Silent House
By julie_anne_fidler
- 831 reads
I stopped mopping up the water on the floor in front of the
dishwasher and turned toward the sound of a door slamming. In walked
Dave, covered with snow. He started to take his jacket off and I stood
horrified, watching clumps of snow falling off, landing on the new
carpet. I reprimanded him and told him to hang his coat, hat, and
gloves in the garage. He rolled his eyes, and without saying a word,
backed out through the door. Moments later he reemerged, shivering,
mumbling angrily under his breath. I hollered over my shoulder that the
dishwasher was broken again and this time I was not going to wait two
weeks for him to look at it. I could see his reflection- and his
apathetic response- in the kitchen window.
Outside, David Jr. and Christopher pummeled each other into snow banks
and built snow forts fully prepared for any wintry battle. I dried my
hands with a dishtowel as Christopher threw a handful of snow at his
brother, wiped his red nose, and began to cry. That's my cue, I
thought. I slipped into Dave's huge snowshoes and tromped outside to
fetch my sniffling little boy. Whatever they were fighting over seemed
to disappear when I told them their dad was home. They ran, stumbling,
through the knee-deep snow. I stopped them at the door and stripped
them of their snow pants and superhero snow boots. They barreled past
me, through the door, and landed on their dad's lap. The beer he was
holding went all over the front of his shirt and tie, and he angrily
pushed both of them off of him.
"Damn!" Dave held his beer in the air and stared down at himself.
"Can't I have five minutes of peace when I get home? For God's sake,
Maureen, I don't care about the dishwasher or the snow on my clothes! I
just want to relax! I want to sit here and watch the news without
people jumping on me!" He pushed his way through his wife and kids and
ran up the stairs, slamming our bedroom door behind him. Nothing
unusual, I told myself.
My little boys stood silent for a moment. Christopher's lip began to
quiver and David Jr. began to wipe his eyes. I kissed their foreheads
and made them hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. No one said a word
until the snow began to come down harder. Christopher took a giant
swallow of cocoa and pointed out the painfully obvious, "We'll have to
help Daddy clear the driveway." I frowned as I heard the snow plow go
past the front of our house.
**********************************
We bought our little two-story house only a year after we got married.
We each worked two jobs and barely saw each other just to save up for
our down payment, but the day we moved in, we knew it had been worth
it. We stood in the empty dining room, Dave's arm around my waist, and
we slowly spun around, looking carefully at every inch of carpet,
wallpaper, and hardwood floor. It was the only time I can remember Dave
caring about paintings and color schemes. That day in our new house, my
smile turned into a joyful scream and Dave laughed himself into
convulsions as I jumped up and down with my arms in the air. We were
twenty-three years old.
We planned on having some wild parties in our house, but a year later
we found ourselves changing diapers and rocking David Jr. to sleep in
what was to be "the office." Sometimes Dave seemed mildly disappointed
that the fun ended as soon as it did, but he was happy to have a son.
He had him out on a fishing boat before he could crawl, and he toted
him to a baseball game before he could say his first word.
When Christopher was born, Dave took a job managing a manufacturing
company. It was long hours and high stress, but it paid the mortgage
and allowed me to stay home with the boys. He hated his job and said
his employees were lazy and stupid. Instead of coming right home after
work, he began stopping at a local bar. He'd come home in a worse mood,
we would argue, and the boys would listen from the top of the stairs.
It got worse every day for five years. I packed and repacked my
suitcase, but I never left. He kept promising things would get better,
and I believed him.
I heard the kitchen floor creak and I looked up and saw Dave. He was
staring at the ground, scratching the back of his neck. He sat down
next to Christopher and put a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to
help me. You go play." He kissed each child on the top of his head and
went into the living room and sat down on the sofa once more. It was
the Old Dave. I missed him. Every now and then, he would make a grand
appearance, and I'd fall in love with him one more time. Our kids
seemed to fall for it, too, as they each hugged him around the neck and
ran outside to play some more. I sat down beside him and muted the
television.
"It was a bad day." Dave glanced at me for a second, than looked
away.
"Do you love me?" I grabbed his wrist and forced eye contact.
"Don't ask me stupid questions, Maureen."
"I don't think that's a stupid question. I honestly don't know the
answer. You never tell me."
"Why do I have to tell you? I've been with you for almost eight years,
haven't I? I never left. I wouldn't be here if I didn't love
you."
"You can't treat the kids the way you do anymore." My voice grew more
angry and demanding, as I struggled for control of it again.
"I'm sorry. What do you want me to do? Kill myself?"
"No. I want you to go with me to talk to someone. I don't think things
have to be this way forever." I frowned as Dave laughed in my
face.
"I don't need to share our problems with the world. We can work it out
between the two of us."
"We tried that!" I slammed my fist on the coffee table. "We tried that
and it hasn't been a two way street! We need something more!" Deep in
the trenches of my heart, I knew we never said enough. We pretended our
problems did not exist. They only game out in stormy fights. We savored
the quiet moments, even if they were mortally wounding. It meant one
less battle to trudge through. We knew full well we could not convince
each other of our opposite feelings and views. The wars we fought were
not to gain new ground, but to hurt and gain the upper hand.
There was an awkward pause as I glared at Dave, and Dave glared at the
ceiling. He slowly turned his eyes to me and smiled. Reaching out, he
pulled me to him with both arms and kissed my neck. "Come on, " Dave
pleaded, "let's not fight anymore tonight. I don't want to fight
anymore. I want a nice quiet evening at home."
"Ok," I coifed hesitantly.
"Why don't we go upstairs for a while, since the boys are outside."
Dave winked at me and I grew nauseous.
"Ok," I squeaked, feeling my palms begin to sweat.
"You want me to say I love you? I'll show you." I felt Dave's hand on
my thigh and I quickly stood up and brushed my hair out of my face.
Dave grabbed my hand and led me up the stairs. "You always want to
talk. I don't like talk. I like action."
"Sure." I forced a smile and looked out the window one last time to
make sure my children were safe, and headed up the stairs with my
husband in silence.
- Log in to post comments