Sitting on the porch like most nights, a cold beer in hand, door open listening for the rustle of my sleeping two-year-old, Jo, with my cell phone in hand. My mind ping ponging the why. The why of being here alone on this porch with Jo sleeping and no Jason. How did this happen? I was terrified of my new life, terrified of my old life, stuck in limbo. After a beer I would call Jason, or he would call me. We were not done with our hatred, our love, our whatever. Tonight was no different. The conversation always started the same.
"You drinking?" he asks.
"Yes," my simple answer.
"Where's my daughter?" his tone was scathing.
"With me, as always," a resigned sigh slid between my lips.
"You know you are a waste of flesh," the 'flesh' slurred. Hatred tonight, easier than the lost love. Tears starting the slide down my face. My response is to be quiet. General agreement in my mind.
"They should have ripped out your womb before you could procreate," Jason stats in a matter of fact voice. More silence from my end. Me believing this nightly ritual of penance would somehow redeem me. "They told me not to marry you, they told me you were beneath me. They were right. You are a worthless cheating cunt," Jason snarled. He was just warming up and my usual response was to settle, to listen to the punishment. Tonight was different, tonight a revelation, I was finished with being terrified. I hit the end button, silenced the phone, set it on the porch, stepped into the house, closed, and locked the front door. I slid into bed, wrapped myself around Jo. I was done with penance. I was done with broken. That was the last night I talked to Jason on the phone.
One Wednesday night, a several of months after that last call, I took my daughter up to the feed yard so she could see the man I had chosen to make her with. I don't know who decided Wednesday nights and divorce go together. Jo was bouncing in her seat when the smell of cow manure hit her nose. A chant was burbling up from the back seat as we parked.
"Da, Da, Da, Da!" she happily chirped. He opens the door and sweeps her out of her car seat, all charm, love, and smiles shining from him. I yearned for that love. He puts her on his hip and turns my way. His smile drops, his eyes go dead, and he doesn't say anything. He just looks at me with his hatred and loathing. I wilt under the stare. He jerks the overnight bag out of my hand as I cling to the strap and they both slip away from me. My baby girl bursting with the love of her Daddy. I look around feeling poleaxed and lost. Another evening alone, alone with my thoughts, my self-loathing...alone.
I turn towards my truck and see TK sitting on the ground, leaning against the weigh station building, drinking a beer, and watching my little drama. I had met Terry Karson when I was a rodeo secretary all those years ago, when life seemed full of potential, before divorce. TK, they called him and he was known for his smile. He was old enough and married enough that he hadn't hit on my young self's radar. About 3 or 4 years later he had started cowboying for Jason, and we had roped together a couple of times before Jo was born.
TK lifted his head in that come over here motion, cowboy hat tipped back, and green eyes crinkled in the late afternoon sun. I walked over and sat next to him, elbows on my knees. I am sure I looked as broken as I felt.
"Want a beer?" his bright white teeth shining at me.
"Yes," I replied. Picking at the mud stuck on my boot. Feeling uneasy outfitted in the dry sweat of the day. Intimidated by that smile. We sat in silence for a while, cold beer sweating in my hand, cool, ease of the edge, sliding down my throat. Warm air full of afternoon sun, listening to the settling of the cows in the yard.
"Lee you know he is a shit, and you are better off," TK offers.
"Mmmm maybe," taking another drink of beer.
"How's work?" he asks, changing directions. I think he could sense I was tired of other's opinions about me and my actions.
"You know, a mess just like the rest. He made sure he called my boss and let him know I am a cheat." My shoulders are slumped with the loneliness and defeat of it all. He just looks at me with a little sadness creeping into his eyes. We sit quietly together.
"You want another beer?" he asks.
"Yes, sir please," aware of my upbringing and his age.
The sun is starting to dip over the horizon. Still warm on my face. The little gnats and flies, illuminated in the sun's last rays, are frantic with the sun's decline, hurrying before the dark. As he hands the beer to me, he holds onto it for a minute, his eyes meeting mine. Really, looking at me. Then he turns back towards the sunset and just puts his weathered hand on top of mine. The warmth of his hand seeping into me. My emotions were a raw open wound, made by my decisions. We sat, watched the sunset and had another beer. Not saying much of anything. His hand was still on mine connecting us. I was basking in the simple company of another human. As the last bit of the sun slid over the horizon he turned to me.
"Do you want to come to my house?" I looked at him, his green eyes full of sadness and expectation. I was hesitant, not interested in anything other than morning the death of my relationship.
