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Authors: Nicole Cushing
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they got there didn’t matter. Now the pack was in her hands and, moreover, it wasn’t
empty. Four smokes remained. She immediately pulled one out, lit it up, and sucked in a
lungful of calm.
She tapped ashes into a glass ashtray, then brought it over to the nightstand. She felt
better. She wasn’t yet beginning to rest, but the gears in her mind sufficiently slowed so that she was now eligible for rest.
She clicked on the TV, looking for the same talk show that was playing down in the
lounge area. Looking for that same sexy celebrity with the short, spiky boyish purple hair and the lovely breasts and the delicious legs. She caught a glimpse of her, but only a
glimpse, before the hotel’s satellite reception started fading in and out. She took a deep drag off her cigarette. Turned off the TV. Tapped more ashes into the ashtray.
The quiet wasn’t good for her. The road had been exhausting, but the necessity of
paying attention to traffic had offered at least some mild distraction from negative
thoughts that crawled around her brain like ants through spilled sugar. Now the thoughts were fully unrestrained, and held dominion over her. Lustful, shameful thoughts followed by thoughts of self-disgust. Then came the cheerleading thoughts – attempts to fight off the shame by reminding herself that, outside this corner of the world, a woman wanting
to be with a woman was okay. At least, more okay.
Maybe she didn’t have to kill herself. Maybe she would go east on I-64, but instead
of stopping at the Hillbriar she would continue on to the coast. To some big city out
there. That’s exactly what she’d do. She had five days worth of professional clothes. She would start over. True, she wasn’t a kid anymore. She wouldn’t have any local
references, either. But she wasn’t too old to start over. She had her laptop with her. She would start looking for jobs on the coast. Someplace with lots of other lesbians.
Someplace where being a lesbian wasn’t at all frowned on. She’d research which city on
the coast was the most tolerant toward that kind of thing. Surely, on the coast there would be employment for a lesbian with experience selling barges.
But at some point she’d have to tell Jesse. And he would be shocked, at first. Then
he’d get mad. Maybe she wouldn’t have to tell him the gay part – at least not right away.
She could just say that she needed to get away. That it wasn’t him, it was her. That she wasn’t really the marrying kind, despite their nineteen years of marriage. He would make assumptions that there was another man. He would probably run after her. He’d be
relentless. Find her.
He’d find her and get the Bible out and start to tell her why she was committing a
terrible sin. He’d tell her that the entire church was praying for their marriage. That since God had joined them, no one except God could sever their tie.
And, he’d be right. Or would he?
Was there such a thing as God?
It was a crazy question to ask. God was the foundation of everything – had been the
foundation of everything since she was a little girl. It was like asking if there was such a thing as America. Such a thing as Indiana. Such a thing as parents.
And that train of thought triggered another, unwanted, question. What would her
parents say about all this? She stubbed the cigarette butt out in the ashtray. Let out a chuckle and couldn’t help but be surprised by the weakness and raspiness of the sound
that escaped her throat. She was okay with being a shitty wife, because – if she was really honest with herself – she’d never aspired to be a good one. But now she realized that she was a shitty daughter, too, and that epiphany stung.
But there was no way to deny it. After all, this was the first time she’d given any
thought to how her plans impacted her mother and father. She’d contemplated suicide
long and hard for many months and only found herself considering the impact on them
empty. Four smokes remained. She immediately pulled one out, lit it up, and sucked in a
lungful of calm.
She tapped ashes into a glass ashtray, then brought it over to the nightstand. She felt
better. She wasn’t yet beginning to rest, but the gears in her mind sufficiently slowed so that she was now eligible for rest.
She clicked on the TV, looking for the same talk show that was playing down in the
lounge area. Looking for that same sexy celebrity with the short, spiky boyish purple hair and the lovely breasts and the delicious legs. She caught a glimpse of her, but only a
glimpse, before the hotel’s satellite reception started fading in and out. She took a deep drag off her cigarette. Turned off the TV. Tapped more ashes into the ashtray.
The quiet wasn’t good for her. The road had been exhausting, but the necessity of
paying attention to traffic had offered at least some mild distraction from negative
thoughts that crawled around her brain like ants through spilled sugar. Now the thoughts were fully unrestrained, and held dominion over her. Lustful, shameful thoughts followed by thoughts of self-disgust. Then came the cheerleading thoughts – attempts to fight off the shame by reminding herself that, outside this corner of the world, a woman wanting
to be with a woman was okay. At least, more okay.
Maybe she didn’t have to kill herself. Maybe she would go east on I-64, but instead
of stopping at the Hillbriar she would continue on to the coast. To some big city out
there. That’s exactly what she’d do. She had five days worth of professional clothes. She would start over. True, she wasn’t a kid anymore. She wouldn’t have any local
references, either. But she wasn’t too old to start over. She had her laptop with her. She would start looking for jobs on the coast. Someplace with lots of other lesbians.
Someplace where being a lesbian wasn’t at all frowned on. She’d research which city on
the coast was the most tolerant toward that kind of thing. Surely, on the coast there would be employment for a lesbian with experience selling barges.
But at some point she’d have to tell Jesse. And he would be shocked, at first. Then
he’d get mad. Maybe she wouldn’t have to tell him the gay part – at least not right away.
She could just say that she needed to get away. That it wasn’t him, it was her. That she wasn’t really the marrying kind, despite their nineteen years of marriage. He would make assumptions that there was another man. He would probably run after her. He’d be
relentless. Find her.
He’d find her and get the Bible out and start to tell her why she was committing a
terrible sin. He’d tell her that the entire church was praying for their marriage. That since God had joined them, no one except God could sever their tie.
And, he’d be right. Or would he?
Was there such a thing as God?
It was a crazy question to ask. God was the foundation of everything – had been the
foundation of everything since she was a little girl. It was like asking if there was such a thing as America. Such a thing as Indiana. Such a thing as parents.
And that train of thought triggered another, unwanted, question. What would her
parents say about all this? She stubbed the cigarette butt out in the ashtray. Let out a chuckle and couldn’t help but be surprised by the weakness and raspiness of the sound
that escaped her throat. She was okay with being a shitty wife, because – if she was really honest with herself – she’d never aspired to be a good one. But now she realized that she was a shitty daughter, too, and that epiphany stung.
But there was no way to deny it. After all, this was the first time she’d given any
thought to how her plans impacted her mother and father. She’d contemplated suicide
long and hard for many months and only found herself considering the impact on them
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