Needlepoints of snow pierced my face as I plowed my way to the car. The swirling wind was so erratic that snow pummeled me from every direction.
"Talk about being jerked around," I complained into the wool covering my mouth.
I pulled my scarf even higher and clumsily jerked the hood of my coat down over my forehead. Now if I could have windshield wipers over my eyes, I'd even be able to see where I was going. But, this was my front yard and I knew that the only obstruction between me and the car was the lingering darkness. Plus tons of snow, of course! So I closed my eyes for a couple of steps, squinted for another step, closed them...and finally reached my destination.
I blindly tugged at the door handle.
The resident idiot had locked my car again. Damn!
I haphazardly wiped some snow off the door and the windshield, fumbled a bit with seeminly miniaturized keys in my heavily gloved hand, opened my eyes fully and shoved the key into the keyhole. More snow enveloped me as I opened the door and quickly slid into the seat. I banged the door shut and at least eliminated the blowing part of my austere world.
Of course I had been in such a hurry to get into the car that I hadn't brushed the snow off me. Some of it drifted on to the front seats as the numbing white stuff from my boots settled on to the floor. His Majesty would not be pleased. But who cared? I was cocooned in comparative comfort. Well, maybe not comfort but less discomfort anyway.
I removed my outer glove and inserted the key.
The car groaned as the motor refused to turn over.
"Oh please," I prayed as absolute despair washed over me. Enough already! I twisted the key again and could hear a bit of a half turn. Encouraged, I tried again and the blessed sounds of an unwilling but running motor reached my ears. I sat very quietly just listening to the hard-working engine as the car virtually bucked underneath me.
I shuddered along with the car for a few moments and then began scraping the thin layer of ice covering the inside of the windows. As the scraper bit into the ice, a shower of crystals began to cover my gloved hands and the front of my unfashionable (but winter resistant!) coat. Well, that counteracted any warmth that the activity might have produced in my body. Shuddering was beginning to feel familiar!
Finally, some half-light!
I peered through the tiny hand-made gap in the frosted window and tried to think of fancy book phrases to describe the scene in front of me. ANYTHING to make me feel better. Hmmmm. Let me see now. Sure enough, yesterday's abundant snowfall covered the drooping branches of the stately evergreens in front of the house. The Christmas tree lights shone through halos of sugar-spun white and tried hard to pierce through the lingering darkness of the morning. Further on, a blanket of unsullied white reached all the way to the edge of the property and was abruptly broken by the vertical, towering hedge. But, the top of the cedars again sported a cap of pristine whiteness. A whiteness so pure that it was practically a light in itself.
Whoop-de-doo! No matter how hard I tried to convince myself that my limited view was beautiful, all I REALLY saw was a battle between light and dark - whiteness that was being overpowered by gloomy hulking shapes and the bleak grayness of this late winter morning. I shivered. No amount of pretense re positive thinking was going to convince me that I was impressed or comforted by what I saw.
It was cold. It was dark. It was Monday morning. And I had to contend with yesterday's snow and the night's plummeting temperatures. Life was crap!
But, the arctic wind finally managed to blow some of the snow off the outside window. My view kept broadening as the snow kept disappearing and as the scraper continued its work.
My cyber friends always complained about the fact that they had no snow for Christmas. While the scene in front of me would have made an impressive Christmas card once light shone on the subject, they didn't realize that this loveliness was accompanied by harsh realities that couldn't be seen and could hardly be endured. There was the continuously continuing frost. And ice. And bitter wind. And the numbing cold that just permeated through every part of one's body.
Besides, Christmas tree lights lose their luster three months after the holiday and just became another problem that needed to be solved. Even if they ARE surrounded by cute little halos.
I wound my gloved hands around my middle, sunk back into the car seat and tried to convince myself that I was feeling a bit warmer. I sat there hugging myself, quietly aware of the fact that except for the sound of the motor, my little world was silent.
Moments of silence were precious. At least I didn't have to listen to my everloving husband jabbering away at me. Ever-babbling-but-saying-nothing George.
The motor! The realization pierced through my nearly frozen brain that the car was running less jerkily. I sat up, put my mind into gear, listened closely, slowly unwound myself and with a bit of trepidation, decided that it might be safe to turn on the heater.
"Come on, Mildred, keep running," I urged my car as I pushed the heater switch. A blast of cold air hit me in the face. Mildred and I both shook but she kept on running and I just kept sitting - and silently blessed whatever powers there be for showing a bit of mercy.
A new film of ice began to form instantly on the inside of the windshield. Merci was obviously limited! I immediately tried to control my breathing but then decided that I might just as well face the outside elements again. It was time to begin cleaning off the car. At least that way my breath wouldn't be transformed into more ice.
I grappled around the floor next to the driver's seat, found the long scraper brush, firmly tucked my hood around my head again, tightenened the scarf around my neck, put on my heavy outside gloves, pushed open the door and stepped into the "lovely" world of snow and piercing, bone-chilling wind. Oh yeah! All this agony was definitely worth the fact that we were lucky enough to live in a land that guaranteed a white Christmas!
I brushed off the hood of the car with stupid little, practically ineffectual, sweeps with the contraption that George had so kindly (!) bought for me. One big push and a swath of not more than ten centimeters wide fell off the other side of the car. Another sweep and twenty more flakes of snow were removed. How absolutely ridiculous! This was going to take forever! Furtively I looked at the kitchen window but didn't see any shadows lurking behind the curtains. So, I swept off the rest of the car the way I wanted to - with my arms and hands making big arcs and removing snow at a much more efficient rate.
Let me explain. I don't behave carefully because I am afraid of George. I most certainly am not. It's just that he lectures all the time. It is always done with a smile and with the utmost patience and supposedly with my best interest at heart but he does go on and on and on. I swear that the term "ad nauseum" was invented solely for George in a previous lifetime.
I had already heard the speech (innumerable times) about how the life expentancy of my coat lessened if I used it to sweep off the car - I didn't want to hear it all again. That is why he bought me that useless brush thing that was now lying idly on the cleaned off hood of the car. He had bought it for me so that my coat would last longer.
Well, here's my rationalization, George dear. On a freezing, chilling, windblasting morning, only one thing is important and that is to clean off the car as quickly as possible! Period! End of conversation! No more words needed!
Have you ever noticed that people who have no idea what they are talking about always know how to do everything better than anybody else? You know, people without children who have all the answers as to how children should be raised so that they would always be perfectly clean, appropriately quiet, constantly obedient and continuously happy! Really! Really?
And then, of course, there is this strange phenomena of priests giving advice on the institution of marriage. And, of course, they are equally adept at sex counselling. It just boggles the thinking mind.
Well, George falls into that category. He knows everything about everything. Strangely enough, he has no "input" to learn these things. He rarely reads, never listens to anybody else and watches any show on TV that anyone else would consider pure crap. So his empty mind just transfers non-thoughts and they come blathering out of his mouth. And, of course, he repeats himself constantly because there's nothing new being introduced up there.
For example, he repetively tells me how to clean off the car. Guess what? HIS car snugly sits inside the heated garage. So, I get to spend the winters shovelling and scraping while he just pushes a button to open the garage door and his warm, snow free vehicle hits the road. THIS is the man who tells me how to clean off my car!
"Oh damn!"
I had suddenly remembered the card that I wanted to send to my Australian chat friend. It was a REAL snail mail birthday card that needed to be sent if I wanted it to arrive on time.
I fumbled my way through my left hand glove and the elasticized cuff to uncover my watch. I lifted my arm close to my face and was actually able to see the time. Yes! I could spare a few minutes and quickly return to the house. Good old Mildred (and this was NOT meant sarcastically) was all cleaned off and running smoothly now that her innards had warmed up a bit. Besides, the heater would have time to do its work while I got the envelope and could thus return to a WARM car. That delicious thought propelled my feet.
I slogged my way through the snow back to the house, head forward into the buffeting wind with my body at a forty-five degree angle. Through my frosted eyelashes I noticed that the lights on the evergreen had been extinguished - the automatic timer had responded to the brightening of the morning. Too bad that the timer wasn't bright enough to remove the lights permanently. George, of course, talks about taking down the Christmas lights - in fact, he discusses it nearly every day.
More useless blah blah blah.
I brushed my boots off carefully in the entryway and tiptoed into the kitchen. I was about to pick up the card when I noticed my coffee cup. Hey, even cooled coffee can be warming and comforting.
But, that ended up being a bad move. I should have escaped while I had the chance.
"Susan, is the coffee ready?"
His Majesty needed to be serviced. I removed my gloves, pulled off my boots and left them dripping on the mat in front of the sink. I sure didn't need another lecture on how I dirtied the floor with my carelessness. I grabbed his lordship's favourite mug and filled it with the steaming brew from the coffee maker. Wrapping my hands around the mug and holding it close to my nose so that I could feel the warmth doubly, I made my way to the bedroom.
Then I got the giggles - quietly, internally. I had read somewhere that waiters who didn't like certain customers would spit in their food in silent protest against unfair or rude treatment. I had found the idea abhorrent when I read about it but on this particularly feeling-sorry-for-myself morning.....no, I didn't do it. But the thought was appealing and the mug was so nice and close to my mouth!
The heat of the bedroom virtually assaulted me as I entered. George lay all cuddled up in bed with the downfilled comforter wrapped around him. All that protruded was his sparse tousled hair and his watery blue eyes. Then one arm carefully snaked out from under the covers as he took the proffered mug from me.
"This bed is just so comfortable," he said after he took a sip of coffee. He took another sip and with his usual "kindness" stamped on to his eyeballs showed his appreciation by mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmming.
"You DO make the best coffee, my dear," he said.
"Thank you, George," I answered with an incredibly calm voice that completely belied my real feelings.
"Is it as cold as they predicted, dear?"
"Yes, it's about thirty below," I answered - again amazed at my control because my insides were churning. Seeing him lie there in complete comfort and enveloped in warmth made my morning activities seem even worse than they had been. While I was outside, I was mainly resigned to a difficult situation - now I could feel the quiet, seldom expressed anger and frustration just building and building.
"That's too bad, my dear. Thirty below can be uncomfortable, I know."
He took another sip, pulled the comforter up over his exposed shoulder and shuddered theatrically. Just imagine, being so cosseted that the THOUGHT of cold made him feel miserable. Hot damn!
"I'm sorry that I didn't get the snow cleared off yesterday. But you know that I really didn't feel very well."
I smiled again. Damn! Smiling had become an automatic response to anything that came out of George's mouth. Why did I smile when he was making lousy excuses for his laziness?
George often didn't feel well, especially when things needed to be done. He had a heart condtion. Or at least he said that he did. Doctor's reports siphoned through George's mouth tended to be vague. I wasn't even sure if his "heart" pills were genuine because the pharmacist's slip inside the bottle was always removed. I didn't know, but I had very strong suspicions.
"Say Susan, would you mind getting me the heating pad? My circulation is just not as good as it used to be and my feet are cold."
"Certainly George."
I went into the hallway, opened up the linen closet and got George's favourite cuddle toy. I was like an robot - doing things that I had always done but my mind was swirling. Why was I allowing George to treat me this way? Why was I always so agreeable? When had I turned into such a wimp? What was wrong with me? I returned to the overheated bedroom, plugged in the heating pad and shoved it under the covers.
I watched George as he adjusted his body comfortably under the fluffy down and moved his feet around so he could clamp warmly on to the heating pad.
Then he smiled at me.
I felt like barfing.
But, I smiled back, bent over and surreptitiously palmed his pills. I had reached some decisions. A phone call to the doctor and a visit to the pharmacy were priorites because I needed some ammunition. And then, watch out!
"I really must get to work now, George." When I got to the door, I turned around and smiled my goodbye. This time I knew that my smile was genuine.
I knew that changes were a-comin'. It was high time that one of us stopped being a wimp!
'Better Without You'is a compelling narrative that explores the complexities of an affair, hidden secrets, and abuse. It also highlights a daughter's heartfelt journey as she cares for her mother who is battling dementia.
