Marilyn rarely slept much anymore. She would catch maybe a couple of hours, if she was lucky, but that would be about it. Maybe that’s why she woke with a start from the dead sleep; her internal clock had realized that she’d been unconscious for four hours, had known that was a mistake, and had woken her up with a tap on the shoulder. Even before she floated all the way through the black peacefulness of sleep, she knew she was alone. That brought her fully awake in seconds, not out of fear, but out of a deep, angry sadness.
She lay there quietly, listening to the sounds of the apartment, listening for Luke’s blundering around in the kitchen, or in the bathroom. But the only sounds were the whirring of warm air forced through the vents in the floorboards and the soft groan of Marilyn’s old yellow lab, Jeb-Dawg, when he stretched at the foot of the bed, before relaxing back toward sleep. She answered him with a groan of her own as she pushed her way into a sitting position on the bed. Leaning over, she lifted one blind to peek through the window into the street.
The wind whipped around the curve of the tiny street that their apartment building sat on, whipping icy flakes of snow into swirling cyclones that sparkled brightly when they traveled under the street lights. She wanted to believe that the night air was magical here, with the miniature orchard in the yard of the Victorian house across the way. In the summer, every night for weeks there would be fireflies flitting in and out among the trees and flowers. There’re no fireflies out tonight, she thought as she reflexively shivered in response to the scene outside her window.
Of course, her car was not parked out on the street. The empty black space in front of the row of cars showed where hers should have been, the lack of snow on the spot told Marilyn that Luke hadn’t left very long ago. She sighed and let the blind click back in place, “Well, Jeb-Dawg, I guess it’s just us again tonight.” Jeb-Dawg smiled over his shoulder at Marilyn, while his tail thumped softly on the mattress. She patted the mattress beside her. He heaved his arthritic arse up, trod heavily over the bedclothes, and nestled close to her.
Marilyn propped her pillows up so she could sit leaning against the headboard of the bed. After some digging, she found the remote buried in the covers and put on the TV, deciding on the History Channel. At least it won’t turn into endless info-mercials, she thought. It didn’t really matter what was on anyway, she wasn’t really paying attention to it. She just wanted to fill the empty silence of the apartment.
She stared blankly at the TV for a few minutes, then reached over to her bedside table, pulled a cigarette from the pack, lit it, and leaned back. Her thoughts spun like the smoke she exhaled in curling wisps of gray that danced and twirled up toward the ceiling. She couldn’t really decide how to feel about the fact that Luke had, once again, snuck out to “pick something up.” Why he just didn’t call it what it was, sneaking off to buy crack cocaine, Marilyn didn’t know.
Marilyn was angry, without a doubt, but it was anger tempered with a sense of the inevitable. Of course Luke would take the bank card out of her wallet (Why the hell didn’t I hide it tonight?). Of course he did this after she had explained for twenty minutes about how they had just enough for the rent (which is due tomorrow!) and gas for the week, and nothing else. He knew there was no money this week. Of course she knew that this was his usual night, and that he would be “jonesin’” for his high. None of this was new; it had happened more times than Marilyn cared to count. Why do I always think that it will be different this time? She chastised herself bitterly, I am an unbearable idiot!
They’d met in 1996 at Syracuse University in one of those bars on South Crouse Ave. Neither of them could remember which one. They’d been roaming from bar to bar with their friends, and ended up playing darts with each other. He was on the prowl with some of the other guys from the football team, and Marilyn was there with her roommate and some other girls from her dorm. One of the guys had been in her Geology class that semester and actually recognized her. She was flattered that he remembered her at all.
She was, after all, a nobody, an accounting major, a little brown sparrow among all the brightly colored, exotic species of birds that flocked to that school. She felt intimidated at first and was shy about playing darts with them. Luke had convinced her to team-up with him. Marilyn had believed he was way out of her league and was just a little suspicious about his motives for being nice to her. It wouldn’t be the first time that some guy had acted like he was interested in her, only to try to take advantage of her. She never could figure out what it was about her that drew that kind of guy, but it had happened many times before Luke came along, and she had no doubt that at some point in the future it would happen again.
So they played a few games of darts, and when their friends were ready to move on to the next bar, Luke persuaded her to stay behind with him. They drank and talked until closing time. Marilyn was certain that most of what he told her was lies, but he was just so damned charming that she wanted to believe him. He walked her to her dorm and asked her if he could kiss her good night. How could she say no? That kiss…kissing him was like biting into a perfect peach, soft, sweet and a little juicy. She knew right then that she was in big trouble.
They dated pretty much exclusively throughout the rest of college. He loved to party, so much so that he was constantly struggling to keep his grades up to stay on the football team. The thing she didn’t understand about him was that he wasn’t stupid, in fact quite the opposite, he was highly intelligent. But he was a horrible procrastinator; he was always waiting until the very last minute to do assignments, and then turning in the barest minimum required. He just didn’t seem to care about his grades. Of course, he didn’t have to depend on good grades for financial aid or anything. His parents were rich and paid for his college. But it kind of bugged her, too, that he didn’t care about wasting his parents’ money.
Meanwhile, she didn’t have rich parents and she had to pay for her schooling. Marilyn busted her ass to get the grades, the awards, and the scholarships. She had to worry about how she was going to repay her student loans after college. She had to be perfect and get that great job. She had to work for that better life that Luke just had handed to him, no questions asked. She often complained to herself about the inequalities of life, but that didn’t change them.
Marilyn always thought that once they graduated, Luke’s partying days would come to an end. He was slated to take over his father’s liquor-store business when he retired. Until then, had a manager’s position waiting for him at the main store. She considered his behavior – his drinking and drugging – an attempt to hold onto his childhood. Like Peter Pan, or something.
After college, they moved into a Central Square townhouse back in Luke’s hometown of Albany, NY. It was a beautiful place, so sophisticated, like something you’d see in Architectural Digest magazine, with its exposed brick, spiral staircases, and a deck with city views. But it wasn’t a place that two kids right out of college could afford. She objected about this – strenuously – but Luke told her repeatedly, “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of it.” Fool that she was, she believed him. Of course, his father was actually the one who bought the house. Luke went to work for his father, and Marilyn found a position in an accounting firm downtown.
After school, Luke did seem to settle down. He hardly drank, and, except for pot, had contained his cocaine use to occasional parties. Marilyn didn’t mind the pot, she smoked it too. Her favorite day of the week was Sunday, when the two of them would curl up in bed together, read the paper, have coffee and pastries, and smoke, just the two of them. They were happy, they shared their secrets and stories, and they made love.
In early 2006, Marilyn began to notice changes in Luke. He brought home strange friends that seemed just a little too seedy. He didn’t tell her things like he used to. When she asked him what was wrong, he told her that it was nothing. Then, he started skipping work, and disappearing for hours at a time without explanation. One afternoon, she came home from work unexpectedly and found him locked in the master-bathroom. She’d beat on the door for what seemed like forever, getting more scared by the minute. When she started throwing herself at the door, in an effort to break in, Luke finally opened it, and told her to leave him alone, and then slammed the door in her face. She had fumed impotently for a bit then stormed out of the apartment.
When she returned, he was sitting at his computer. “What the hell is going on, Luke?” she demanded.
He hemmed and hawed for a while before finally admitting, “I might be addicted to crack.”
Marilyn felt like she had been punched in the stomach, “You idiot! How long have you been using that shit?”
He glared at her before answering that he had been smoking it for a couple of months.
“Well, you’re addicted then. Y’know, you were addicted after the first time you tried it. Did you know that? You stupid fuck!”
Her initial reaction was to grab what she could and run away from him, and never look back. She wished now she had been smart enough to follow through with that inclination. Instead she had stood by her man, trying to make him see what was happening to him. He had been a rational, intelligent man, so she thought that calm cool reasoning would persuade him to get help. She begged him to go into rehab, but he refused. That is, until he got busted making a buy, and again and again. Every time he got busted, it was for small amounts that only netted him fines. Finally, the court had ordered him to either go into rehab or go to jail. Marilyn had secretly thanked God for that. But, the moment he got out, he had dropped her at home, and then took off to meet his connection.
That became the routine: they’d go to dinner, have a wonderful time. Luke would be sweet and attentive, funny and talkative. One the way home, however, he would withdraw, become silent. He’d pull in, drop her off, and pull back out to disappear for an hour. He’d show back up – stoned – and disappear into his home office for hours. They could go to a party, the movies, dinner with his parents, anywhere or do anything, and it always ended the same way. She started to secretly hate going out at all. Although even if they stayed home, all of a sudden, no telling when, he’d get up and just leave the house, if he had cash. When he didn’t have cash, she’d hear him rustle through her purse, the hiding places that he had discovered before, all looking for her cash or cards. Finally, he’d reappear and ask her for the hidden items, and when she refused he would sulk, rage and storm. It was grotesque – an adult acting like a two-year old throwing a temper tantrum. Those nights usually didn’t end well.
Luke managed to hide it from his father for a while, but eventually even the old man caught on that something was wrong when money started to go missing from the store. When he wasn’t allowed access to the cash at work anymore, he started draining their personal accounts at a faster pace. Somehow, he managed to overdraw them by thousands of dollars. She still didn’t understand how he managed to accomplish that. When he took her corporate credit card and took out cash, she narrowly escaped losing her job, by telling them that he had accidentally taken it, thinking it was their personal one, and had used it. Her manager hadn’t completely trusted her after that, and she had been passed over for promotion a couple of times. She knew her career was dead.
The final straw for Luke’s father was Luke dropping a small bag of crack in his office, the cleaning crew finding it, and then giving it to Luke’s father. He’d had enough of his son’s “antics,” fired him, and cut him off. That included their townhouse, and they were forced to move out. It had almost been a relief for her, and she had hoped that this would, finally, be his rock-bottom. But, there didn’t seem to be any depth that was too low for him anymore.
Marilyn’s musings were interrupted by the crunch of car tires on the dusting of snow that had now covered the little street. Recognizing the sound of her car, her shoulders relaxed slightly. At least he got home, she thought. As she listened to him stomp up the stairs, and fumble with the lock in the dark hallway, she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself with the techniques she’d learned at the NAR-ANON meetings, but the calming phrases, the deep breathing only bubbled on her skin like water on a hot griddle, evaporating without effect. She could feel the white-hot anger boil her entire body, looking for some escape.
Sadly, there was no escape for that anger. She was furious with herself for enabling him for all these years, for keeping him from completely suffering the consequences of his actions. She had been supporting them since he got cut-off from his father. She found them new apartments each time they were evicted. She kept him fed and clothed. All the time he was nothing but a troublesome money-pit. Why was she doing it anymore? Why had she ever done it to begin with? Jeb-Dawg snuggled closer to her and tried to poke his cold nose under her arm. She hugged him tightly, resting her head on his neck, and just wanting to find some peace.
Luke paced in the kitchen, back and forth, back and forth, then wandered back into the spare room beyond the kitchen. The click of the door closing echoed through the silent, pre-dawn apartment with the finality of a tomb being sealed. Marilyn felt, in her head and heart, all the pieces of her troubled countenance spring apart, then fit themselves back together. Suddenly, she knew what she needed to do. It was what she should have done the night Luke admitted his addiction to her. He was broken and unfixable. Nothing would ever be any different for them. Tonight was the best she could ever hope for from this relationship. And she knew it wasn’t nearly enough.
She climbed out of bed, and pulled a suitcase out from under it, and began packing. It didn’t take long; she didn’t have much to hang on to anymore. After throwing on some clothes, and grabbing her suitcase, she emptied the bathroom of her toiletries into a travel bag. Jeb-Dawg was trailing behind her when she stepped into the kitchen. Marilyn grabbed his food dish and emptied his water bowl, then dumped them into his food bag. She left her cell phone and apartment key on the kitchen table. With the dog leashed, she could just pick up her purse, luggage and the dog food bag.
After closing the front door to their apartment, she paused in the hallway, and took a deep breath. Then she resolutely marched down the stairs, out the building’s door and loaded her things into the car. Once she and Jeb were in the front seat, she started it, cracked the windows and lit a cigarette. In a sudden impulse she gave Jeb-Dawg a big hug and said, “Well, Jebby, I’ve hit rock bottom, even if Luke hasn’t. Let’s go find the way up from here.” Then, she pulled away from the curb, from Luke, and from her old life.
—
Lacey Pruitt-Thomas is a long-time resident of Rochester, NY. After twenty-plus years in the accounting department of a local food service distributor, she left the working world to nanny for two of her grandchildren, and return to school to achieve her dream of being a writer. She currently attends Monroe Community College in pursuit of those dreams.
