Uncharted
Reconciliation
I had driven calmly for two and a half miles, seething internally at the unnecessary complication of everything. My heels clicked on the cement like gun shots and my dismay was apparent. I hastily pushed past him as I walked into the yard for fear I might lose my composure if I looked him in the eye. His expression asks ‘what's wrong’, but we both know better than to say anything.
This is nothing atypical. There was no way I could win. Choosing happiness over a marriage that would have made me miserable isn't grounds for crucifixion, yet they were.
I've opened a beer and downed a portion in an unladylike fashion before I speak, the lot of them looking on to see what has gotten me so embittered. I lean into him and tell him I'm exhausted. I'm done keeping the peace. This war we've started, the one I've kept at bay, is a losing battle, but I refuse to back down. I remember him telling me that if war was what they wanted we would wage it because I was worth it. But lately their slurs had been worse. They wanted to crucify me and destroy him. Our happiness was too much for them to comprehend—for that I felt sorry for them.
I tell him it's gotten out of hand and he can take measures into his own hands. I'm no longer a guard, but a soldier in this strife.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
No one ever tells you the realities of living in a one horse town. We were dedicated to industry, railroad, and small business. Everyone knew everyone even if you went to different schools. You dated the boy next door and you married him, producing several offspring who would be stuck in the same existence for the rest of their lives. I never wanted that. I was never the girl who dreamt of a white dress and a white picket fence. This town would hold me back if I let it. An ill timed, inappropriate marriage would have destroyed my spirit irreparably.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
The night drew on, beer after beer, my inhibitions loosening. Seeing him spring to action in defense of himself—in defense of us—has stirred something in me and I'm insatiable. Ravenously, I paw at him. Surreptitiously, I graze my teeth across his ear. He whimpers into my ear, reminding me we aren’t alone and that I should recompose myself. I try with all my might and fail, resigning to doze and nibble at the nape of his neck.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
Verbal blows have been exchanged—a civil compromise for their testosterone fueled rage. The suggestions are wearing him down and tarnishing my image at work. Everyone knows that it is only his imagination—even they don’t truly believe it.
We have both been dealt our fair share of insults and I can no longer ignore the cloud they’ve positioned over our lives.
A sun-kissed Friday morning offers refuge. I took a day to return to my previous self, clad in jeans and a t-shirt. My intentions are pure and defined: I plan to nestle myself into a corner of the library with a venti coffee and a book. In the metaphorical train ride that is my life, I was derailed—a giant tree in the middle of the iron tracks.
Out of civility I mutter an hello, squirming in place. I am acknowledged by a primitive grunt and an unintentional splash of coffee. The moment passes leaving me enraged, astounded by his disconcerting attitude. I storm through the building with unstoppable force, propelled solely by my rage. He looked through me like a ghost. We were friends.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
Small towns are breeding grounds for insanity and sin. We bonded with a different group of our own each year. Friendships were futile and fragile, like the wings of a butterfly. One wrong step turned you into a pariah. Everyone drank underage. Everyone smoked. Boys grew into men working on cars and building. Girls became women by giving themselves to males who weren't quite boys, but who were not yet men.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
I stoop, resort to hiding behind the lines of a text message and tell him how I really feel about all of this. The lies. The restrictions. The connotations. The fact that one failed romance turned everyone against me when they had nothing to do with it and no right to comment. I demand a truce. And just like that we enter a period of detente. A dual-sided ceasefire. I surmise that he will not be my ally, but losing an enemy is just as victorious.
This is nothing atypical. There was no way I could win. Choosing happiness over a marriage that would have made me miserable isn't grounds for crucifixion, yet they were.
I've opened a beer and downed a portion in an unladylike fashion before I speak, the lot of them looking on to see what has gotten me so embittered. I lean into him and tell him I'm exhausted. I'm done keeping the peace. This war we've started, the one I've kept at bay, is a losing battle, but I refuse to back down. I remember him telling me that if war was what they wanted we would wage it because I was worth it. But lately their slurs had been worse. They wanted to crucify me and destroy him. Our happiness was too much for them to comprehend—for that I felt sorry for them.
I tell him it's gotten out of hand and he can take measures into his own hands. I'm no longer a guard, but a soldier in this strife.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
No one ever tells you the realities of living in a one horse town. We were dedicated to industry, railroad, and small business. Everyone knew everyone even if you went to different schools. You dated the boy next door and you married him, producing several offspring who would be stuck in the same existence for the rest of their lives. I never wanted that. I was never the girl who dreamt of a white dress and a white picket fence. This town would hold me back if I let it. An ill timed, inappropriate marriage would have destroyed my spirit irreparably.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
The night drew on, beer after beer, my inhibitions loosening. Seeing him spring to action in defense of himself—in defense of us—has stirred something in me and I'm insatiable. Ravenously, I paw at him. Surreptitiously, I graze my teeth across his ear. He whimpers into my ear, reminding me we aren’t alone and that I should recompose myself. I try with all my might and fail, resigning to doze and nibble at the nape of his neck.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
Verbal blows have been exchanged—a civil compromise for their testosterone fueled rage. The suggestions are wearing him down and tarnishing my image at work. Everyone knows that it is only his imagination—even they don’t truly believe it.
We have both been dealt our fair share of insults and I can no longer ignore the cloud they’ve positioned over our lives.
A sun-kissed Friday morning offers refuge. I took a day to return to my previous self, clad in jeans and a t-shirt. My intentions are pure and defined: I plan to nestle myself into a corner of the library with a venti coffee and a book. In the metaphorical train ride that is my life, I was derailed—a giant tree in the middle of the iron tracks.
Out of civility I mutter an hello, squirming in place. I am acknowledged by a primitive grunt and an unintentional splash of coffee. The moment passes leaving me enraged, astounded by his disconcerting attitude. I storm through the building with unstoppable force, propelled solely by my rage. He looked through me like a ghost. We were friends.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
Small towns are breeding grounds for insanity and sin. We bonded with a different group of our own each year. Friendships were futile and fragile, like the wings of a butterfly. One wrong step turned you into a pariah. Everyone drank underage. Everyone smoked. Boys grew into men working on cars and building. Girls became women by giving themselves to males who weren't quite boys, but who were not yet men.
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
I stoop, resort to hiding behind the lines of a text message and tell him how I really feel about all of this. The lies. The restrictions. The connotations. The fact that one failed romance turned everyone against me when they had nothing to do with it and no right to comment. I demand a truce. And just like that we enter a period of detente. A dual-sided ceasefire. I surmise that he will not be my ally, but losing an enemy is just as victorious.
♠ ♠ ♠
I feel my style in this chapter is a little lack luster, but I'm trying to tell a story on a very introspective level. This chapter is a little hard to do that with.I'm also trying to tell this story without using names. I feel that changing the characters' names would take away from the reality I'm trying to convey. I think trying to convey who they are with pronouns adds an extra challenge and a different depth to the story. Let me know what you guys think. I can assign names if you guys find this troubling.
♥