Stars at night

A mercifully cool breeze rustles through my long dark hair as I am jostled around in the back of a pickup truck. As I open my eyes, I look up at the stars above me and immediately, I am furious at the thought that she can see them too. That no matter how far away from her I have tried to get, it will never be far enough. I’m forever trapped.

I left the day that she was out taking our girls to the doctor. No one was sick, it was just time for their well child visits. I should have been there after they got home to soothe hurt feelings over getting shots, give extra hugs and read the bedtime story that Gia and I picked out together each night. Instead, I was gone. I know. I’m a complete asshole. 

She was mad when she had booked the appointment. Furious that she couldn't get in sooner. Our pediatrician was new to the practice when we had our first, but had become quite difficult to get an appointment with now. I pretended to listen to her vent as she put the information on our kitchen calendar, but at that moment, I decided that date meant everything to me. It was my liberation day.

I had weeks to plan my exit, saving money where I could. Although, it was hard. She watched our joint bank account like a hawk. I had to skimp on lunches every time that I pulled out cash for the week. Any extra amount would have sent her flying into a rage. Even though she didn’t work, my money was her money. We were in some pretty serious debt ever since we had moved back from Vermont and she was adamant that we would not lose our house, even though it felt like we were slowing sliding down a steep hill with nothing but mud to grab onto.

I quickly mastered the art of eating as cheaply as possible. I kept the remains in an envelope that I hid in the closet and counted occasionally in the bathroom, as she pounded on the door to tell me to come out and help her with the kids. Heaven forbid I take more than five minutes.

I missed them, I really did. My three beautiful little girls. Six, four and one. There probably would have been another one started fairly soon if I hadn’t taken the bus to Phoenix. In case you were wondering, sex was never the problem. It was also never the solution. 

When I went to buy my bus ticket, I asked the clerk, “How far can I go on this amount of money?” I really didn’t care where I ended up, I just wanted the greatest amount of distance that I could get between us. I left with a backpack full of clothes and a journal where I like to jot down song lyrics that speak to my soul.

I feel things very deeply and it is fairly easy for me to get confused and swept away by my emotions. This swirling inside leads me to a place where I get surrounded by a moody funk which is never understood and not very well tolerated. I can still hear the impatient tone in her voice when she would ask me, “What’s wrong with you?” When I would try my best to explain what was happening, her reply was always the same, “Get over it." In her mind, my time was better spent helping her, instead of just getting to be myself.

I wrote down a bunch of my thoughts on the long bus ride, but ever since arriving here, the journal has mostly been ignored. I'm much too busy trying to scrape out a living, working under the table. And trying my damnedest, to never be found. I bus tables at a decent little Mexican restaurant. I honestly lucked out. The family that owns it is fair and the food is good. They do seem a little sad for me that I am here, on my own, but they don’t pry into my situation. When I have spare time, I drown myself in music. It’s my release, always has been. Feelings that I can’t share with anyone else are mirrored for me in the songs. 

I had an affair about a year before I escaped. An old high school friend who I found on Facebook. Total cliche, I know. I went with the common excuse of having to work late and met up with her at a bar. After two margaritas, I followed her back to her place. The sex was good, but the expectations were even better. She was genuinely happy to see me whenever I could manage to sneak over for a bit and didn’t ask for anything more. I think I probably loved her a little, but I ended it. The guilt was eating me up inside. She never found out, my wife, even though some days I desperately wished that she would. Anything to rip open the lie and allow me to run straight through it.

Oh, I know that she is looking for me right now. I can feel her hatred from here. It is dark and unforgiving. I imagine that she fantasizes about hurting me just about as much as she wishes that everything was back to normal. That I was there, working, bringing home a paycheck, helping with the girls and listening to her complaints. 

But I’m not there, I’m here, on my way to the shithole motel room that I rent by the week. A driver saw me struggling to push the motorcycle that I just purchased through Craigslist and had offered me a ride. Now I know why it was sold at such a great price. Hopefully, the repairs will not cost a fortune. I’m thinking about moving soon. I hate the desert.

There isn’t much traffic on this road at night, so I’m very lucky that he decided to stop. His kids were knocking on the back window as we loaded my bike up into the truck bed, trying to get me to look at them. Thankfully, they seem to have settled down now that we are driving. There is a chicken sitting quietly in a cage next to me. For eggs or tomorrow's dinner, I'm not quite sure which. I tilt my head backwards and use my hands to pull the hair away from my face and back into a ponytail. There they are again. Those damn stars. Nature’s little way of reminding me that there really is no such thing as running away, no matter how hard you try. "Fuck you," I say under my breath as I fasten the black elastic band.