Anticipation paired with anxiety arrested any threats of sleep. She hadn’t slept yet; hadn’t planned on it. 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 kept Amy’s will strong. While doing so in the dark, somber bedroom, a slender smile crept its way onto her face. But that brief smile was leveled by the abrupt return of her game face. Her brow re-flexed. Careful, 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. Amy had many things to do that night, sleep not being one of them. No, it was not rest that compelled her to lie down on that tired mattress next to her husband.
She was saying goodbye.
#
Her eyes adjusted to the dark. Each heartbeat came closer to catching up to the previous. It seemed they would soon overlap and pump a solid bass line from her chest. Amy inhaled a quiet, deep breath. Stress induced nausea churned in her belly, anxious to be freed. Her bladder throbbed; an issue of inferior priority for which time did not allow.
Closing her eyes, she conjured what had to be enough strength to ignore her discomforts. Amy exhaled. Her index traced the length of a scar that rested on her temple, the mark left by an authoritative back-hand, laced with a wedding band. A reminder. Tonight, a motivator.
Innumerable nights had been wasted next to Daryl in that same fashion; him passed out, her the opposite. Awake was the state in which she truly dreamed. About William. Billy, she called him. About being with only Billy. This night could have developed the same empty structure as every other, but it wouldn’t. It was to be the last. Amy would rebel against the oppressive routine and spend her days with the one she adored. To this thought she surrendered a second smile, but with her gaze trained on Daryl’s face it was immediately stifled. She decided to issue her inarticulate farewell.
#
Amy scanned her husband’s features. Wrinkled, slack eyelids veiled what she used to regard as ‘penetrating’ blue eyes. She struggled to recall the last endearing glance received from them, fruitlessly. In recent years, Daryl viewed Amy with looks more often reserved for barren wells. She could remember the powerful jaw line that was now blanketed by a weathered hide. The last time it rose and fell to the phrase ‘I love you,’ she could not. Thoughts of his emphatic voice summoned colloquialisms more similar to ‘shut up, bitch,’ in Amy’s head. ‘Get up, you slut’ was probably still echoing its way through the back of the house. ‘Stop crying!’
Daryl’s meaty lips were parenthesized by smile lines boasting rumors of a happily married man. 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’ll be the last time I ever have to look at this ugly mug.
Amy closed her eyes and saw the much more appealing face of Billy. She ached for it, so youthful, untainted by wrinkles and lines. As smooth and comforting as fresh linens. She envisioned his smile, heard his laugh. Desired his touch, a touch gentle enough to make sifted flour seem rigid. Mere hours ago she’d 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. This is the right thing to do. Billy was the first person to bestow in her his unabated trust. Unlike her husband, he could not live in her absence. He depended on her. When he first came into her life, because of how he made her feel, Amy’s insecurity began giving way to confidence. Modesty gave way to pride. Her apprehensions, at last; to courage.
The glowing digits of the clock radio warned of an approaching three a.m. Daryl would be in his deepest stage of drunken sleep now, with lead way still on the clock. Amy wanted not to forsake her marriage, but her safety and welfare could survive few more threats. The window of opportunity was open its widest.
It was time.
#
Amy crept out of bed with slothlike movements. Even though a gunshot might not have guaranteed Daryl’s arousal, she’d been victimized by Murphy’s Law before. 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 Amy left in that room was fear. She made her way to the bathroom armed with a draconian commitment to silence. The beginning stages of solace went to work clearing her head. She retrieved the medium sized duffel bag from behind the shower curtain. Already packed. Just a few changes of clothes and basic toiletries. In the mirror, Amy caught a fleeting glimpse of a quarter-inch, round mark just below her ear. Her punishment for misplacing Daryl’s ashtray while cleaning months ago. An exclamation point, for this night’s big decision. She proceeded towards the kitchen.
She pulled a bottle out of a drawer. Her trembling hand struggled to fill it with eight ounces of rice milk. Cold. The microwave door was opened with one second left to avoid the beeping. As Amy tip-toed down the hall, she analyzed her mental checklist one last time:
Her clothes- by the front door.
A small supply of food- likewise.
His clothes and accessories- already in the car.
Each other’s entire love and presence- soon.
Amy spent nearly a full minute opening his door, attempting to sidestep the snaps and creaks that might’ve prematurely awakened the baby. Once in, the night-light allowed her to survey the nursery. The only thing I might miss about this place. She moved over to the crib and peered in at her boy. Like an archeologist might a fossil, she lifted him. The bottle kept him quiet. A tender kiss on the forehead supplemented.
Due to determination, and possibly fear, she didn’t notice she’d let her bladder go until her baby was buckled into the carseat. She didn’t care. She kissed her sleeping baby once more on his velvet cheek. I love you Billy, Amy whispered, and sat in the driver’s seat, turned over the engine, and pulled out of the driveway.
