6 minute read
THE CLASSIC ESCAPE by Micah Ward
WELL DONE! Fiction
THE CLASSIC ESCAPE by Micah Ward
The sun doesn’t rise dramatically over the landscape of smoke stacks and bare limbed trees. The day simply becomes lighter, as if a bulb is gradually intensifying its light. Rhonda emerges from the back seat of the car onto the sidewalk in front of her house. Smoke wafts from the exhaust. Giggles and laughs follow her as she waves and weaves her way to the porch and front door.
In the kitchen her mother scrambles eggs and eyes Rhonda with disgust.
“Your shift starts in an hour and I can smell the liquor on you all the way over here. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why aren’t you getting serious with your life? Ever since the divorce and moving back in with your father and me, all you do is go out with those hoodlum girlfriends of yours and drink all night. Is that why Tony left you? Is this what you did when you were married to him?”
Rhonda pours a cup of coffee, “Leave Tony out of this. I’m just trying to have a little fun for a change.”
“Your little fun will get you fired. Go wash that stink off before you go to work.”
Rhonda labors up the staircase feeling the impending hangover that she will take with her to the mill and her work station where she will watch the clock tick toward morning break. Then lunch. Then afternoon break and gloriously, quitting time. Another changeless day leading to a silent and reproachful dinner with her parents.
At the end of this day, she returns to her childhood bedroom and naps until her phone rings.
“Oh, hell yeah, I’ll be ready in half an hour.”
Rhonda is on her feet and heading to the bathroom to freshen up. She trots down the stairs and sees the waiting car at the sidewalk and hears her mother’s, “Oh, for the love of God Rhonda, not again tonight!”
“I’ll be early, don’t wait up,” and Rhonda is gone.
Her father doesn’t turn his attention from the television.
The girls giggle and pass a bottle of bottom shelf scotch around the car. Six of them packed into a clunker that is older than any one of its occupants. A fog of cigarette smoke leaks from the windows of the car as they pull into the parking lot of their favorite dive.
Dodging mud and sliding on patches of ice they laugh their way across the lot and into the tavern. Smoke pools near the ceiling and billiard balls clack loud enough to be heard over the blare of the jukebox. Greetings are shouted and returned in every direction.
One of Rhonda’s friends nudges her with her elbow and says, “Look who’s over there.”
Rhonda looks and sees Tony. He sees her. They manage to simultaneously ignore and sneak glances at each other for the next hour. The inevitable must happen. It always does for those whose poor choices begat even poorer ones. Rhonda borrows the car keys and follows Tony outside. There is no conversation. The windows steam into gray curtains. The ancient shocks of the car squeak as it rocks back and forth.
Afterwards, they fumble to close zippers and button various pieces of clothing and Tony asks, “Are you still working at the mill?”
“What else am I going to do around here? Join the country club?”
They climb out of the car and light cigarettes in the cold Minnesota night. Tony leans against the fender and says, “I’m getting out of here Rhonda.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’ve joined the Army. I leave for boot camp next Tuesday.”
The two stand there in silence shivering slightly as the wind increases.
“The Army,” she says.
“Yeah,” he replies. “I’ve been out of work for most of the last three months and they said I could learn how to operate heavy equipment in the engineers. Hey, at least I get out of this mill town and see some of the rest of the world.”
Rhonda shakes her head and ponders the classic escape from small-town frustration. Join the Army.
Two months later she sits at the breakfast table with her parents before they all leave for work.
“This is a pleasant change,” her mother says. “Like the old days when you weren’t hung over every morning and we had nice meals together.”
Rhonda looks at her mother and says, “Yeah, mom, some things have to change sooner or later. I’ve had my fun running with the girls. I’ve got to do something better than just living here and working in that mill for the rest of my life.”
Her father looks up with a curious expression.
Rhonda drops the bombshell, “I’m joining the Army.”
When the stunned silence has stretched long enough Rhonda continues, “The recruiter told me that my test scores qualify for medic training. When I get out the GI Bill will pay for college. I could be a nurse someday. Army pay’s not great but it beats the mill and maybe I’ll get to see some of the world.”
Silence descends again until Rhonda’s mother looks at her husband and speaks. “Ralph, say something.”
Ralph glances at his wife then looks Rhonda directly in the eyes. “I believe that’s the smartest damn thing you’ve said since high school. Good luck.”
Rhonda smiles at her old man and then kisses his bald head as she leaves the kitchen. She pulls her coat snug against the winter chill. She thinks that she would like to be stationed in a warm climate. Anything to get out of the northern Minnesota winters.
She thinks about being a nurse someday and her eyes fill with tears as she thinks about a decision she must make. She thinks about the bathroom before she left the house and the test strip that read positive.
