Impossible Promises

* Content Warning: Alcohol *

More than anything, she wanted to leave. She wanted to pack up, wave farewell, and disappear down that road. The highway stood with wide open arms, inviting anyone who wanted a quick getaway. 

She gazed bitterly out the window at the darkening sky. Hate bubbled up in her chest, waiting for anyone to walk through the door. As soon as they did, the anger would spill out, ambushing whoever was unfortunate enough to see her first. 

She had spent the day doing nothing, and everything. She had worked until her fingers and back hurt and her head was pounding, and then, when she was about to keel over from exhaustion, she was reminded that she was late to start cooking. 

Through the window, she could see it. Far, yes, but if she ever reached it… they would never see her again. The road extended forever. It was used by millions, perhaps billions, every day, yet the last time she had seen the vast world was years ago. That was when she was coming here. To this tiny, broken down house with a sad little backyard piled high with trash and rotting memories. 

When they had first arrived, smiling, holding hands and naive, oh, so naive, they had sat down at the rusted metal kitchen table. They had sat across from each other, barely able to contain their excitement, and made an impossible promise. 

“I’m never going to leave your side,” he grasped her hand tightly, to emphasize his words. “I will be here, and you can try to run–”

She giggled.

“–but I ain’t never gonna let you go.”

“All right, then,” she rolled her eyes, pretending to give up. “I guess I’m not goin’ anywhere, either.”

Now, she scoffed out loud, glaring at the vegetables. The whole idea seemed ridiculous. How could two people never want to leave? Look at this house! It was in shambles. Empty bottles littered the floor, the sink was full of gunk, the couch was ripped, and no matter how hard she tried, that stupid man would not go to work. Years have passed since their promise, and the house looked the same, if not worse. 

Somewhere along the line, they had addressed the problems with their relationship. They had begun looking at new houses, attempting to move away from their troubles.

When he had gotten fired, she offered to go into work to support them and get them out of their shack. But after several attempts to convince him, it was evident that he wouldn’t let her. He was trying to be a gentleman, for once. Maybe it was nice of him, but it only made her sad.

He stopped trying, and she didn’t. Maybe it was because he was sure that he would never get another interview. Maybe he was right. She couldn’t find work for him. But when she got pregnant, he went into a frenzy. He applied everywhere, and finally let her apply, too. 

By some miracle, they both found jobs, and things began to look up. He held doors for her, drove her to work as her belly grew, and even began a college fund so that their baby could move out of this small, dirty neighborhood. It was the happiest that she had been since they first moved here.

When it was time to meet the little boy, it came with many tears and screams, but they were nothing compared to the tears that came when he finally arrived.

The little boy had left before they could even meet. He had left before they could promise him the same thing they had done to each other. Perhaps the promise would have lasted, but it was broken before it could be made. The baby was gone.

He blamed himself. He picked up a bottle, then two, then four. She lost count. She knew it couldn't have worked, or at least, not forever. She had tried picking up a bottle, but woke the next morning with nothing but shame and a headache. How could she try to forget about her pain? The baby would disappear from her mind if she ever succeeded, and she could never be that selfish.

For a long time, she was totally numb. Then, she couldn’t feel anything until the middle of the night. At first, she had tried going to her husband when she couldn’t stop crying. But by that time each night, he was out cold on the floor. 

Her sobs became quieter over the years, and she began to stop looking for her husband for comfort. She worked the entire day because he couldn’t, or wouldn’t. Quickly after the funeral, he had lost his job. 

She picked up his slack, but most of her income went to paying taxes, and their mortgage. She had hoped that she could save enough of whatever was left over, but the rest of her money went to the accumulating bottles on the floor.

A year passed, but it felt like nothing. Summer and winter, summer and winter. It didn’t matter. 

Here she was, chopping vegetables. 

Hate boiled in her throat for this place, and everything that came with it. Including him. 

She didn’t feel guilty about wanting to leave. He had broken their promise first. Every single time he picked up a bottle, he left her. She had never wavered, and he had left long ago.

The stove flickered, and a timer sounded from the microwave. She jerked out of her daze, and ripped her gaze from the window. The food was done. 

She sighed, dreading the rusted metal table.

Scraping the food onto two plates, she turned. She set the plates down, one in front of herself, and one for the empty chair. She had stopped calling him for dinner a long time ago. Most of the time, it wasn’t worth the trouble. He wouldn’t hear her anyways, and if he did, he wouldn’t come. 

She lowered herself into the chair, hating her younger self for making such a stupid promise. He probably wouldn’t have noticed if she was gone. 

Still, she stood in front of the stove every night, hoping (though she’d never admit it) that someday he might come and eat with her again.

*

Fast forward a week.

Today was the day.

She pulled on her clothes with a calm air around her. The morning was quiet, her thoughts were organized. She had a clear mind for the first time in a long time. 

She pulled open a drawer in the kitchen. She was elbow deep in it for a minute, reaching around for something. When she smiled, she removed her arm from the drawer, a wallet in her hand. She didn’t close the drawer on her way out. She didn’t look at the untouched plate of his dinner on the table.

She walked past the cramped living room. She didn’t glance at the bottles on the floor.

She kept her head up, her shoes crunching the trash below her feet. She had made her desicion. Today was the day.

She came to a stop short of the door, yanked it open, and slammed it shut behind her.

Once outside of the house, she didn’t break her stride. She didn’t stop for the cars driving on her street. They stopped for her. They honked and yelled, sure. But they stopped, and she did not. 

Her mind was reeling, parts of it were begging her to return to her home with him, but once she reached the end of the street, her resolve strengthened. 

She waited for the bus. Once it stopped in front of her, the driver asked her where she wanted to go. For the first time, ever, she didn’t know. She didn’t have to lie. She didn’t say, ‘I want to go to work’ or, ‘I want to go home.’ In truth, she had never wanted to go to those places. Or, at least, she hadn’t wanted to go to those places for a while. 

That was all she had said to him for years, now. But every day he had asked her where she wanted to go. He knew that she only went to those two places, but he asked anyway.

She grinned because he gave her a choice. 

“I want to leave.”

He nodded, waving her back to take a seat. She could have sworn she saw his mustache twitch into a faint smile.

*

A long time ago, she’d made a promise to a man. They’d loved each other, but sometimes that wasn’t enough. They’d both made mistakes. They’d both broken their promise. Neither was okay, but after a while, he had run out of bottles, and she had run out of highway.

After she left, he was evicted. He had wound up in jail. She had met another soulmate. Each moved on with their lives, but the rumors still flew around like little birds, impossible to know which were true. 

The story stands; she went back to visit him in prison. She had been his jail call. They had lunch. They talked for a long time, each searching for what they had lost years ago. He had finally been there for her when she began to cry. 

Still, you can’t believe everything you hear. Some claim it’s too good to be true, but strange things can happen. Broken people can heal.