Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Going South: A Visitor


It’s just past noon and the roads are packed with lunchtime traffic as I head home ‘sick.’ The sun is shining, heating up my car, calming me. I’m barely aware of the steps I take to get home. My heart is racing just thinking about calling Damian. What will I say? Will I need to say anything? Perhaps he’ll just understand and explain everything.
Without warning, I’m in tears, longing for someone’s arms around me, not sure whose, just someone’s. There’s no holding back, knowing I’m alone and will be all afternoon. No need to wipe them away or cool my blotchy face. So I let it out, the road blurring as my eyes fill up.
The sight of a foreign car in the driveway next to Bosley’s causes my breath to hitch in my throat. My hand unconsciously wipes my face dry although more tears are mounting. I’m afraid of what I will walk in on. I can’t help but think the worst, imagining him in bed with another woman. Pain shoots through my chest, piercing my heart. I don’t want to think of how my life will change if that’s the case. I don’t want to think about life without Bosley.
With gripping fear, I push the door open and step in. Bosley, Damian and another guy are standing in the living room. Mystery man – hefty build with a bushy red beard - reaches behind him quicker than I can blink and retrieves a gun. My heart stops beating. I hold my breath. I can’t move.
“No!” Bosley shouts, knocking mystery-man’s arm down. Damian swears and goes pale, standing as frozen as I am.
Mystery man tosses Bosley aside and raises the gun to me.
“No, Matt!” Bosley shouts again, coming back at him, gripping his arm to try to shove it down. “It’s my wife!”
Matt keeps the gun aimed at me but looks at Bosley. Tension builds in the seconds that follow as they glare at each other. Finally, Matt lowers the gun. “What’s she doing here?” he demands.
“I don’t know.” Bosley looks back and forth from Matt to me as if he can’t decide which one of us to address first. “Just…” he says to Matt, “put that away.” Bosley straightens his clothing, takes a step back and glares at Matt.
For the first time since I’ve known him, Damian looks lost, shocked …scared. The realization makes my skin tingle, the hair on my neck prickling as it stands. What the heck did I walk into? Just when I feel myself about to break, tears gushing, Bosley turns on his heel and comes straight at me. I back up, without thinking, until I hit the wall, wide-eyed and tight jawed. Bosley grabs me by my forearm and pulls me upstairs. I follow. What else can I do? I don’t know this man anymore - this once mild, quiet and laid back man who now hurts my arm with his tight grip, shouts and meets a man with a gun at noon in my house.
“Listen,” he says with a firm voice as he closes the bedroom door behind us. “Forget what you saw down there, ok?” He’s not asking. He’s demanding.
I open my mouth to protest.
“No, Ana!” he says, pressing his fingers to my mouth. Then he continues, pacing back and forth in the small area by the door while I stand, petrified, next to the bed. “Just forget it. You should have never seen it. You shouldn’t be here.” He stops pacing and approaches me. “Forget about everything. Don’t ever mention it to anyone.” I can feel his breath on my face now, he’s so close. “Don’t ever bring it up. Don’t go investigating. Forget it! Do you understand?”
No. I don’t. My eyes well up with tears. My throat is too tight to speak. All I have to do is nod – yes, I understand. But I don’t. How can he say these things to me? How can he expect me to be ok with it? Who is this beast in front of me?
 “Ana,” he says, closing his eyes and forcing a deep breath, “promise me you’ll let it go.”
Promise? Like he did when he said he would honor and protect me forever? Fine.
I nod my head.
He lets out his breath, shoulders sinking. “I have to finish up with these guys. Stay here until they’re gone.”
With that, he leaves, closing me into this makeshift prison. The sound of the door closing echoes in my mind as I stare at it. A moment of panic strikes me and I stand there, hyperventilating until my knees give out and I sit down on the bed. Then the tears flow and all I want to do is run away and hide. I lay down on top of the bedding and curl up, crying, soaking the comforter.
I can’t imagine what is happening. I can’t figure out the change in Bosley. I don’t understand why Damian has taken a back seat. I don’t know why there’s a man downstairs with a gun. I can’t imagine how Bosley knows him. Or how Damian knows him. What could I have walked into that would find me at gunpoint? Matt could have shot me. I could be dead right now. I could be dead soon if he comes upstairs and shoots me. My life is in danger.
I sit up to find a tissue on the nightstand. My head throbs and I feel cold suddenly. I wish I could hear them downstairs but I can’t. I blow my nose, grab another tissue to dry my tears and stand up. For a moment I stare at the door. My pulse begins to race as I contemplate cracking the door open to listen. Surely they won’t hear me open it.
I step towards it and the floor creaks. I pause and shrug my shoulders. Then take a deep breath. I’m allowed to walk around the room after all. I haven’t done anything wrong …yet.
I close the gap between me and the door, place my hand on the knob and stop to listen. I hear nothing. Slowly, I turn the knob, pressing the door closed tight with my other hand to avoid friction. When the knob is fully turned, I pull to open it just a crack and press my ear to the opening. Downstairs and in the distance, I barely make out their voices.
“She doesn’t know anything,” Bosley says. “Leave her out of this.”
“ … doesn’t matter … It’s too risky,” Matt says. I’m irritated I can’t hear every word. I open the door a bit more, slowly release the handle and lean my head out the opening.
“Look, Matt,” Damian says. “We don’t have …  …”
I squint as if it will help me hear.
“…not a game,” Matt says. “… have her telling all her friends.”
“So what are you gonna do? Kill her?” Bosley says quite loud and clear. I draw my head back into the room, afraid to hear the answer. Kill? Was he being sarcastic? The man has a gun. Why would he make such a suggestion?
I close the door, paying no attention to being quiet now, and return to the bed to lay down. I reach over the side of the bed and pull the corner of the comforter around me. I feel safer all wrapped up. As I lay there, I notice the telephone on the nightstand. Bosley’s words keep echoing in my mind. “Forget it.” “Never mention it.” But I’m scared. I want to call Tania and let her fix it. But it seems too dangerous to get her involved now. I begin to shake from the inside as if I’m cold but I’m not.    
~~ Should Ana call Tania for help? ~~


<a href="http://www.buzzdash.com/polls/should-ana-call-tania-for-help-197709/">Should Ana call Tania for help?</a> | <a href="http://www.buzzdash.com">BuzzDash polls</a>

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4 comments:

Alan Miles said...

No, I don't think so. Too dangerous she'll get caught. Adds to the risk.

Love your picture of Matt.

Short Poems said...

Beautiful blog you have :)

amazing pics of matt!

marinela x x

Modo B said...

Yeah, I know voting is long over, but I still want to weigh in because you've involved me as a reader. I say no. She'll want to, but when it comes right down to it, she doesn't want to put herself or those she loves in danger. Riveting installment, as always. On to the next.

Sybil Nelson said...

Absolutely not! She already had a gun pointed to her. How would she feel if she dragged Tania into this and then Tania got hurt. No way. Leave Tania out.

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