Writing Exercise 3, Kevin Eib

Sure, Nolan's brothers would have questions, but Char didn't care. Nolan would come up with something (he always did). Her mind was set, she was going to see her own family tonight, someone who could lend an ear and give her a little distance, perspective. Aunt Kitty had always said to stop by for anything. Not to say Char wouldn't love to light into Nolan right now, give him an earful of this-has-got-to-stop but it wasn't going to happen tonight. Nolan would have to show off for his brothers who did nothing but laugh and grin like a bunch of stupid drunken hyenas. That's what they were, a bunch of grinning idiotic hyenas, laughing at the first thing that came their way, one beer followed by another. They had even laughed when their own cousin, Lenny, broke his back playing Evil Knevil at the junkyard, snapped his spine and put him in a wheelchair for life--and with a baby on the way, poor fool. "What a dumbass," Clyde had sneered at the time with a chuckle. "Anybody else want to try?" She could see that stupid grin he wore every time Nolan told the story. Thank God Nolan had enough sense to go for the paramedics. The others would have stood around scratching their asses wondering who was going to bring them their next beer. Nolan was the smartest of the bunch, she'd give him that, but keep him away from the brothers. When it was just the two of them, Char found Nolan to be sensitive, attentive--a good listener. Or at least that had always been her impression. Maybe he was just a good pretender. He was good at making up stories. She could never tell for sure what the truth was with him. Like the pot of navy beans in the crock-pot he forgot about. She came home from work and they were dripping off the ceiling, splattered and stuck to all the walls in a putrid goo of pasty stink and slime. After cleaning that up she didn't think she'd ever eat beans and cornbread again. She spent all night and the next day cleaning up his latest fuck-up while he drank away the night with the boys and spent the day sleeping off his hangover. Could he have really forgotten the beans? Or did he just expect her to clean up after him, something she was always doing and for no thanks. She had her suspicions but she couldn't prove anything. It still pissed her off. But then the dogshit was the worst. Right outside the front door. No dog would ever shit on their doorstep, he had to have planted it there for her to step in on her way out the door. She wore her special no skid shoes and there would be no time to clean them proper until after work. She could smell it on the bottom of her shoe all day long at the Dairy Queen. There was nothing worse than suggestive selling a Dilly Dilly Bar with the scent of dogshit racing constantly through the back of her mind. And then when she got home, he was waiting for her, stupid grin and all, with "What's that smell, honey, did you shit your pants?" Once more, there was no evidence--but tonight, tonight she finally had him. There was no denying he was being outright cruel to her. It made her wonder more about the past two years and all the stories he had told. All the trouble they found themselves in and the constant moving they had done on account of it. Fat Jackie stood out most in her mind. Did she jump or was she pushed? Either way, it was Nolan who had planted the idea in Jackie's eight-year-old mind. "Sure you can fly like Mary Poppins. All you need is an umbrella, sweetie." I don't know if the shattered leg or the umbrella wire piercing through her cheek was the worse of the two. We knew she would never be much of a looker at 150 pounds (an ugly sound thudding to the side of the house) but now her face was scarred to boot. Of course I had to take Nolan's side of the story but it was clear we had to get out. With every move it was a new relative and a new story. "I didn't teach that goat to piss on you." "It was burnt to the ground when I got there." And finally, "I think she had a heart attack." His own mother dieing in his presence, how terrible, how tragic to think someone so close could die just like that with no warning. Worse yet, to think that maybe there was more to it, some part of the story being left out. Some prank Nolan couldn't dare confess. Who on earth could? Even so, it was nice of the family to let them take up in her house until they could get their finances in order. There was so much more to put in order. Sure she was pissed but she knew she would be in his arms when the sun peeked into their bedroom window come morning. What was it about him that made her stick with it? Stick with him? She knew he was a fuck-up when it came to the everyday grind. She was always picking up after him. It was the thing she liked least, cleaning, cleaning, always cleaning up. But when they were together there was something between them. Not just the sex, sure she was in love with his lean body and smooth muscles. The way he pressed up against her with the smell of engine grease still lingering from a day's work in the garage. He had a twinkle in his eyes. It was different than the dull glaze his brothers emitted from their heavy lids. Nolan seemed to have something more. As if he were always on the inside of a bigger plan for himself and the world. Hell, maybe it was just the sign of a good bullshitter but she was buying. She felt safe, protected with him. The world could not touch her when they were together. It did not mean she was safe from him. Sure, he'd smacked her around a bit but she gave it right back and with just as much punch. What she couldn't endure from the world, perhaps she could endure from him. God, she thought, is that really what love is? She didn't like the way she imagined him just now, that he wasn't perfect in every way--his flaws coming to the surface (and hers as well)--but she told herself it didn't matter as long as there was love, and no one could tell her otherwise. Yes, it was love. How to define it or package it was altogether different but she knew once she was able to have some personal space the perspective of the man she married (smart, sexy, charming, considerate) would come back for her. She would feel better once she blew off some steam with a few drinks. Maybe give him something to think about when she doesn't show up like he thinks she will. Char turned the key in the ignition. Had she turned off the burners to the stove? Yes, she was certain it was the last thing she checked before walking out the door. Into this mess of an evening.