of me, making a nest where Pepper can nestle in.

"God, I'm starving."

Air flows in as the window rolls down, and Ruby rips the elastic out of her hair. The long strands blow around us like dancing shadows. We pull into the McDonald's drive-thru. A Double Big Mac for her, a kid's meal for Pepper. Through a mouthful of grease, she belts out the lyrics from a popular music station, and hands Pepper fries over the shifter handle.

The Interstate exit is coming up. It looms ahead, and she struggles with indecision.

I give her a nudge, and she jerks the steering wheel at the last moment. Angry horns blare behind us. A funeral home passes on our right, and

I feel a tug.

I'm in the back pew next to Mitch. I guess Ruby doesn't need me anymore. A closed casket lies at the front of the long room, adorned with a picture of an older gentleman and large bouquets of white flowers. A podium stands behind it, where a preacher addresses the crowd in somber tones.

Mitch doesn't believe in God. At least, he doesn't think he does. Mitch believes in facts, and the fact is that the man in that casket is dead. He's not floating around the heads of the people in the pews like a trapeze performer.

He's angry. Jule, his sister, called him two days ago, and he was in the midst of a breakthrough. He works at CERN, and doesn't have time for this. The plane ride was terrible. A couple sat beside him, and brought their newborn child on the flight. It wouldn't stop screaming. He couldn't stand the movie that was playing; nobody knows how to write a goddamn thing anymore. The pseudo-science was laughable at best. He tried to open his laptop and work instead, but his ear buds wouldn't drown out the child.

Being in people's heads can be exhausting sometimes.

Jule is in one of the front pews like the rest of Mitch's family. He hasn't seen anyone in five years. He doesn't know if he can face them right now, but I'm here for a reason. I wouldn't be here if he hadn't made up his mind.

The preacher asks if anyone else has words to share.

Mitch stands and brushes off his pants, the scribbled paper clutched in his fist. I follow him. A gasp comes from his mother as she sees him walk by. He pauses and gives her a tentative kiss on the cheek. He smiles at Jule, and pushes back the guilt. He's here, and that's enough for now.

The casket is large, and stained a dark cherry. Mitch brushes his hand over the wood, and picks up the picture frame.

The man sits on the porch in a rocking chair, drinking spiked lemonade. He wears a Hawaiian shirt, and white socks peek underneath his Velcro sandals.

A stone drops in his chest. He was the one who took the photograph.

Wind forces me back towards the exit. I grab a pew bench to stop. My hands are translucent, and my feet are swept out from under me. I force them back down to connect with the floor. Mitch still stares at the photograph, frozen.

I know he can do this. I won't let him down. Working my way from bench to bench, I latch myself onto the casket.

I grab Mitch's hand.

He sets the picture down.

His shoulders shake, and I take them. Turn him around. He walks up to the podium on his own. The crowd stares at him, most of the faces familiar. The wooden ledge is tight in his grasp. He takes a deep breath.

"My father was a wonderful man."

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