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When Men Leave: Part 3

July 29, 2014

jennybadman

If you’ve been following along, here’s part three of my short story, When Men Leave. If not, read part one and two first.

That night when Scout was finally asleep, and I was tossing and turning in my bed, Glenn told Mom is was her fault that Scout got hurt.

“Why weren’t you watching the baby?” he demanded.

“Dear God, Glenn, I can’t watch them every single minute of the day. I feel awful as it is. Accidents happen. Don’t you blame this on me.”

“Who else am I supposed to blame?” he yelled.

“Who gets them up in the morning? Mom started yelling. “Do you? No. Who makes their meals? Do you? Who takes care of them all day, every day? Do you? Are you ever here? Do you ever help? Where the hell were YOU?”

Silence.

And then Glenn muttered something I couldn’t hear and walked to their bedroom. I sat in bed motionless, waiting. Ten minutes later I heard Glenn’s Ford truck crunching over the gravel, and I knew he wasn’t coming back. Ever.

I guess we were too much for him.

Mom told me the next day that Glenn had left and probably wouldn’t be back.

“It’ll be alright,” she said, looking at me with puffy eyes. “I’m gonna take care of everything. Who loves you, Sara?”

I looked down at my French toast, too shy and hurt to look at her. “You do,” I whispered.

Scout started sleeping with me a week or so after Glenn left. It’s like she knew even though she was just two. I’d cuddle her up next to me and stroke her hair. Sometimes she’d wake me up and say, “Sawa, I scare.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“No,” she’d say louder. “Monstas in here.”

“There are not.”

“Yes, go see Mommy.”

We’d walk tiptoe into Mom’s room and shake her shoulder slightly. It got to be a bit of a ritual during those early months after Glenn left. She’d groan and roll over to look at us. “Monster alert?” she’d ask. We nodded.

She sat up, grabbed a Kool from her bedside table, lit up and walked us to the back door with her hands on top of our heads. “Wait here,” she said and walked to the closet to get Glenn’s shotgun.

Scout and I stood shivering on the cold linoleum floor from anticipation as Mom loaded two shots into the gun. “Are they in the back field again, Scout?”

“Yes,” Scout whispered bravely.

Mom kicked open the back door with her bare foot and started hollering out into our back field, an acre or so of land that seemed harmless enough during the day.

“O.K., monsters,” Mom would yell into the blackness. “Get outta here or else!”

Scout and I covered our ears as Mom pumped two shots into the dark. It’s a good thing our closest neighbors were a half mile away and knew about “monster alerts.” The shots echoed from the woods, and Scout and I stood there blinking as Mom walked calmly back to the closet, emptied the gun, and locked it back up.

“I feel better,” she said to us. “How about y’all?”

We nodded, still wide eyed.

“Good, then let’s hit the hay,” she said and stamped out her Kool.

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