zimmie
11-23-2010, 02:22 PM
The car stuttered once more as it struggled against the snow covered streets. Paul had bought the car; a blue 1996 Ford Escort, eight years ago from a friend of a friend, paying in cash of course. He bashed his hand hard against the dashboard and blasted expletives at the windscreen as his wife sat silently in the back seat. The snow was blitzing the car from all directions and Paul could barely see beyond the initial glare of the car’s headlights. His wife groaned in the back seat.
“Don’t worry darling, I’ll get you there as soon as I can I promise,” said Paul somewhat absently, his eyes transfixed forwards as he tried to focus on what was directly in front of him.
They straggled along the long empty road, the woman’s moans becoming increasingly muted by the clinking noises that the old car was making. The Ghia is a smooth drive, with soft suspension and practically no feedback on the steering. Its main selling point is it’s practically and it’s comfort, an ideal buy at the budget end of the market. Paul thought it was a bargain when he bought it from an acquaintance of a fellow labourer for merely three-hundred-and-eighty pounds. Paul’s frustration with the car was becoming increasingly evident however:
“Maybe it’s the fuel filter ... yeah, that’s what it’ll be. ****ing car! He ripped me off when he sold me it the bastard. If the snow would just hold off ... why did it have to snow today ... why today?”
He continued to do the best he could, stretching his driving skills to their limits. He thought himself a hero as he ploughed through the thick snow.
“If I could just make it through the end of this ... I don’t think it’s as bad up there, I don’t think so. Oh, why did this have to happen? Why? How? Why me? Oh don’t stall on me again! Are you okay in the back there honey?”
His wife never answered.
“Come on baby! Not long to go now, we’ll be there soon and we’ll get you looked at. I’m sure it’s nothing anyway, I’m sure you’re exaggerating, just putting it on to embarrass me. You’re always doing that, why do you have to show me up so much? Why do you have to complain so much? If you would just do what I tell you too and be a good wife and not show me up so much ... not long now.”
He felt a twinge in his chest as the car he was so heroically controlling made it to the junction at the top of the road. He hadn’t drunk as much last night, not after finishing so late and not after his tea wasn’t ready for him when he got back. He had never meant to hit her, that is to say he never meant anything by it. He didn’t do it because of any malice or for any particular reason; he only did because he felt like it. Some men say it’s a good way of controlling their woman, but Paul never tried to justify it to himself. He hit her because he felt like hitting it, that’s it.
After arriving home last night, he found his wife in floods of sweat and groaning on the kitchen floor. He had thought to himself that it was an excuse. He saw that there was no food waiting for him, no cans of lager in the fridge or anything like that, just his wife, writhing in apparent pain.
“When we get to the hospital, don’t tell them I hit you baby. Please don’t. It’s not for my benefit you understand, I just wouldn’t want them to think any less of you. If anyone asks you were attacked last week. Okay honey? There was a mugging, they took your purse and beat you up a bit. Okay? It’d all be so much bother for you anyway, going through all of that. We don’t need that. We don’t need any of that now do we? You don’t need it; you wouldn’t be able to handle it anyway. What would everybody say? Just tell them you were mugged. You didn’t tell the police because ... baby? Are you okay?”
His wife never answered.
“I promise you dear, I promise ... I never mean anything by it, it’s nothing ... it’s nothing personal. It doesn’t mean anything, okay? I swear to you, let’s just get through this and ... I’ll do anything. Oh please God, I’ll do anything I swear it. I promise you, I’ll never lay a finger on you again if you just ... please Jane, please! Just be okay!”
His whole body drooped and tightened as he became overwhelmed by fear and grief. He daren’t look back. The suspense was killing him, but he daren’t look back. The silence consumed him with fear and dread, but he daren’t look back for the greater fear that was beginning to consume all else. As the car pulled up at a set of traffic lights, he resolved to find out once and for all.
“Please answer me sweetheart. Are you okay? Stick with us. Please. Please answer me.”
Without looking back, he reached towards the back seat to take his wife’s hand in his for a moment to reassure her. As he held it, he felt the stone cold skin against his, and let her hand slip softly out of his. The fear in his mind disappeared; the grief was overtaken by confusion and despair.
“There’s no point carrying on now, there’s nothing they can do anyway. I may as well turn back. I’ll need a spade, it’s ... it’s snowing anyway so no one will say anything if ... I just need to go back.”
They had been married twenty years, after she became pregnant with his son. It hadn’t always been so bad. Paul’s thoughts turned to the wedding reception. He remembered the photographs more than the occasion, how he looked so smart in his grey pinstriped suit and with his moustache; how she looked of kind of pretty in her white dress. They never loved one another but they resolved to the right thing for their unborn son. They had some good times; his drinking wasn’t always so heavy.
Paul reached down to the glove compartment, taking out the small bottle of Jack Daniels that was hidden behind a pair of gloves. He took a few swigs before resolving to himself that he would get on with the matter at hand. Turning the car around, he impressed himself so much with how smoothly he had managed to negate the conditions in such a dilapidated car. He smiled to himself as it chugged along the open white road, before deciding to himself that he needed to buy a new one when all of this was over. A stern look overtook the smile on his face as he glanced at the mirror. The car stuttered once more, threatening to stop but just about pulling through as he wife lay silently in the back seat.
“Don’t worry darling, I’ll get you there as soon as I can I promise,” said Paul somewhat absently, his eyes transfixed forwards as he tried to focus on what was directly in front of him.
They straggled along the long empty road, the woman’s moans becoming increasingly muted by the clinking noises that the old car was making. The Ghia is a smooth drive, with soft suspension and practically no feedback on the steering. Its main selling point is it’s practically and it’s comfort, an ideal buy at the budget end of the market. Paul thought it was a bargain when he bought it from an acquaintance of a fellow labourer for merely three-hundred-and-eighty pounds. Paul’s frustration with the car was becoming increasingly evident however:
“Maybe it’s the fuel filter ... yeah, that’s what it’ll be. ****ing car! He ripped me off when he sold me it the bastard. If the snow would just hold off ... why did it have to snow today ... why today?”
He continued to do the best he could, stretching his driving skills to their limits. He thought himself a hero as he ploughed through the thick snow.
“If I could just make it through the end of this ... I don’t think it’s as bad up there, I don’t think so. Oh, why did this have to happen? Why? How? Why me? Oh don’t stall on me again! Are you okay in the back there honey?”
His wife never answered.
“Come on baby! Not long to go now, we’ll be there soon and we’ll get you looked at. I’m sure it’s nothing anyway, I’m sure you’re exaggerating, just putting it on to embarrass me. You’re always doing that, why do you have to show me up so much? Why do you have to complain so much? If you would just do what I tell you too and be a good wife and not show me up so much ... not long now.”
He felt a twinge in his chest as the car he was so heroically controlling made it to the junction at the top of the road. He hadn’t drunk as much last night, not after finishing so late and not after his tea wasn’t ready for him when he got back. He had never meant to hit her, that is to say he never meant anything by it. He didn’t do it because of any malice or for any particular reason; he only did because he felt like it. Some men say it’s a good way of controlling their woman, but Paul never tried to justify it to himself. He hit her because he felt like hitting it, that’s it.
After arriving home last night, he found his wife in floods of sweat and groaning on the kitchen floor. He had thought to himself that it was an excuse. He saw that there was no food waiting for him, no cans of lager in the fridge or anything like that, just his wife, writhing in apparent pain.
“When we get to the hospital, don’t tell them I hit you baby. Please don’t. It’s not for my benefit you understand, I just wouldn’t want them to think any less of you. If anyone asks you were attacked last week. Okay honey? There was a mugging, they took your purse and beat you up a bit. Okay? It’d all be so much bother for you anyway, going through all of that. We don’t need that. We don’t need any of that now do we? You don’t need it; you wouldn’t be able to handle it anyway. What would everybody say? Just tell them you were mugged. You didn’t tell the police because ... baby? Are you okay?”
His wife never answered.
“I promise you dear, I promise ... I never mean anything by it, it’s nothing ... it’s nothing personal. It doesn’t mean anything, okay? I swear to you, let’s just get through this and ... I’ll do anything. Oh please God, I’ll do anything I swear it. I promise you, I’ll never lay a finger on you again if you just ... please Jane, please! Just be okay!”
His whole body drooped and tightened as he became overwhelmed by fear and grief. He daren’t look back. The suspense was killing him, but he daren’t look back. The silence consumed him with fear and dread, but he daren’t look back for the greater fear that was beginning to consume all else. As the car pulled up at a set of traffic lights, he resolved to find out once and for all.
“Please answer me sweetheart. Are you okay? Stick with us. Please. Please answer me.”
Without looking back, he reached towards the back seat to take his wife’s hand in his for a moment to reassure her. As he held it, he felt the stone cold skin against his, and let her hand slip softly out of his. The fear in his mind disappeared; the grief was overtaken by confusion and despair.
“There’s no point carrying on now, there’s nothing they can do anyway. I may as well turn back. I’ll need a spade, it’s ... it’s snowing anyway so no one will say anything if ... I just need to go back.”
They had been married twenty years, after she became pregnant with his son. It hadn’t always been so bad. Paul’s thoughts turned to the wedding reception. He remembered the photographs more than the occasion, how he looked so smart in his grey pinstriped suit and with his moustache; how she looked of kind of pretty in her white dress. They never loved one another but they resolved to the right thing for their unborn son. They had some good times; his drinking wasn’t always so heavy.
Paul reached down to the glove compartment, taking out the small bottle of Jack Daniels that was hidden behind a pair of gloves. He took a few swigs before resolving to himself that he would get on with the matter at hand. Turning the car around, he impressed himself so much with how smoothly he had managed to negate the conditions in such a dilapidated car. He smiled to himself as it chugged along the open white road, before deciding to himself that he needed to buy a new one when all of this was over. A stern look overtook the smile on his face as he glanced at the mirror. The car stuttered once more, threatening to stop but just about pulling through as he wife lay silently in the back seat.