Staying/ A Short Story

It's midnight and she sits alone in the nursery. The child within her rests high, pressing against her lungs and making breathing difficult. The oak rocker allows her to lean back and expand her lungs more easily. She gazes at the crib and imagines it one month from now filled with precious life. She has spent months sanding the crib and repainting it until it shines like new, perfectly restored with the love she has poured into it. Everything is ready. Everything is perfect, or nearly everything. The fully loaded twelve gauge shotgun lays across her thighs just beneath her swollen stomach. She rocks slowly, cradling the unborn child and the weapon.

He'd missed dinner again and he hadn't called. She'd waited, knowing it was payday and that the chances of his getting home on time were slim. He would cash his check at the bar, lose track of time, and stumble home sometime after dark. But it was midnight and she also knew that he'd left the bar at ten, because she had called. He was with someone again. She could even guess who it was. At the company picnic just the week before, she had seen the glances , heard the whispers, of the people around her. She'd noticed a young red head stealing glances at her husband. She knew, he was with her now. He'd come home smelling of whiskey and perfume.

Not this time, she thinks. Not ever again. She'd kill him first. She rocks slowly and stares at the empty crib and then down at the shotgun. She caresses the cold steel, allowing her anger to build. She will finish this once and for all.

Suddenly her body spasms and her eyes fly open. She has fallen asleep and been jerked awake by that feeling of falling that she experienced more and more frequently as her muscles strained under the added weight of the baby. The clock glows 3:30. He isn't coming home this time. Her body is stiff and aching as she rises from the chair. The fight has been wrung from her. The anger replaced with despair and fatigue.

She unloads the shotgun, and locks it back in the gun case. Standing in the doorway of the nursery, she takes in what once seemed to be a promise of happiness and new life, and allows the tears to fall. She turns then and begins to put a new plan into action. Pulling a suitcase from the closet, she fills it with whatever she needs to begin the journey to a new life for herself and her baby. When she is finished she lays down on the bed, fully clothed, and allows sleep to overtake her once again.

Just before dawn, he slips into bed beside her. The stink of whiskey and sex awakens her. Swallowing the bile that rises in her throat, she waits until his breathing becomes more regular and he falls into a deep drunken slumber. Rising quickly and quietly she, pulls the packed suitcase from its hiding place beneath the bed and heads confidently out the back door to the car, shutting out the pain and disappointment which has been her life with him.

She runs to the car, but before she can open the trunk, she stops and stares in disbelief . The suitcase falls from her hand and she drops to her knees. The car. What has he done to the car? The side is scratched and caved in from the door to the rear bumper. The back tire is flat. He has run it off the side of the road in a drunken stupor and made her escape impossible. No. He could not do this. She would not let him. Not this time.

Running back to the bedroom she begins to shake him awake, screaming hysterically. "Get up! Get up you bastard. You mother fucking bastard! You get up and fix that flat tire. Do it now! Right fucking now!"

Her screams penetrate his drunkenness. He senses the insanity within the words, feels the spit hit his face and manages to sit up in the bed. This time he's gone too far. He's pushed her over an edge he had not known was there. Fending off her frantic blows, he rises slowly from the bed.

"Get your ass out there now" She screams. He struggles to his feet and heads obediently outside to the car while she trails him cursing and screaming. Without a word, he fixes the flat and puts her suitcase in the trunk. He doesn't want to lose her. Doesn't want to lose the baby he's fathered. But he knows nothing he says now can stop her . He watches her climb into the drivers seat and slam the door. As she peels out of the drive in reverse, he simply turns and walks silently back into the house. This cannot be undone.

She is alone now behind the wheel of a car going ....where? Does it matter? So long as it is away from him and the betrayal and cruelty which has been her life until this moment. But where? Her mother would never take her in. How far will a high school education take her and her child? Where will her baby lay its head every night? Certainly not in the crib which she has prepared. Who will care for her child while she works every day? Even though he is cruel and does not come home at night to her, does it matter? She has a child to raise now. Someone to love and nurture. Who can do this better than her, and how can she do it without him?

She slows the car to a stop, taking a tissue from the glove box to wipe her tears. She takes a deep breath, turns the car around, and heads back toward the house. Back to him, to security. How important can love be when one has a baby to care for? She will make this work, somehow.

He hears the car in the drive. Listens for the door and her footsteps in the hall. Through the haze of alcohol, he smiles. She will stay. For now, she will stay.