Retracing his route home to see if he'd hit anyone was becoming a
habit. Though he didn't think he had, thought he'd know if he had, he
just couldn't be sure and that was the whole point. You never know
and when you think you do, that's when you can be sure you don't. Eve
said to him once, she said, "I sometimes get this feeling that
something will happen and then it really does. Though I'm not always
right." Eve also said, "I don't think we should see each other
anymore. You're just too violent." He had tried. Tried to make her
see that he'd never hurt her, tried to show her. But she saw what she
saw, and didn't believe him.
So now he was doubling back on his way home to his father's house to
see if he'd run anyone over and didn't notice. These trips were
getting longer too, as his drinking was getting heavier. Some
mornings he'd wake up panicked, sure he'd been in an accident. He'd
run out those mornings, to check for blood or dents on his car, and
even though it was still cold outside he'd stand in the driveway until
he was sure. On those mornings he'd start drinking early, never
minding the fatal dangers that lurked at work, and elsewhere. It was
nothing a piece of gum or a Tic-Tac couldn't solve. He'd taken the
job at the refinery because Eve wanted that kind of stability before
they could move out together. But before that could come true Eve
said, "I'm just too afraid of you." This was after she met his
father, and even though he tried to convince her that it wouldn't be
that way for them, she didn't believe him.
His father had been a drunk since before John could remember. Some of
his earliest memories, scarce as they were, were of the drunken rages
and Mom's inabilities to protect him. Mom would say, she'd say,
"There's nothing to be done." She couldn't divorce his father,
because she was Catholic, though John never believed in God much. Mom
also said, "You should bring Eve over for lunch some Sunday. I'd like
to meet her." She liked Eve before she even met her, probably mostly
because the original Eve was the mother of all humanity. So against
all his better judgment, they set a date for the lunch. And even
though Eve was happy and looking forward to finally meeting his
parents, John just knew it wasn't a good idea.
It was a quiet morning, that Sunday, with his mother preparing lunch
in the kitchen and his father in front of the TV. Even though Mom
didn't manage to water down the whiskey, his father hadn't tried to
pick a fight with anyone. But to John it just seemed too quiet. He
went to pick Eve up from her mother's house at 12.30, and as they
drove back he didn't say a word past the hello. But Eve never did
mind his silences. A sad song was playing on the radio and Eve just
hummed along. John didn't know the lyrics either, he never cared much
for the ballads.
Mom really outdid herself with the cooking, had even attended early
mass so she would have the time. She even set out the good china, the
one she inherited from her great aunt, with the tiny forget-me-nots
printed along the edges. "Hand painted, they are," she'd always point
out when, on special occasions she'd use them. "Not to be gotten
anymore," she said after John's father smashed the soup bowl, and two
of the plates. So, on Sunday the pea soup was served directly from
the pot. She did it in the kitchen and though Eve insisted, she
didn't want any help in bringing out the plates; carefully, but two at
a time. His father was an impatient man and on that Sunday Mom was
being extra careful not to anger him.
It started when they were still eating the soup; but slow-like, almost
imperceptible, as all the great rages started, like the snowflake that
brings the blizzard. The soup didn't come quickly enough and when it
did, it was too hot. John's great-great aunt was an idiot. When no
one replied to his tirade John's father just pushed John's mother
toward the kitchen to hurry her in bringing out the rest of the food.
Though she stumbled, she managed not to drop anything. But when the
main course was brought out the bread rolls were too well done, the
gravy too chunky and John's father never cared much for mashed
potatoes. The turkey was tasteless, bad enough it had to be eaten
once a year. Everyone just silently helped themselves but then,
John's mother was a religious fanatic and, as always, she wasn't quick
enough in bringing the beer. So John's father struck her across the
face to make his point clearer and she lost her balance. Eve stood to
help her up, all the while glaring at John's father, as if to make up
for all the times John's mother turned the other cheek. Eve said,
"Why was that necessary?" and then, "Really…" when she didn't get a
reply. John forestalled that by muttering, apprehensively, "Can't you
control yourself for once?" But then again, John was a born loser and
Eve should know how to keep her mouth shut when a guest in other
people's houses. So on that Sunday they never got to the desert,
because John's father silenced John's mother even though she only
said, "We have a guest today, Joe. You should try to be nice."
Nothing to be done, John repeated to himself as he led Eve out
through the back door in the kitchen where the apple pie was still
cooling on the windowsill. When he looked back through the window his
mother was still on the floor, and another of the fine plates got
smashed against the wall. Nothing to be done, so no use sticking
around.
He never talked much about his family to Eve. He just mentioned Mom
here and there, rarely his father. Victims and abusers go together
like lightning and rain; and thunderstorms can be forgotten. They
didn't speak much about this incident either. He never tried to
explain his father's behaviour on Sunday or any other day, until Eve
finally stopped asking about it. He just told her, he said, "I won't
ever be that way." Her pity was almost unbearable, until three weeks
later she said, "This isn't working out. You're just too violent."
She said this and that she didn't want to see him anymore, four days
after the fight he got into with Bobby Murray at Willie's on Saturday
night, when an ambulance had to take Bobby away, but John wasn't hurt.
Bobby had it coming though, the way he was always ogling Eve and
talking about her with his drinking buddies. John saw it and didn't
much like it. And even though Eve said, she said, "Just let it be,
John. It's nothing…" he just couldn't stand by, watching them
pointing and smirking, and do nothing. He told Bobby so, he told him,
"You better stop looking at Eve that way." And later in the parking
lot he showed him so. John knew how to throw a punch, as well as take
one. Eve didn't say much to him when he drove her home that night, in
fact she didn't say much at all until four days later, she told him
they were through.
That was three months ago. John still went to drink at Willie's. He
didn't stop even after the night Bobby and his friend Jake waited for
him in the alley behind the bar. John could take a punch, as well as
throw one. He still drank at Willie's and would still be leaving
messages on Eve's answering machine had her number not been
disconnected. "Stop calling here!" her mother said to him when she
answered the phone once, after he had called and called, day and
night, for a long time, getting no reply. "Let me talk to Eve," he
said, but the line was already dead. The next time he called the
recording told him that the number had been disconnected. He started
driving past her mother's house after that, though he never saw Eve
there. He never saw her anywhere, but he wasn't ready to knock on the
door. One of these days, one of these days she'll return my
calls. And as he waited, he drank; because that way he could
remember her soft skin, touch her silky hair and kiss her cherry lips
without the pain. At first. When the pain couldn't be held at bay
anymore, but charged like the wolf that had been caged for too long,
he drank some more. Until he'd wake up the next morning with no
memory and much fear that he had killed someone.
He'd always wanted to tell Eve that she made him feel like that time
Dad took them to the fair for his seventh birthday. He got to eat
cotton candy, they rode the Ferris wheel and Dad, who didn't drink
much that day, won a prize shooting at little red and white targets.
He gave the teddy bear to John, and Mom was happier that day than John
had ever seen her. John wanted to tell all this to Eve, tell her that
kissing her was like tasting sweet cherry coke on a warm summer day
and that her love made his life worth living. With Eve he could forget
all the thunderstorms. But the words just never came out right. "I
won't ever be violent to you, Eve!" was what he did say to her, before
she left him, and meant it. But she didn't believe him.
"Hey, John. I saw your Eve at the diner today. She was with Rich
from the pharmacy. Looked like they were more than just friends,
too." Bobby Murray said to him one Monday night at Willie's. The
next day John waited in his car outside the diner all through his
lunch break, then, after work, outside the pharmacy until it closed at
eight. He did this until, on Wednesday, he finally saw Eve, meeting
Rich outside the diner, going in for their lunch. They kissed. "Why
are you following me around?" Eve said when she walked up to where he
had parked his car, once she was done eating lunch and had kissed Rich
goodbye. "Are you seeing Rich now?" John asked her. "Stop following
me around, we're not getting back together! Yes, I am seeing Rich
now. What is it to you?" He didn't answer her, just turned the key
and hit the gas. Left her standing there on the sidewalk, the way she
had left him, to wait. But the waiting is over now, he said to
himself over and over as he drank the afternoon away.
At eight he waited outside the pharmacy. When Rich came out, after he
closed up John said to him, he said "So you think you can just steal
my girlfriend away from me, do you!?" and didn't wait for a reply.
John could throw a punch. And even though the words "thou shalt not
kill" were echoing in his head he did strike the last, needless punch.
Though, in truth, he wasn't aware.
When the cops came to get him the next morning he was a little
surprised at first, though one glance at his hands cleared his memory.
He didn't wash the blood off his knuckles the night before. That was
a month ago. The trial was a blur to John, but the shakes were
subsiding now. The memories flooding in. There was no bail; he was
guilty even without his own admission. In fact, all he said was, he
said, "Yes, it was me." Even to Mom, who was the only person to visit
him. He wished Eve would come, but she never did. He couldn't blame
her, but he wanted her to tell him that it was all right. That she
forgave him, and that Rich meant nothing to her. That she still loved
him and would wait. But for what? John wasn't ever coming out of
prison, the way his mother believed, hoped and prayed. So today
John's heart skipped a beat when his number was called and he was told
he had a visitor. Eve was in his dreams last night, and everything
else was just a nightmare. It's got to be her, it must be,
John thought as he was led to his visitor, and would have turned back
when he saw that his mother was the only person in the visiting room,
had he any real free choice left. His mother's eyes were red and
puffy, and her voice shook, the way it always did lately, as she said,
"How are you John?" and then "It's alright. I love you, John." But
those were already Eve's words, the ones from the dream that shouldn't
have ended.
