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July 29, 2008
Batesville Installment Twelve
Marilyn likes to get into the break room a little before eleven to heat up her lunch. That way she doesn’t have to wait on the microwave, and doesn’t have to worry about people looking impatient while they wait on her food to cook. She likes the ravioli that comes pre-made and frozen and all you have to do is cook up the little plastic tray and there’s a meal waiting. She has it with a diet soda pop and an apple which she cuts up while waiting for the timer on the microwave to make its way around to zero. She likes cutting up the apples because then it doesn’t juice all over her making a mess in front of her coworkers.
She pulls her lunch out of the machine, pulls the plastic off the top, careful not to burn herself with the steam, puts a paper towel under the tray since it’s so hot, and makes her way over to the table she sits at every day. Other folks who take the early lunch at eleven start filing in, getting their food ready. She smiles at the first couple of them, and then opens up her magazine to see what’s going on in the world of women’s crafts.
“Hey, Marilyn,” says a voice as Marilyn notices a shape in the periphery of her vision take a seat next to her. She looks up and sees that it’s Kathleen, her lunch and walking buddy.
“Hello there, buddy buddy,” Marilyn greets with a chuckle.
“How’s things going?” asks her buddy buddy with a look more serious than normal.
“Uhm, fine. I’m busy with all of these searches that I need to review, but you know,” Marilyn dodges, hoping that Kathleen didn’t overhear what she fears was overheard.
“I mean with Frank, honey.” Oh god, thinks Marilyn.
“Fine, uhm, fine. Things are fine.”
“I heard you on the phone with him, Marilyn. You look like you need to talk.” Oh god, oh god.
“It’s not good. It’s…I don’t want to talk about it in here. I’ll talk during our walk.”
“Okay, but make sure you do.” They eat in silence, each reading their magazines, which is what they normally do each day, but there’s an underlying tension that each of them feels, almost palpable. They throw away their trash, stow their not-trash, and head outside to the walking track which is located behind their building. During the Spring months they come out for a walk after eating, getting out of the routine of their jobs by walking in a circle. “Talk to me, Marilyn.”
“I think I’m going to need a lawyer.”
“God, that bad?”
“That bad. We can’t even talk anymore without getting into an argument. I just can’t…” she pauses, trying to find the right words to say, “I can’t stand to be a prisoner in my own house anymore. I can’t.”
“What about Chuck?”
“Chuck’s old enough to take care of himself. He’s a good kid, anyway. He knows his dad and I aren’t happy together anymore. He writes about it all the time on his blog.”
“You let him do that?”
“Let him do what?” Marilyn asks, confused.
“Put all of that personal stuff out there for the world to read. You don’t feel like he’s sharing too much with strangers?”
“It’s, I don’t know, it’s what he does. It’s how he keeps from bottling things up. Maybe his dad should start doing the same thing.”
Posted by Schamberger at July 29, 2008 10:00 AM