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| Photo by Dan |
As I near the Old Toomsboro Road turn, my heart races. I can’t believe how pathetic I am, to think I would grovel to that spineless jerk sickens me. All I can think about is the letter. What was I thinking? I can hardly believe the words I wrote: “The only way you will know how fantastic I am is by dating me, that way you will see what a fool you are.” I could puke at my weakness; I want to slap my own face for being such a sniveling coward. I pass the old mill, the farm with the daffodils; I can see the sign ahead. One last turn, and I will be there. I feel nauseous, but I have to retrieve the letter from his mailbox before he reads it. The humiliation is more than I can endure. I refuse to be this tragic! I will see him in hell first, before I allow him to use me for another moment.
Little Sandy Creek up ahead. I hit the gas and my tires squeal as I take the last turn. The pressure in my head is unreal; I can hardly focus as my anxiety level rises. My heart pounds as I make the turn onto Little Sandy Creek Road. My breathing should be heavy, but it is undetectable. I see the mailbox, thank god. Disaster averted!
A mini-van, a mini-van pulling into the driveway! He loathes everything they stand for...soccer mom’s…dowdy women of a certain age toting around toddlers. He said he wouldn’t have dated me if I drove a mini-van. I see her as she gets back into the van and heads down the drive to his house. I am in shock. I sit in my car trying to process this unimaginable sight. I can’t breathe…I have to get a grip.
Just get the letter and leave, nothing good will come of this…just leave.
I get out of my car to get the letter. I open the mailbox. It is empty.
He already has it.
There is nothing to do but leave. I make my way back to the car and plop down in the seat, not knowing what to do. I turn the car around and drive. I am still in shock about the mini-van. I feel the rage inside me grow. My thoughts reel out of control. I can’t believe him. How could he already be seeing someone else? Someone driving a mini-van, no less!
I make it all the way back to the cutoff at Cypress Hill, and I hit the brakes. I can’t do it, I have to go back and confront that jerk! I spin the car around and start back to his house to end this once and for all. I will not be defeated by my own insecurities. I’m doing 78 mph, but I don’t care. A trip that usually takes 45 minutes takes 15, and as I make the last turn, I know what I must do.
I get out of my car to unlock the gate, but it’s not locked. I smirk -- because I know she left it unlocked on purpose. Tanner never leaves the lock open. He is such a freak about his privacy. The mile-long road that leads up to the house from the gate is beautiful. Three hundred acres of virgin timber, rolling pastures green with uncut hay. Such beauty would lead one to believe she was entering the promised land, but she is not…she is entering the realm of the pseudo man…a man whose empty eyes lead to nowhere, a place as black as the soul he lacks. I should have seen it years ago, but I was so wrapped up in the life I shared with him. The travel, beautiful things, the finest of everything…all things I had never known before. It all came at a price. I had sold my soul for the life I shared with him, but no more.
I see the house over the horizon, a beautiful custom built log home nestled in all those hundreds of acres. I first found it to be a sanctuary, but I realize now that it is a facade.
I park next to the mini-van. I can hardly believe my eyes. As I walk up to the house, I see his precious FXR 3…a limited edition Harley Davidson motorcycle. They only made five hundred of them. I remember the first time I heard it, the rich roar made a sound all its own. He was so proud of it. He bought a motorcycle and couldn’t even ride one. What an idiot! I had to show him how to change lanes for Christ’s sake!
Before I knock on the door, I walk over and look into the window. My picture is still sitting on the hutch in the dining room. Really, he hadn’t even bothered to move my picture and he has another woman here. Disgusting.
I walk over and hit the door a couple of times. He emerges wearing his “let’s lounge around, then have sex clothes.” I ask for some arbitrary thing that I could have lived without, but I insisted I needed: my chaps and leather jacket.
As he turns to go get them I say, “Don’t forget the gloves.”
“Are you sure you want to do this now?”
“Yes!”
As I wait, I press my face to the screen on the front windows, and I see her walking around in the house I have spent the last six years in. I see the poster of The Atlanta Pop Festival I had framed for him…the mushroom tile got him that Christmas. I think back to the weekend I worked to clean and organize that mess he lived in to surprise him. My back hurt for days after all that work. This was supposed to be my house. Now this tragic creature cooked in my kitchen. Life can be so cruel.
As he came to the door with my things, I could see her standing in the doorway. She had mousy, brown hair parted in the middle and pulled behind her ears. She was wearing some inexpensive Wal-Mart garb…turquoise elastic waist pants with matching t-shirt…TUCKED IN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Tanner likes sexy, good looking and fun. She missed on all three counts. The one thing she had was age, or lack of…she looked about twenty-five. I know how he feels about getting old, and to know he had the chance to have someone half his age in his bed is all the incentive he needed. He was ruthless in that Southern gentleman sort of way; always knowing just the right thing to say. Most people knew him as the son of one of Dublin’s most prominent families.
He throws it all in my face and slams the door. I drop it all as I walk over to the fairing for his motorcycle and throw it as hard as I can against a tree. He sees this through the window and comes out the door and pushes me off the porch.
I can’t believe he pushed me off the porch.
So that’s the way it is.
“I have put up with your shit for six years, and after three days you have that idiot in my house, cooking on my stove. You are a spineless, lying piece of crap. I can’t believe you have the nerve to look me in the eye, you pathetic excuse of a man. If you were half the man that I am a woman, you could die complete today.”
It was all I could do to not throw a rock through the stained glass window in the front door.
“You are not worth my time.” I pick up my leathers, and I walk to my car. I open the door and throw them in the back seat, still unable to grasp what had just transpired. The venom still spewing from my mouth. So savage and cruel. How could he have someone already?
As I close the door, I took one last look around, and I see his precious FXR…3. I look at him standing there with rage in his eyes, nothing compared to the hurt I feel in my heart, I assure you. I stand there…I look at him…my eyes cut to the motorcycle…I look at him again…
I don’t know what happened, but I give him one last look and before I know it, I open the door and I take off running across the yard. I feel the rage within me. I am part O.J. Simpson running through the airport, part six-million dollar man. I never felt such intensity before. I am unstoppable.
It must have been about fifty yards, and as I run, I gain ferocity as my rage turns into a primal surge of adrenaline. All I can think of is pushing his precious motorcycle over. He stands there watching in disbelief as I gain momentum and intensity until I reach it. I go low and call on all I possess. I pushed that thousand pound beast over in one second. As it hits the ground, I scream as if I had just defeated my most villainous opponent.
“F*** YOU. I was with you the day you bought it!” My body is tense and filled with rage. My face is hot, and I shake all over. I am not even aware of my surroundings. I look at him with disgust, and I turn to walk away. I feel triumphant and defeated at the same time. Nothing else exists except me and my emotions.
I take a few more steps, and I find myself on the ground. He tackled me from behind. Hitting me with all his might, I feel nothing. I manage to push him away enough to turn over. He and I struggle as I scream for him to get off me. He never stops hitting me…I feel nothing…I grab the only thing I could, his crotch. I twist and crush with all my might. I don’t let go until he stops hitting me.
As he climbs off me, I brush the grass off my clothes and start walking to my car. I am disconnected from myself…I no longer feel rage, I no longer feel anger, just sadness. As I walk by the mini-van, I spit on it and took one last look before I get into my car.
About that time, Mark, Tanner’s little toady, came flying up in his SUV. Wow, his one ally…a 350 pound coke head with a penchant for embezzlement. I say to Tanner, “If that pudgy weirdo touches me, he’ll spend the rest of his life in jail.” I find a bit of pleasure in the fact that he has to call in reinforcements because he couldn’t handle me himself.
What a wimp.
I get into my car, put my sunglasses on, and start up the drive. I have one last thought. It is too good. I have to do it. I turn the car around and pull up as the two of them talk. I roll the window down and say, “I guess a little firewood would be out of the question?”
The look on their faces is priceless. I laugh and say, “I didn’t think so…”
I crank up the tunes, hit the gas and do two donuts in the grass. My tires spin and dirt goes everywhere as my car flies across the pasture. I catch the steering wheel, hit the gas and head toward the road. Just before I pass them, I scream at the top of my lungs, “Adios!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I drive off laughing like a fiend, with the radio playing as loud as it would play Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Free Bird.”
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