The Well I
"Anyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again."
I
Kate stood on the footpath looking a little puzzled. In front of her was the same house. The same spidery crack in the front window that had been there for six months. The same weeds in the garden bed under the window. The same rusty dripping garden tap. The same junk mail shoved in the mouth of the letter box. But she had a sensation that it was all suddenly foreign. She had passed by her neighbours so often on that street. Feeling their eyes on her back as she went. Catching the sudden removal of fingers from parted blinds in the corner of her eye as she emerged from taxis in the early hours of the morning. Just as the sun was peeking over the curve of the unseen horizon and morning joggers and dog walkers were setting out. She had always looked at the ground when she walked down her street. Unless it was night time when she felt more at home. Avoiding eye contact with the mothers of the children that wove their bikes up and down the footpath on saturday mornings and weekday afternoons. But now, now as she stood there in the fading light, she felt a sudden freedom from the opinions of her neighbours.
She turned to Linda, who was sitting in the car parked at the curb for one last shot of encouragement. The side of her face was throbbing as she smiled limply. She'd lost count of how many vows made in front of the bathroom mirror had been broken. She'd lost count of how many times she'd found herself standing on the front porch the very afternoon of her final vow, with an armload of shopping and her purse clenched between her teeth while she fumbled and dug in her pocket for her keys.
But Kate had already made another vow. She had vowed to stop making vows. She had this feeling ( a feeling she knew well) that Dave was different. She could tell right off. And all she had needed was a reason, an excuse to leave Terry. Not that she had been lacking good reasons to leave him. But reasons are not people, and, for as long as Kate could remember, she had always needed a someone.
She slammed the door a little too heavily behind her. "Terry?" She called out. The place stank of vomit. Not a window, or even a blind had probably been opened since she had been picked up by Linda two mornings ago. ( And she saw the blinds of her nieghbours being parted on that morning too. They would have heard everything) The skirting boards were begining to gather a fine coat of dust and stray socks and underwear littered the edges of the hallway like road kill.
She edged up the hallway, and the muffled sound of the T.V. grew more audible. She craned her head as she walked, listening for the unmistakable note of him snorting up a gob of phlegm into the sink. ( God she hated that) Or, the distant whine of his angle grinder in the backyard. When she reached the end of the hallway, she poked her head in the door of the loungeroom, expecting to see a fog of cigarette smoke and a hairy gorilla arm hanging over the side of the sofa. But, he wasnt there. Instead, she saw the familar crack in the corner of the cieling, near the window, a little wider from the heat of the afternoon, and an overturned ashtray lying on the carpet surrounded by mangled buts and ash.
Lazy Bastard!
Kate moved from the lounge, to the doorway of the kitchen where she stood scanning for more evidence. The fridge door was open. Even Terry could not be that careless. Warm beer bottles tinkled slightly as she closed it. She lifted her head in expectation of some other sound, but none came. The house was as silent as a grave. She wasnt really scared of him. He was always very docile after a bust up. She usually returned to the house to find him moping around in a fog of depression, as if he were a victim of his own violence. And in a way, he was. But it didnt matter any more. Dave had seen the bruise on the inside of her wrist, and looked at her intently when she winced with pain. He worked in demolition and had promised to knock Terry down like an old wall if he gave her any more trouble. Dave was sweet.
She picked up the frying pan that was lying where it had fallen a couple of nights ago, and placed it back on the stove top. As she stood there, the memory of it flashed in her mind like a gunshot. It hit hard and suddenly. The shock cancelling out any senation of pain. It always came suddenly, with only the slimmest of warnings. His angry bulk behind her. A smoking, shadowy hulk. All shoulders and arms. After nights, days, even weeks sof tiptoeing around him like a sleeping tiger. Most of it was a blur. The moment before he gave her the first one. That was all that was clear in her mind. The feeling of ice water in her veins. The flash of fear in her belly. It was all too familiar. A well of pain that she had gulping from for years. Sunk deep into her long ago like a bore in the desert.
Kate stood on the footpath looking a little puzzled. In front of her was the same house. The same spidery crack in the front window that had been there for six months. The same weeds in the garden bed under the window. The same rusty dripping garden tap. The same junk mail shoved in the mouth of the letter box. But she had a sensation that it was all suddenly foreign. She had passed by her neighbours so often on that street. Feeling their eyes on her back as she went. Catching the sudden removal of fingers from parted blinds in the corner of her eye as she emerged from taxis in the early hours of the morning. Just as the sun was peeking over the curve of the unseen horizon and morning joggers and dog walkers were setting out. She had always looked at the ground when she walked down her street. Unless it was night time when she felt more at home. Avoiding eye contact with the mothers of the children that wove their bikes up and down the footpath on saturday mornings and weekday afternoons. But now, now as she stood there in the fading light, she felt a sudden freedom from the opinions of her neighbours.
She turned to Linda, who was sitting in the car parked at the curb for one last shot of encouragement. The side of her face was throbbing as she smiled limply. She'd lost count of how many vows made in front of the bathroom mirror had been broken. She'd lost count of how many times she'd found herself standing on the front porch the very afternoon of her final vow, with an armload of shopping and her purse clenched between her teeth while she fumbled and dug in her pocket for her keys.
But Kate had already made another vow. She had vowed to stop making vows. She had this feeling ( a feeling she knew well) that Dave was different. She could tell right off. And all she had needed was a reason, an excuse to leave Terry. Not that she had been lacking good reasons to leave him. But reasons are not people, and, for as long as Kate could remember, she had always needed a someone.
She slammed the door a little too heavily behind her. "Terry?" She called out. The place stank of vomit. Not a window, or even a blind had probably been opened since she had been picked up by Linda two mornings ago. ( And she saw the blinds of her nieghbours being parted on that morning too. They would have heard everything) The skirting boards were begining to gather a fine coat of dust and stray socks and underwear littered the edges of the hallway like road kill.
She edged up the hallway, and the muffled sound of the T.V. grew more audible. She craned her head as she walked, listening for the unmistakable note of him snorting up a gob of phlegm into the sink. ( God she hated that) Or, the distant whine of his angle grinder in the backyard. When she reached the end of the hallway, she poked her head in the door of the loungeroom, expecting to see a fog of cigarette smoke and a hairy gorilla arm hanging over the side of the sofa. But, he wasnt there. Instead, she saw the familar crack in the corner of the cieling, near the window, a little wider from the heat of the afternoon, and an overturned ashtray lying on the carpet surrounded by mangled buts and ash.
Lazy Bastard!
Kate moved from the lounge, to the doorway of the kitchen where she stood scanning for more evidence. The fridge door was open. Even Terry could not be that careless. Warm beer bottles tinkled slightly as she closed it. She lifted her head in expectation of some other sound, but none came. The house was as silent as a grave. She wasnt really scared of him. He was always very docile after a bust up. She usually returned to the house to find him moping around in a fog of depression, as if he were a victim of his own violence. And in a way, he was. But it didnt matter any more. Dave had seen the bruise on the inside of her wrist, and looked at her intently when she winced with pain. He worked in demolition and had promised to knock Terry down like an old wall if he gave her any more trouble. Dave was sweet.
She picked up the frying pan that was lying where it had fallen a couple of nights ago, and placed it back on the stove top. As she stood there, the memory of it flashed in her mind like a gunshot. It hit hard and suddenly. The shock cancelling out any senation of pain. It always came suddenly, with only the slimmest of warnings. His angry bulk behind her. A smoking, shadowy hulk. All shoulders and arms. After nights, days, even weeks sof tiptoeing around him like a sleeping tiger. Most of it was a blur. The moment before he gave her the first one. That was all that was clear in her mind. The feeling of ice water in her veins. The flash of fear in her belly. It was all too familiar. A well of pain that she had gulping from for years. Sunk deep into her long ago like a bore in the desert.
posted by urbanmonk at 11:16 PM
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