Healing

The house is finally quiet. No dogs barking, no kids romping, no man yelling and no woman jabbering. I slip out the back door and breath in the crisp, cold air. My breath comes in puffs of steam, rising in the night air like smoke. In that instant, I wish I had a cigarette. I hadn't smoked in years, but it didn't matter. The want for one just doesn't go away. I sit my butt on the cold concrete step and close my eyes. I pretend I'm anywhere but here.

The ocean maybe. It's nice. I like the sand between my toes, the water lapping my ankles. Or maybe the Smoky mountains. Step outside, breathe in that woodsy smell, look out and see all the green.

But no, I'm stuck in the beginning of December in a place that isn't anything special.

My family is big. Eight kids, and I'm the oldest. Which means? I raised the rest of them. My dad is a big wig at the bank, and my mom thinks she's the president's wife. Always having people over for hors d'oeuvres and cocktails, like she's some society sweetie. Funny thing is, no one even likes her really. They just stay on her good side because she can be mighty nasty when the mood strikes her.

I really just wanted out of this house and out of this town. It's stuck in the 1920's I think. It's seriously something out of an old soap commercial. Or maybe an old cigarette ad. It doesn't really matter. And this house.. Lord. This house is crazy. Three dogs, mom, dad, and five of the eight kids. The rest are off on their own. Me, I'm twenty-six, and just had to move back home.

The 'D' word. You'd've thought I punched my mom in the stomach when I told her. She stared at me with those big blue eyes, all done up with enough make up to make her look like a hooker. She fluffed her bottle blonde hair like she could hide my secrets in there. Then ya know what she said?

"You can stay, long as your not pregnant. Divorce is a big enough scandal."

Who the hell even says the word 'scandal' anymore? Like I said, stuck in the '20's. I just need some time to get some money together, so I can get outta this hell-hole again. Not on the arm of some man either. No sir, no ma'am. I'm going to do it on my own terms. I am my own woman. No one's gonna tell me what I can do and what I can't. I won't be bossed around any more.

My mom, she didn't even ask why I got the big D. She didn't even care. I bet she thought it would get her hands dirty, me just telling her. Well, I'll tell you. He was a drunk. He hit me anyway, but he hit me worse when he was drinking. And the things he said... I'm telling you, it would have turned your blood cold. I took it and took it for five years. Some people, they say that's too soon to give up. You have to stand by your man. (Now not only are we stuck in the '20's, but we're stuck in a country song too.) I say, five years is five years too long.

I really am surprised at myself, putting up with it. But he didn't start drinking until after I loved him. Then I just thought it was an occasional problem. Then he started talking mean to me, then he started hitting me, then he started drinking everyday. Then he started drinking every day with a splash of something in his coffee cup. It didn't matter what I did.

The house could be spotless and he'd still manage to find something dirty. Dinner would be steaming hot on his plate and he'd find something to complain about, even if it was his favorite food. I bent so far over backwards to please him, I still haven't been able to stand up straight. And all my mom can ask is 'Are you pregnant.' I roll my eyes every time I think about it.

She's a fine one to talk, asking if I'm pregnant- the lady with eight kids. It's sort of surprising she has time to leave the house, what for all the getting pregnant and being in labor. But that's not fair. My mom s a nice person, really. She just tries too hard to impress people that are never going to like her, for what? For nothing. Dad is just a manager at the bank. One of the three banks in this town that is six blocks long.

"Jet, what on earth are you doing out here? It's freezing. You don't even have a coat on. What would the neighbors think?"

"Not much mom, it's almost midnight. Why are you up?"

"I needed a drink of water. Dinner was too salty. Come on in out of the cold." She held the screen door open for me, so I stood up and went in.

Truth was, my butt was frozen. I reached behind me with both hands and rubbed it a little, trying to warm it up. Mom turned around and caught me, and wrinkled her eyebrows in the way that clearly states, 'Stop doing that or saying that right now.'

Finally, my curiosity and smart mouth gets the best of me.

"Mom, why didn't you ever ask why I got divorced?"

"Because things like that are best not discussed." Woo. She barely took a breath before that sentence.

"I think you want something that's some secret shame, so you have something to worry about when all your hoity toity friends are looking for gossip." My words were soft, but that didn't soften the blow.

"Excuse me? I did not raise you to talk to me like that." Her water glass clanked on the counter, and I knew she was mad. She never put down dishes like that.

"You thrive on gossip mother, as long as it's not your own. You're too worried about what your friends- who are not your friends, by the way- think of you. So worried about them, you didn't give two thoughts to your daughter." Pain lent a hard edge to my words.

"Jet, I don't have a clue what you're talking about." I notice she still didn't ask why.

I'm tired all of a sudden, and I give up. "Nothing, mom. I'm going to bed." Out of spite, I rub my ass while I leave the kitchen. I hope her eyebrows are wrinkled up, and I hope it leaves a line. Something else for her to have to complain about.

The days pass slowly around the house. I wake up, drink my coffee, and head to work. I'm a waitress in a little diner on the main drag. The pay isn't great, but at least it's something. And living at home, I don't have any bills to worry about. There are some real good tippers out there, but others, they don't leave much. It's all right though. I'll get there.

I leave work with my feet throbbing and my back aching. I'm too heavy. I need to lose some weight, take some strain off my body. But I'd have to exercise, and the last thing I want to do after being on my feet for twelve hours is exercise. So I will stay overweight for now. Maybe if I ever get a desk job, it'll be different.

I draw my scarf up around my face and take off walking home. It's only a few blocks, so there's no sense wasting the gas. However, by this time, my feet are tired of having anything to do with my day to day activities. I see one of the men from the diner climbing into his truck, and I only notice because he's looking at me. I look down quickly, like I'm adjusting my scarf, and he jumps down and heads towards me.

If need be, I'm ready to defend myself. I am not going to take that same shit twice. The man jogs towards me, and I glance up, realizing exactly who it is. I finally place his name.

"Hey, Jet. It's freezing, and I bet your dogs are barkin. Let me run ya home."

"It's only a few blocks. Thanks though, Wade."

I smile briefly and head off again. His feet crunch the gravel next to mine. He's walking with me.

"It sure is cold tonight. I think winter's here." Wade shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Yep, it's that time. Christmas is only a couple weeks away."

I'm trying not to make it easier for him, or harder on him either. Wade is one of those customers that's friendly, tries to act like you're friends, but you're still just the people who serve him his food. I can't figure out why in the hell he's following me like a stray dog that won't skedaddle.

"I know. I need to do some shopping. Hadn't thought much about it so far, but I guess it's time." Wade said, as he hunched his shoulders against the cold.

"Excuse me, but you're getting farther and farther from your truck, and not to be rude, but I don't understand why you're walking with me." I stop and turn to look at him. My ears are cold, the wind is blowing my hair in my face, and I'm beginning to not be able to feel my feet.

Wade stopped too, and just stared at me. I could see him mentally shifting from one foot to the other, trying to decide what and how much to tell me. I'm just too tired to worry with him much. I just want to get home, out of these clothes that smell like grease, into a hot bath, then into my jammies and bed. But this fool has me out in the parking lot and I want to know what he wants. He's still wrestling with himself.

"Okay. I know you're back in town after a divorce, much as your momma tried to keep it hush hush. People aren't stupid, and it isn't the 60's anymore. I just think you're a sweet girl Jet, even if you do have a sharp tongue. I just wanted to get to know you better, ya know, when you aren't pouring my coffee." Wade flipped me a lopsided grin.

I guess I should be sweet after all that. Sweet isn't the most prominent characteristic I've got.

"Look, Wade, I think you're nice and all, but I was in a terrible marriage to a horrible man, and I'm just not sure I'm... ready for anything... like that again."

"I'm not saying you've gotta date me, Jet. I just thought maybe we could hang out... like go to the movies or whatever sometime, just something to do." Wade shoved his hand through his hair, and quickly put it back in his pocket. I even thought maybe his face was turning a little red. From the rejection or from him thinking he was making a fool of himself, one or the other I'd bet.

"I understand. I think that's real nice, you offering. But I think I'm going to have to say no anyway." My voice turned soft. I like it to be soft when I'm saying something not sweet, when I try not to hurt the other persons feelings.

"That's fine Jet." Wade spun around away from me and took off the other way across the parking lot. Woo. He was mad.

"Yep, Jet, that's real fine. I'll just keep trying."

I had started walking away too, but with those words, I stopped and glanced over my shoulder. He was walking backwards towards his truck, looking at me.

"Every day. I'm going to ask you every day until you say yes." There was that damn lopsided grin again.

"You're going to waste your breath!" The wind nearly snatched my breath saying so.

"No ma'am. You're going to say yes one day. And then I'll make you happy."

My eyebrows scrunched together like my mom's. "You don't know anything about what makes me happy!"

"I'm gonna find out, Jet. I am going to most definitely find out." He spun and jumped into his truck.

I rolled my eyes and turned back around. Now he was going to be a stalker. Just great. At this point, I can't feel my toes, and I'm really fantasizing about that bubble bath. I hear his truck screech out of the parking lot, and I glance to watch him go. Hmm. Maybe a nice guy like that would be good for me. Ya know, just get me out of this transition phase. Give me someone to do things with, maybe make me feel better about myself, so then one day I will be able to have a relationship. Ya never know I guess.

Christmas has come and gone, and so has the new year. I've been working my tail off, and I've got quite a bit of money stashed up. The holiday season was good for tips- especially New Year's Eve. All the drunks coming in for something to put in their alcohol system. I was secretly disgusted by them, but I kept my happy face on. I just wanted their money. When the few hands reached out and touched my ass or legs, I smiled real sweet and grabbed their wrists, grinding the bones together. Most laughed about it, but I caught them rubbing their wrists when they thought no one was watching.

Wade has kept true to his word. He comes in every day, sometimes only for a few minutes and a cup of coffee. But every day, he asks me a question about myself. Quick ones on the days he only has time for coffee, like what's my favorite color, what's my favorite flower. More in depth ones on the days he's there for a meal, like what's my favorite childhood memory, and what do I want to be when I grow up. I roll my eyes at that one. I'm twenty-six. If that isn't grown, I don't know what is.

But I know what he means. He wants to know if I plan on working in this dump forever. And the answer to that is no. I just don't know what else I'm going to do. Then he took to coming by some nights when I get off, offering to drive me home. I always tell him no, so he walks with me. One night he got there after I left, and drove his truck down the road , a mile an hour, keeping even with me. You should have seen my mom's face through that window. It still gives me a laugh.

Every night, I add my tips to my jar. Once every two weeks or so I count it. I want to have a couple thousand saved up before I make any rash decisions. I'm getting close. Only about eight hundred more. I smile to myself, knowing the end is near. Plus, somehow I am managing to heal. The sting of my horrible marriage and equally terrible divorce aren't in the forefront of my mind any more. That's a good sign. I don't know if Wade has anything to do with it, but if he does, I'm grateful.

One day I get to wondering again, if my mom should know the whole story, in case any of her so-called friends asks. That way she can tell them the truth, and roll around in their sympathy like a dog rolls on a dead animal. So I head down stairs. I'm off today, so I'm still in a pair of flannel pajama pants and a sweatshirt. My dark hair is up in a ponytail, and my face is make-up free. I'm a real pretty sight. The hardwood floors are cold, and I'm glad I threw my slippers on. I can feel the cold emanating off the floor.

My mom is sitting at the dining room table, opening letters and mailing responses. She's in some women's group thing, and women send in questions about their life, and my mom answers them. What a joke. She doesn't have a clue. She's just the only one that was willing to give up hours of her day writing responses. Meanwhile, the kids are upstairs with a babysitter. The youngest one is six, and the oldest (that's living at home) is thirteen.

"Can you believe this? Lavinia George wants to know how to keep her husband home at night. I have to wait 'til my sarcastic streak is gone before I answer this one." Mom held up the letter and laughed, then tossed it into the 'wait' pile, I guess.

"Mom. I want to talk to you." I sat down, and picked up a letter opener, turning it end to end in my fingers. Anything to keep my face off of hers for when she goes blank, unwilling to listen.

"What for, Jet? I'm awfully busy." She takes a sip of her iced tea.

"I want to tell you about my divorce."

"I don't want to hear it."

"I want you to know the truth, in case any of your friends wants to gossip. That way they know the story."

"They aren't going to talk about it with me." Her eyes are on the mail.

"Right. So they'll talk amongst themselves and spread all kinds of lies. I want them to have the facts."

"Jet, I've already told them it's not to be discussed. They aren't discussing it."

"Yes they are. They're bitches, mom. They are most definitely talking about you and our family behind your back."

"You don't know them! You have no idea what they are like! How dare you talk badly about them after they've agreed to help me keep your divorce a secret!" Mom covered her mouth with her hand.

I don't know what happened to me. The fact that she enlisted them to keep my divorce a secret, or the fact she felt it necessary to keep it a secret- something pissed me off. And I have my mom's temper that's fed by vengeance sometimes. That's what happened. One minute I'm sitting there like a normal person, and the next I am screaming at her the reasons. The verbal abuse, the mental abuse, the rape, the drinking, the physical abuse. That's right, my own husband forced me to have sex with him. It was rape, no matter which way you cut it. I threaten to put it in the newspaper, because if I'm not ashamed, she shouldn't be either.

I look down, and the letter opener is clutched in my hand like a weapon. So I attack.

Before I know exactly what I'm doing, I'm gouging the words 'Drunk. Beat. Rape. DIVORCE.' into the dining room table. Over and over again. I don't even hear my mom hollering at me to quit. Somehow, those words cut into the table look nice. They look like healing. They look like relief. Tears come and drench my face, and I realize I'm gasping for breath from the exertion. But somehow I'm lighter. Freer. I'm healing. My mom knows, the table knows, and the weight is being lifted from my shoulders.

I finally tune in, and my mom is screeching like a monkey about her table. The fact she cares more about her table than her daughter is not lost on me, so I say the only thing I can think of.

"Go to hell." I walk straight up to my room and lock the door.

The next few weeks are just weird. Wade still comes by everyday, but now, he comes a little bit before I get off, and we sit in his truck talking. I do like him... I guess I kind of like him a lot. He's a sweet man. Not a mean bone in his body. He passes a stray dog, he stops and coaxes it. If it won't come to him right then, he goes back later to take it food and check on it. Sometimes, it comes with him that time. If he sees an elderly person struggling in any way, he goes and helps. A little girl tripped and fell down in the diner one day, and he scooped her up almost before her mom saw it happen.

Wade's just.. Friendly. Open. Honest. Hard working. There's jus something about him that speaks to me, that reminds me that there is good in life. At this stage, I don't hang around the house much. My mom hasn't been talking to me since the table incident, and I swear almost every day a different table cloth is covering up my ugly words. But my, those ugly words sure felt good coming out. I told Wade the story, and I could have sworn he wanted to cry. That's the only time I ever saw him want to have a mean bone. He got awfully mad at my ex-husband.

That's the good kind of mad though. That's the kind that tells you you're special and wanted and protected. The kind that says that he'll do anything for you, if you'd only let him. I told Wade about the episode with my mom. He doesn't think bad of me, and in fact he even laughs. He understands. In some way, for some reason, he gets me. He understands that I've got to let out my feelings.

"You're something else, Jet. God's got to have something special for you to do one of these days."

Wade said that to me last night. I'm not a real religious person, but he is. He loves the Lord. I don't hold that against him at all, but that sentence got me to thinking. What if he's wrong? Or worse, what if he's right?

So here we sit, on my mom's back porch, pretending like it isn't barely above freezing. It's the only place in the house we can be semi-private. It's getting dark, and it's getting colder. I'm about to ask him inside, when he leans over and presses his lips to mine. My eyes fly open and I stare, cross-eyed, at the bridge of his nose and his eyebrows. I wasn't expecting it. I mean, I know he's been following me around and all that, but I just never thought about when or if things would change.

Well, that night, he changed it. And I liked it.

The next morning I woke up with a bit of a headache. I should have read it as a sign. I got out of bed and made my way to the kitchen. After I got my coffee I swallowed two asprin and went back to bed. When I woke up the second time, my headache was mostly gone, and something didn't feel right in my room. Like this had been... rearranged. Maybe. Something just wasn't right.

I headed back downstairs for more coffee, and I caught something out of the corner of my eye. I took a couple steps back to look, and realized the dining room table was gone. Hmm. My mom must've gotten tired of swapping table cloths. I honestly don't feel bad about it. It needed said and my mom made me nuts there for a second. Shit happens. I go back to my room and get my clothes together, and go hop in the shower. It's my day off, and Wade is coming at noon to pick me up. We're going to the flea market. The sun is actually out, and it's supposed to warm up a bit... it's going to be a beautiful day all around.