He had been planning his escape for years; constantly talking himself right into believing he was happy with his life. Now, he sat in his muddy dooryard with Princess tucked under his right arm, the lower half of his body shaking in perfect sync with the rough idle of his ancient Toyota pick-up. She stood glaring at him from behind the snarly screen door; hands on ample hips and eyes nearly shut from the impact of her stale, recurring anger. “You can’t just take off like this, Martin. You have obligations to me and to this house.”
He shook his head and drove out of the yard and onto Route 1. Behind him, three plastic trash bags peeked out from the bed of his truck, their bright red “bowtie” handles snapping in the wind. Everything he owned was in those cheap, flimsy bags. He had explained to her that he would continue to make the car payment on the old, cream colored Cadillac until it was completely paid for. The house belonged to them fair and square; she just had to pay the property taxes and the upkeep. She had a good job and a good ten years to go before she retired. He looked down at his tiny poodle and whispered, “We aren’t leaving Momma with nothing, are we Princess?” It was more of a question than a declaration and he felt sick to his stomach for just a moment. The taste of freedom was strong, however; much stronger than their exhausted marriage. His pockets were filled with a stash of money he had earned over the past three years doing little odd jobs here and there for farmers in the area. He had been retired and on Social Security disability for nearly five years now and he glanced down quickly at the handicap placard on the console. He never displayed it unless she was around.
He pulled to the side of the road for a moment, his head on the wheel. Once he made it past Houlton, he knew he would be able to just keep on driving until he could no longer feel that taut, relentless chain that held him back from the life he longed for. “We can do this, Princess,” he said to his little poodle. He rejoined the Route 1 traffic, thinking of his three sons. They were all military boys and they were scattered about the country. He wondered what they would do when they discovered that Dad had finally left Mom after all the years of arguing and despair.
The final straw was the day he actually started believing her claims that he was a pathetic loser. When he realized he was wallowing in her wrath, he picked himself up off the floor and began to plan his exit. At 60 years old, he doubted he would make the impact on the world he had always dreamed of but there was nothing to stop him from trying. With his poodle and his pride, he was well past Bangor and nearly into Newport when he realized he had to stop at a rest area. Out of habit, he reached for that dark blue handicap placard. As beneficial as the placards were, he realized he truly did not need it. He pulled some Craftsman wire cutters from his glove box and cut the placard into a thousand pieces! They lingered around his old truck for just a moment before allowing a quiet, firm breeze to carry them away.
Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives Connor TWP with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
