Simply Time to Go

 “It doesn’t count if you are already planning your defeat.” That had been Mother’s mantra. Lula had heard it a million times through the years. Now she said it aloud, hoping she was right and that she sounded convincing since it was all the explanation she intended to offer. The walls were thin, so she knew someone besides the baby who was lying on the floor in the corner, out of her way, was likely to hear her. This was the day her new life would begin. The last load was in the trash bin and the room was bare. Leaving forever was all that mattered. The naysayers be damned; she was going. She had seen enough disappointment to despise it, and to loathe its victims, too, for their weakness. Including her mother. Especially her mother, because her resolute philosophy of refusing to do anything but stay the course had buried the whole family alive without any apology.

The plan was simple, so simple she could not fathom the inertia that shackled her mother. Just go. Anywhere. She pondered the little she had pieced together over the years in an effort to comprehend why anyone, anyone, would remain stationary after life effectively ended as it had for Mother.

Once Mother and Daddy married, the babies started coming right away. As a privileged young woman of her era, Mother was in need of only limited education, no marketable skills, and no work experience all because what would the point have been? It was Prince Charming’s duty to slay the dragons and feed the family. She needed to showcase his talents, augment his reputation, nurture the inevitable children and run the house. So what if she might have wanted a career, that she was smart, hard-working, and even a little bit ambitious? So what if homemaking and childrearing were not appealing to her and she knew nothing about them? As a good upper-middle class Christian girl of her era, she knew her place, her destiny. No woman she knew worked for a pay check unless poverty demanded it, and even that was rarely mentioned. No woman in her circle, at any rate. Yes, the housekeeper who cooked and cleaned and tended to the little girls while Mother went about her business was a woman, but she didn’t really count. She came from different expectations entirely. In Mother’s world, attitudes toward the “lady of the house” having an outside job were about the same as about having lice. It happened, even to nice people, but that did not make it dignified. Coming from some money and a respectable family and marrying well, Mother’s talents could be used to lead community service and church groups, organize events, play the well-dressed hostess in a beautiful house in fine fashion, bolstering Prince Charming’s status in every way proper, confidently swept up in his success. She married him knowing exactly how the story would unfurl. And she was enjoying the fairy tale until the day her hero did the unimaginable.

He left town on business one morning in early June, 1909, the beginning of what promised to be a brilliant career. He kissed his wife and his four little girls good-bye, got on the train, and off he went. And then he died. Lula was almost ten years old. The other girls were seven, four, and nearly two.

The funeral was well-attended. Speeches, tributes, even some proclamations were made on his behalf by prominent people in the community. Soon, though, the house emptied and their charmed life ended. Lula remembered nothing good from any moment after Daddy died. Mother was never the same again. Sinking into despair, Mother mostly left home that same day. Her four little girls, not technically orphans, were without parents. Thank God, the housekeeper stayed, at least for a while. Mother put one foot in front of another; she performed the rituals required by her tribe, barely, but no one outside the door knew. But the girls knew and suffered. Charlatans soon preyed on her sadness and weakness and robbed her blind as she did what they told her she had to do to earn a place in Heaven. Then all the money was gone. And so were the robbers, in the blink of an eye. No money, and so, no housekeeper. With no one left to bother to see what went on in the house, Mother stopped putting one foot in front of the other, staying in the bed for days at a time. The girls fended for themselves. Their clothes were dirty; they smelled unwashed because they were. No help, no pity, only the soul-searing teasing of the neighbor children. Because working for pay was beneath her. And trying to get a job would have been planning her defeat. All that had come before wouldn’t have counted.

Lula had to escape. Only a complete departure would save her from a fate like Mother’s and she knew it. At just less than sixteen, Lula had eloped with an older man, one who had prospects and who could free her from becoming Mama’s keeper. As the oldest, she knew it was expected, and she knew she would slit her wrists instead, if she had to. She had not one nurturing bone in her body. She had not one shred of interest in taking care of Mother or of anyone else. Especially not Mother. The other girls could take care of her. They could stay right there in that house forever. She had told no one she was leaving. She would tell no one when she left.

The man she married was unaware of her expectations for him to save her. He was not necessarily unwilling, but his childhood provided no model for faithful, responsible companionable family life, and after all, he wasn’t actually a prince. Charming, handsome, and romantic, yes, but the slayer of dragons, not at all. He enlisted in the military for two years, came home once or twice during his enlistment, and was away, address unknown, when Lula, seventeen and all alone, gave birth to a son. Whether the child was his was a matter of debate. When his enlistment ended, he would have no job, no money no prospects. That is not what she had signed up for. All she knew was she had to go to save herself. Her mother had given her only the legacy of a lingering, tragic fade into a shadow. She could endure absolutely anything but that. She would not be buried a second time. He would return to find her vanished. Maybe he would miss her. Maybe he would locate the child and raise him. It wasn’t really of concern to her.

It was so simple. Just go. Anywhere. Why waste away in a dark bedroom and drag a child along? Why didn’t Mother change her clothes, get out of that house, make a life? She once said it was because she loved Daddy so much. Lula had no intention of loving anyone to that degree.

She picked up the baby and the bags she had packed with the necessities and her few luxuries, such as they were. The baby’s things took up little room as he had no toys or possessions other than the clothes he wore and a dozen or so diapers. No reason to spoil the child she never wanted to start with and had never planned to raise. She had sold everything she could to buy one train ticket, destination unimportant. There. Satisfied, everyone? She had a husband and a child. Her dues were paid. Now she intended to be done with that.

“That’s all of it then. It's time to go.” For the second time that afternoon, she spoke out loud. Once she dropped the child off somewhere, anywhere, her new life could begin. So could his. Maybe he would have a chance. She knew abandoning him was more humane than his being chained to her as she slowly suffocated here in this house, making no effort to change things, relentlessly waiting for better days. He would never remember her, anyway. With this, she absolved herself. She had no use for self doubt, no patience with regrets.

Now, it was time just to go. Much better to do it alone. Despite the humiliation, she could work if she had to, embarrassing no one but herself. She might even try to marry money, see how that worked out. She was willing to plan for a setback, for a course change, for the unknown. But she knew she would never see any of them--her mother, her sisters, her husband, her child--again. No looking back for fear she would be frozen in place, a pillar of salt. She was resigned to that. Considering a return to this place for any reason would invalidate her decision. It would mean that leaving wasn’t selfless or brilliant or in any way noble. It would be a mistake, a disappointment, just like all the ones she had spent her life so far despising.

It wouldn’t even count.