Different

Jenny quickly closed the car door and fastened her seat belt.  The heat of the day, stuck and stifled in the mini-van, made it hard to breathe.  She didn’t notice.  She sat motionless, not hearing the sound of a passing fire truck, a car honking and waiting to take her parking space or the sounds of her children laughing and happily distracted behind her. This marriage, this family…this life was driving her crazy.

She waved the driver off.  Not now. She wanted to run. Bail on this life because it had failed her. She had to figure this thing out because all she could do was hope he’d leave. Was this her happily ever after? This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. She had everything. Everyone said so. A degree she didn’t use, a husband she didn’t love and children that needed her when she’d begun to resent being needed. This morning she’d met those needs, feigned a kiss with her husband and washed dishes.  Usual things for a usual day, but this days current rumbled with the unfamiliar. The space between her head and heart told her nothing would ever be the same. The noise of her life had finally caught up with her and she was forced to stop.

Today would be different.

Only two years ago she’d given birth to her 4th child.  Her 4th child in 8 years and she was tired. Her body screamed fatigue and the need for a break from the expansion and contraction of a womb thankfully now empty. Another pregnancy would kill her. She knew it and whispered her gratitude every time her body emptied itself of that months potential.

Pregnancy had been good to her. She carried well and delivered healthy babies. But she was done. Done. Done being everything to everyone and nothing to herself. For Jenny, motherhood was different.

She was startled by a woman tapping on the passenger side window. She had been lost in a whirlwind of dissatisfaction and hadn’t noticed the small woman, dirty and desperate for her attention.

She rolled the window down just enough to hear but not enough to compromise her safety and the petite woman with sad, sleep-hungry eyes, leaned in. The woman asked for money. She and her 3 young children were hungry.   Shame spilled from eyes not wanting to be seen. The children looked away and would not meet Jennys’ gaze.

Having been evicted from their home days ago, they were living in a car with no money or food. The woman didn’t know what to do and had no family to turn to. The shelters were full. Her husband was a relic of the streets – An old “G” Peter Pan type who never grew up. A talented artist who never got his big break, he blamed his family for holding him back. He now earned his living and paid for his habit by holding doors for patrons of the local bank. The sound of coins rattling in a paper coffee cup validated his life, keeping him from completely checking out.

Her life wasn’t supposed to be this way.

For a few weeks, back in high school, the woman imagined she might make something of herself. For a few weeks she believed. That was the year she won a poetry contest.  A favored and  devoted teacher convinced her to enter.  “You have a voice” he said.  The world needs to hear it”. That was before she got pregnant. The disappointment and disgust  in his eyes, as her belly swelled with life unplanned, told her she’d failed and worse yet, been a waste of time. Paralyzed by a cycle of poverty and low expectations that ran generations deep,  she never really considered her life could be different. 

And then…the twinkling of revelation. “Karen?” The women knew each other. They’d sat together in the last row of Mrs. Fulton’s 6th grade English class. Had pooled money to buy ham and cheese sandwiches from the corner deli at lunch time. Planned to wear pink t-shirts every Friday and screamed Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman” into a hairbrush for impromptu hallway talent shows.

The girls hadn’t been in communication since the summer of 1979. Vacation Bible School. The summer before Jenny moved. A year over the cut-off age, they’d both agreed to help with the younger groups. That was the summer the girls had given their hearts to God. Together. They had been the best of friends. But now…everything was different.

I’m doing the Tribe Writers course with Jeff Goins and was given an assignment to write something outside of my genre.  Take a risk.  Well here it is. Who better to share the thrill of a possible failure than friends.  Thanks for reading.

p.s I love blogging but this exercise has really pushed me outside of the box. I urge you to try something new on your blog.  Do something…different. I’d love to read or see it. You can share it in the comment section.