Billy and Amy

Another project from the workshop. In short, we were to write a piece based on a song lyric of our choice. Mine was from the Foo Fighters' song Come Alive- "The reason you left me to survive, You saved me the day you came alive." (Thanks to Michael Sonbert- author of The Never Enders.)

Her eyes had adjusted to the dark. She hadn’t slept yet; hadn’t planned on it. Anticipation paired with anxiety would arrest any threats of sleep. Eagerness alone would not have allowed it. Her mind was preoccupied with planning, preparing. She’d visualized all conceivable outcomes, good and bad, and forced herself to dismiss the latter. She had to in order to make it work. Considering the positive effects is what kept her will strong. While doing so in the dark bedroom, a slender smile crept its way onto Amy’s face. But that brief smile was flattened by the abrupt return of her game face. Her brow re-flexed. Careful, she thought, can’t get ahead of myself. She knew that if her grip slackened even a little the reins could be jerked from her control. And that would not be tolerated. Not tonight. She had many things to do that night, sleep not being one of them. No, it was not rest that compelled Amy to lie down on that tired mattress next to her husband.

She was saying goodbye.

Innumerable nights had been wasted next to Daryl in that same fashion; him passed out, her awake. That was the only state in which she truly dreamed. About William. Billy, as she called him. About being with only Billy. Tonight could have developed the same empty structure as every other night, but it wouldn’t. It was to be the last. She would rebel against the oppressive routine and spend her days with the one she adored. To this thought Amy surrendered a second smile. But with her gaze trained on Daryl’s face it was immediately stifled. She decided to issue her inarticulate farewell.

She scanned her husband’s features. She recalled the powerful jaw line that was now blanketed by a weathered hide. Wrinkled, slack eyelids veiled what she used to regard as ‘penetrating’ blue eyes. In recent years, she viewed those eyes with a look more often reserved for barren wells. His meaty lips were parenthesized by smile lines, though she could not recollect his smile. Marionette lines suggested an age well beyond his actual. Deep crow’s feet did the same. Daryl was a handsome, sturdy man when Amy fell for him years ago, but alcoholism and vacant choices had long since undermined these attributes, rendering the man an overweight, hopeless cliché. If I can pull this off, Amy mused, this will be the last time I ever look at this ugly mug.

She closed her eyes and saw the much more appealing face of Billy. She envisioned his smile, heard his laugh. She ached for his soft skin. Desired his gentle touch. Mere hours ago she had felt this, but yearned for it still. Lying next to Daryl cultivated an even deeper love for Billy. It was there that she realized she’d never loved Daryl even half as much as she did Billy. Sure, it was a different brand of love, but this realization served as confirmation for Amy. This was the right thing to do. Billy was the first male to bestow in her his unabated trust. The first person. When he first came into her life, Amy’s insecurity gave way to confidence. Her modesty gave way to pride. Her apprehensions, at last; to courage.

The glowing digits of the clock radio warned of the approaching three a.m.

It was time.

Amy crept out of bed with sloth like movements. Even though a gunshot might not have guaranteed Daryl’s arousal, she’d been victimized by Murphy’s Law before. She was still fully dressed. Shoes, even. She retrieved a medium sized duffel bag from her closet. Already packed. Just a few changes of clothes were plenty. Her husband’s tenured abuse denied him the grace of a final glance as she exited the bedroom. Save for material belongings, the only thing she left in that room was fear. She proceeded towards the kitchen.

She pulled a bottle out of a drawer. Filled it with six- no eight- ounces of rice milk. Cold. The microwave door was opened with one second left in order to avoid the beeping. As she tip-toed down the hall, she went over her mental checklist one last time:

Her clothes- by the front door.

A small supply of food- same.

His clothes and accessories- already in the car.

Anything else they might need- fuck it.

She must’ve spent a full minute opening his door; attempting to sidestep the snaps and creaks that might prematurely awaken him. Once in, the night-light allowed her to survey the nursery. The only thing I might miss, she thought. She moved over to the crib and peered in at her boy. She lifted him like an archeologist might a fossil. The bottle kept him quiet. A tender kiss on the forehead supplemented.

She didn’t even notice she’d let her bladder go until her baby was buckled into the car seat. She didn’t care. She kissed her sleeping baby once more on his soft cheek. I love you Billy, Amy whispered, and began their journey to somewhere else; somewhere safe.