Due West

^{By Annette Gagliardi}

She slept like an exclamation point. Her left arm tucked under her head so that her elbow made a ‘V’ pointing due west - a divot pimpling her slim line. Her left knee created the smaller, second divot, also pointing west. West. Due West. His breath washed over her face and in her ear while she slept. She moved away to gain her own breathing space. But he slumbering after her as he snored and snorted in his clinging pursuit.

Their marriage had started out smoothly enough, with her following his every suggestion. He hated her Classical music, so they listened to his Jazz. He was a “meat and potatoes” man, so she learned to cook the meals he liked and didn’t attempt her favorites very often, especially the vegetarian dishes. They moved from Oyster stew on Christmas Eve to Roast Beef, from quiche to waffles, and from vegetable soup to chunky chicken with barely a hiccough. She lost little pieces of herself along the way. She rationalized that giving up her favorite foods or music was what women do for the men they love. If you love a person, it’s OK to give up your preferences. Afterall, everyone compromised in marriage.

"Marriage is compromise" she was told, and she believed it. But, the thought that she was the only one giving anything up niggled at her and pointed her unconsciously West. She had wanted to live in California and actually had a job lined up before they were married. San Diego seemed full of sunshine and sand. It looked like a place she could feel free and creative. She slept facing West toward California, toward San Diego as if facing that direction would surely help get her there.

“No way.” He said it often enough. “No way are we living in the land of pot smoking hippies and sex-starved starlets. “There are no real people in California. They are all phony!”

Their recreation became attending Football games instead of dancing. He had two left feet. He didn’t like to go Bowling, even though she had bowled on a league before they got married. They had no time for her friends, so they just hung out with his family. Really, he hung out with his family because they always planned family events when she was working. She had invited his siblings to their house often enough, but somehow they could never make it over.

Through the years she found herself passively going along with him, and unconsciously gazing West. Their vacations never went as far west as California. But one year they went to Yellow Stone National Park and she thought, “Good, that’s half way there.” Yellowstone was beautiful. They stayed in tents and got by as cheaply as possible. She would have preferred to stay in the lodge and have a warm bed and hot shower, but he said they couldn’t afford that. And she believed him. And so, she faced West toward warmer skies and soft sandy beaches. She wanted to sit and watch a sunset without pine needles sticking her butt.

When she slept, she took long soft breaths so you could hardly tell she was breathing. A person could time her inhales & exhales to the count of ten. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe in for ten. Breathe out for ten. She slept as if she wasn’t going anywhere soon, her breath so soft that it might fade into oblivion at any moment. To say she lived lightly on the Earth would be stating the obvious.

Women had left their husbands before. It wasn’t a new idea. They had escaped the gilded caged of matrimony and the cramped existence of living in someone else's shoes. The thought of leaving him did cross her mind, but she could never do that to the kids. She wondered if she could wait until the children all got out and on their own. She hoped there would still be time. With each passing year, the idea of living in a place where she could feel comfortable, a place that truly belonged to her, faded. A small place on or near the beach where she could see for miles without the disruption of buildings, was the dream she returned to. The image of who she might be in California became shallow and vaded. Tfhe edges misted and shimmied in and out of focus.

“Who am I?” she wondered.

At the beginning of their marriage they had vowed that the singular word, ‘divorce’ would not enter their relationship discussions. “I will never divorce you. So, I’ll just have to kill you.” She would joke. But, the edict stood, and it trapped her into a position of powerlessness. The only way out became suicide - or death by natural means. “How long can I wait to become my own person? “ She wondered. “Will I run out of time to grow into myself or will I just become a clone of him?” The urge to just “step out” became so strong that she daily wrestled with suicidal images. She wondered if she would last. “Does living really matter?” she wondered. Despair turned to resignation as she reminded herself of their babies not yet grown.

When she was in her thirties, she found her opinions were no longer his. This made him angry. After three years of therapy, she learned how to stand up to his tantrums, even though it took every ounce of her emotional energy. But, he still cut her psyche on a regular basis by criticizing what she wore, what she said, how she preformed menial tasks. It wasn’t that he was an expert in house cleaning or child rearing, but he wanted her to do things his way. Perhaps she would someday become so invisible that he wouldn’t notice her objections to domination.

“Don’t talk with Emma about college. I’m the one in charge of it. You will only fight with her.” He cautioned. This was the type of thing that really galled her. She was reprimanded for speaking to her own daughter. “Don’t talk while I’m talking.” He would caution. Oh, he wouldn’t say the words. He would give her his ‘I’m pissed at you’ look, or hold up his hand like a stop sign. To be stifled from taking part in family discussions; to be stopped from speaking about important issues with her own children; to be dictated to like she was a five year old—these were the things that cut her down. These messages sounded like “don’t be”.

“Am I just here to do the cooking and cleaning?” she wondered. “Am I not intelligent enough to make a verbal contribution?”

When she got a promotion and raise at work he said. “I knew you were smart. I don’t know why you have such a poor self-image.” And she shut her mouth rather than give him the answer on her tongue.

When she was in her forties, the church had a renewal of marriage vows. The message that couples did connect on a regular basis for more than sexual intercourse blindsided her like an oncoming semi. But, he wouldn't attend the ceremony. He said they had already made their vows and there was no point in redoing them. They had stuck the first time. She did feel stuck. Stuck like glue.

“We must have been able to communicate at some point.” She thought. But, there was no memory of it. There was no memory of him telling her how really great he thought she was. There was no memory of him sticking up for her, of asking her what she wanted to do or to see, or to listen to. There was no memory of their marriage being two people blending their lives.

She began thinking about how to get out of the prison she had climbed into. She had let him dominate with too few objections. She could not give him all the blame, but she knew he wouldn’t agree that he was doing anything wrong, or that she wasn’t perfectly happy the way things were. She calculated the hell she would have to endure if she left him, now that the children grown.

“What if I just started driving West?” she thought. “How far would I get before he even noticed? I wonder how quickly I could find a job in San Diego.”

Her right arm followed the line of her body, lying lightly along her hip and thigh like a sleek, silky snake. And she dosed silently, breathing in and out to the count of ten, with two small divots facing west.

Hi folks, I wanted to try my hand at a character sketch. I wonder how many of you women can relate to this a little - or a lot. No, It is not autobiographical. My husband and I get along about as well as most couples our age - perhaps better than some. Please leave me your critique, your opinion and/ or your own experience.