Tea
would calm me down, he thought as he put the kettle on. It’s
been a while since he had the house to himself and he felt uneasy. He was
unaccustomed to the house being so silent without his daughter.
Little Nell’s attending a slumber party at Lucy’s. It was
Lucy’s birthday. She’s at that age
already, Richie thought. He wondered when his daughter would finally refuse
to be kissed in front of her friends. Or when she would demand to be called
Ellen instead of Little Nell. Time, it goes too fast.
He pushed the thought away. He didn’t need – didn’t want-
to think about that now. What he needed was to enjoy this rare moment of
solitude. He switched the TV on and settled for the 6 o’clock news on Channel
7.
“Three patients escaped from the local mental ward this
afternoon. Two are already in custody while the other is still at large. The
third patient allegedly sprayed Finesse
on the orderlies’ eyes. How the patient got the hair spray is still being
investigated. The said patient is manic-depressive and has been
institutionalized because of violent outbursts in the past.”
A chill ran down Richie’s spine. His breathing came in
short, shallow gasps. He muted the TV. Jane, he’s sure it was Jane.
His first memory of his wife –ex-wife – was the scent of Finesse. She was addicted to it. He met
her on a blind date. At first, he thought it was sweet – how Jane took the time
to style her hair for a blind date. He found out later on, when they got
married, that she used hair spray every single day: Jane standing in front of
the mirror, spraying away before she went to the market; a little touch-up
before dinner; throwing a fit when his hands wander through her hair while they
kissed. The scent of hair spray permeated their whole house when they were
still living together, all those seven years before the divorce.
And it was that scent – the one
he always associated with unripe bananas, so sweet yet so bitter – that
polluted the air he was breathing at the moment, turning his mouth dry. Why
didn’t he notice it moments before?
Richie suddenly realized how
alone he was, sitting on his leather couch with the TV as the only source of
light. He tried to think straight. He was relieved for the first time that
Little Nell wasn’t with him. He stood up and switched on the lights. That’s why I feel so out of it. He was
about to check every room when he heard her
voice from the kitchen.
Richard, dear, you forgot about the kettle again.
He froze.
Richard! Richarrrd! Richarrrd! I said you forgot about the kettle!
Riiiichiiieeee!!!!
He heard her footsteps coming
nearer the living room.
Hello honeeyy! It’s been so long, Jane said, as she hugged him.
Hey Janie. Let me just turn the stove off. He said. Jane released her and
followed him into the kitchen. She sat at the dining table, her right hand
cupping her chin. Her brown eyes were wide and unblinking, following Richie’s
every move. She watched as he poured the
contents of the kettle into a thermos.
Honey your hands are shaking. Do you want me to do it for you? She asked in a sing-song voice.
Richie shook his head and said: I can manage.
But you’re all trembly. Are you tired? Do you want a massage? Jane stood and started to
approach Richie. Richie backed away and hit a wall.
Are you afraid darling? Don’t be. I’ve changed you know. I don’t start
fights now y’know. Not like before. She said while caressing his right shoulder.
Not like before. Before: she
would throw anything she could get her hands on when she was angry. Richie thought
this was normal. Everybody’s got a tipping point. Until the outbursts became
more frequent. And it was not just the anger, but the series of feelings she
can have in a span of a few minutes. She can sob over a messy living room
floor, laugh at herself for crying, become infuriated at the mess and start
throwing things around. Richie chalked it up to stress; she’s probably still
adjusting to being a new mom, trying to learn the ropes of both motherhood and
running a household.
One day Richie arrived from work
and heard Little Nell crying. He could also hear Jane’s shouts stemming out
from the living room. His pulse started to quicken and he ran from the garage,
straight to the living room. He found Little Nell slumped on the carpet, her
nose bleeding. Jane was pacing the floor, rambling.
Richie picked up Little Nell
quickly and carried her to the kitchen, got an icepack, and put it on her
bleeding nose. The child whimpered in pain. He kissed her forehead. He waited
for the bleeding to subside and then went upstairs to put Little Nell in her
bed. Meanwhile, Jane continued to shout like a banshee in the living room.
Jane! Stop it! Stop it! What’s the matter with you! He bellowed from the stairs,
barely containing his anger.
With me? What’s the matter with her? I clean every nook and cranny and
here she goes shitting on her diaper. She’s a smelly thing. I change her and
then she runs around writing on the walls with crayon. Does she know what clean
means??? I bet she doesn’t, she’s a smelly thing I tell you. Get her away from
meeeee! Or I’ll slap her good until she gets what cleanliness means! I will, I
tell you, I wiiiillll.
Richie was dumbfounded. This isn’t
his wife anymore, it’s like she’s possessed. Jane continued to pace on the
floor, kicking imaginary dust bunnies once in a while. She wouldn’t stop
mumbling. She was so caught up in her own reverie that she didn’t notice Richie
picking up the phone, dialling the police station’s number.
That was the end of their
marriage. Jane was detained and then admitted to an institution. She was
diagnosed with manic depression sometime later.
Jane continued to massage Richie’s
shoulder. He noticed bruises on her wrists and tried, once again, to move away
from her. She caught him looking.
These? Those orderlies were very bad to me. I only wanted to eat
chocolates but they wouldn’t give it. So I threw the tray at them. I told them
they were assholes. ASSHOLES, ASSHOLES. I invented a chant for them. I was so
smart. Every time they visited my room, I start to chant. I even splashed them
with soup. I was only trying to let them give me chocolate but look what
they’ve done. They tied me to my bed. I didn’t mind. I could still chant at
them. She let
out a high-pitched laugh at the memory.
Richie you look like one of ‘em orderlies. Her eyes bulged as she grabbed at
his neck, choking him. She let out little grunts of anger as her fingers locked
tighter into Richie’s throat. He tried to wriggle away from her grip but the
more he tried, the harder it was to breathe. He felt his throat closing in, his
eyes weary and heavy. And then there was the scent of cloying, bittersweet,
unripe bananas before finally, everything fell into darkness.
