Mom Wants to Walk...Away

Mom Wants to Walk...Away

         The wind was light and the air was clear. The sounds of the kids yelling for help carried well in through the windows of the moderate house.

         "Mom, mom! The dog's loose!"

         The dog in question, one black lab named Midnight and nicknamed Moosie, was energetic, four years old, and male, and given that one good chance to be released from his chain collar and rope, he took off down the paved streets of the local suburbia faster than an avalanche. Jo stood up and followed her mother to the screen door. Her younger brothers, cousins, and family friends, five children in all, were chasing the animal around in the street.

         "Stand still!" Jo's mother, Carol, called from inside, watching. Jo looked back at the family and friends in the house. Her aunt was at the sink, her grandmother and great aunt, visiting from Florida seated with Tina, a friend of the family's, at the dining room table. Everyone was dressed nicely, fresh from church, preparing to gather as families should for a meal of homemade spaghetti. They laughed as families should, told stories as families should, asked inane questions as families should.

         Carol had held up the bottoms of her shoes and asked, "Is there anything on the bottoms of my sandals?"

         The sandals were white with black soles, clean and trim. There was nothing on the bottoms. "Mom, there's nothing there. Should there be?"

         "No, I just couldn't remember if I took the price tags off of the bottoms. There's nothing worse than kneeling down to pray, glancing down, and seeing $6.99 on the bottoms of the shoes in front of you. Then everyone knows you get your shoes at Wal-mart."

         Now, they did not seem to be as interested in the dog—worried maybe, for they yelled their concerns, but no one moved to assist the children. And why should they, Jo supposed. There are five healthy, energetic kids out there.

         The screen door squeaked as Carol walked outside. Carol liked to walk, liked it far more than she used to. Around 8pm every evening, she was nowhere near the house, but almost miles away. It was how she escaped, she explained once to Jo, which surprised her 19 year old daughter, because Jo didn't understand what was so horrible that required escape. It frightened her, because Jo sensed that, hidden in the explanation, Carol would like to walk away one day and never come back. Her mother opened the door and stepped outside. She was out of sight for only a moment before Jo followed.

         Carol had her hand by her eyebrows, squinting against the sunset to see up the street, as the children and animal was no longer in the yard, but many blocks up the street. Jo regarded her mother in her white sandals from Wal-mart and her cotton dress suit, comfortable and cozy in the un-air-conditioned church they attended. "Do you see them?" Jo called.

         "They're probably on Main Street by now, those damn kids," Carol answered.

         Jo remained silent, listening. They were approaching again. She could hear them giggling, feet hitting the pavement. Finally they were in sight, chasing after the dog, and it was obvious that Moosie thought his escape to be great fun, for he dodged and charged the kids, baiting them to run after him.

         "Stop running! Stand still!" Carol yelled, a sharp edge in her voice.

         "But mom, you're not going to be able to hold him," Tim, Jo's oldest little brother called, speaking with the inadequate wisdom he thought his twelve years gifted him.

         "Just stand still!"

         "But mom—"

         "Tim, if I have to tell you one more time..." Carol quieted as the dog slowed to a trot towards her. "Come here, Moosie," she called.

         Tim took off, diving at the dog. Moosie saw Tim coming at him and took off in the opposite direction.

         "Jesus Christ, Tim!" Carol yelled. Jo winced at the venom—she found herself doing that often at the sound of her mother's voice anymore. Especially because the medicine hasn't been helping, and her mother's been crying so much more lately from this change that the doctors say isn't menopause—they can't say what it is at all. Carol can't either, can't say why life disgusts her so, why she cringes at the sight of her children, why she avoids her husband, why she can't stand her life. Jo wants her old, controlled mom back, and God, why wouldn't the medicine work?

         "Everybody get your asses into the house immediately!" Carol yelled.

         "Mom—" Tim objected.

         "Now!" Her eyes were burning with an anger that scorched. Tim grumbled and the kids filed on to the porch. Jo leaned against the van parked out front and watched as Carol watched the dog run up the street. Carol began to walk, following the dog.

         "Mom, do you want me to come with you?" Jo called.

         "Just stay here," Carol ordered. The kids came off the porch to watch her walk up the street a few blocks.

         "She's not going to be able to catch the dog," Tim demanded stubbornly.

         "Tim, why couldn't you just listen before? She almost had him," Jo whined.

         "Just shut up," Tim growled, crossed his arms, and sat down in the grass.

         Together, they watched as Carol turned left and walked out of sight, her cotton church clothes and white sandals disappearing. For a while, they remained silent. Minutes passed, the insects buzzed, and the heat was just subsiding for the day. The light of the sunset was fading, and the dusk was settling in, nice and easy. The other kids had gone back into the house.

         "She's probably caught the dog already, and they're up on Main Street walking. Mom likes to take her walk now," Jo joked mildly.

         Tim replied with little reaction, "Yeah, probably." Silence filled the air, growing louder than the sounds of the neighborhood.

         "She's not coming back," Jo said, surprised at the wry chuckle that accompanied her words.

         Tim jerked his attention in her direction. For a moment, confusion and anger was all he could respond with, a common language on his face. "What? There's no reason for her not to come back! Just...shut up, Jo!" He stood up and stomped into the house, slamming the door.

         Jo watched him go, felt the sting, the unspoken, "don't even joke about that," which lingered along with the fear that someday it will come true. She turned her attention back to the corner that Carol disappeared around. The sky remained the same shade, but the air around her dimmed further. Leaning against the family minivan with the "Soccer Mom" bumper sticker, she listened as the other dogs barked in the neighborhood, and noticed everything around her. Surrounded by suburbia, she realized there was only herself and the air.

         The freshly-cut grass scraped against her bare feet as she walked across the front yard to the porch. She stopped before she opened the door and glanced up the street, to the corner for Wal-mart white sandals, cotton clothes, and how things used to be. Nothing was there. With a sigh, she opened the front door, and met by the sent of freshly made spaghetti sauce and the rumble of what family conversation should be, she entered the house.

THE END.