| Subject: The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove74 (revised) |
Author:
Schnee
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Date Posted: 17:38:29 07/02/01 Mon
In reply to:
Schnee
's message, "The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove" on 17:12:11 07/02/01 Mon
~~~~~
The wind rustles my hair as a car speeds past. With trepidation, I take each step, as if ready to face a hidden foe to obtain my end game no matter the cost. I look ahead through the misty haze at the modern guardrail that has since replaced the wooden one of yesteryear. Pushing myself forward, I thrust my body up the incline toward it.
I can still see the newspaper headlines: Perfume chemist and wife plunge to their deaths.
The local newspaper detailed how the ‘happy’ couple had attended a charity banquet that evening. Weather conditions and alcohol consumption were listed as potential contributors to the crash.
Truthfully, it had been a stormy night. I can almost feel the icy wind blowing the chilling raindrops against my searing skin as I watched my parents’ car drive away. I had anticipated attending the Cinema with some friends. But when Marie’s best friend came down with the chicken pox, preventing Marie from staying at her house for the night, my plans were quickly nixed.
”Why must I cancel my plans?” I angrily shouted at my father, “It’s not fair!”
“You’ll do as I say, with no arguments.”
Irritated, my father shoved me against the wall, making his point clear. Just because I now was taller than he, it did not change who held the authority in the house.
With my back pressed against the surface of the wall and my father’s face peering at me, the smell of alcohol tickled my nose as it puffed from my father’s rapid breathing. I shifted my gaze to a defiant stare in response to the fierce look my father afforded me. But I made no move to struggle from his grip. It provided the desired effect: my father’s temper simmering, ready to boil over.
“Jean, perhaps Michel could still go with his friends. I’m really not feeling up to this party.” Mama’s soft voice interceded.
With his grip quickly released, I gasped in a breath of air, bewildered by my mother’s intervention.
“I see. Michel throws a fit and you’re about to let him have his way. Never mind that I’m supposed to meet up with several key contacts who could further my career. No, you’d prefer to make your son happy rather than your own husband.”
“You can meet them with or without me. What does my presence matter?” She ignored his accusation, but Mama’s voice did sound tired. Perhaps she really wasn’t feeling well?
“Angelique, this is important. I need you there. We’re going and that’s final.” His voice left no question that his will would be done. Mama’s frown spoke volumes, but she retreated to their bedroom with my father close behind. Following the resounding thud of the door slamming behind them, I could hear their raised voices.
Regret filled me. I had not meant for Mama to endure Papa’s anger. I should have seen it coming, before I objected so strongly. I should have realized she would intervene. I clenched my fist, ready to strike the table releasing my anger at myself, but Marie came running in.
“They’re fighting again. Why must they fight all the time, Michel?”
I shrugged my shoulders, unsure how to answer my sister.
“Mama looks sad more and more. And Papa is only happy when he’s out gambling. Why do they stay together if make each other so miserable?”
In spite of her youth, Marie was acutely aware of the depth of their marital rift. Not just the actual fights, but also the subtler signs. The distance. The lack of affection.
Marie confided in me often, voicing her thoughts and fears. However, I kept many of my own thoughts and feelings about our parents’ discord inside, preferring to put up a show of confidence for her sake. But sometimes I wondered if it was easier for her. She was too young to remember the happier times. Before Papa’s drinking became abusive. Before he gambled away our future.
Which was his greater downfall, the gambling or the drinking—I am uncertain. The irony was the more money my father earned, the less we had. All it did was fuel my father’s lust for winning. Always raising the stakes and taking greater risks for a bigger payoff. Except that night, he gambled with both Mama’s and his own life. And he lost.
~~~~~
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