Quiet Bar, Silent Strains

Rose liked the bar’s quiet atmosphere. Here, her mind could expand. Ideas for her story were already forming. Charlie the dog lay in front of the fire, absorbing the comforting heat.

At home it was different. Rose was stretched to the limit in every direction. One morning, she grabbed the cereal box for Deborah, poised on one foot. At the same time, she was cooking pancakes for Steve. Then Dave wanted his purple tie. I could be a robot, she thought. My needs don’t matter to anyone here. A wave of loneliness washed over her. Rose felt like nothing in that moment.

Sometimes it felt like she only existed for them. That her job was finding shoes, tomato ketchup, or whatever else they couldn’t find. It wasn’t like she moved things all the time! The ketchup was always in the fridge. Rose's hands curled into fists as frustration added to the emotional tornado.  Why do I have to be the go-to person all the time? Why are my feelings of no consequence?

And as if that wasn’t enough of a challenge, she also had to drive Steve to rugby practice, Deborah to dance class, and Dave to and from work. Never a thank you from any of them.

Her work wasn’t recognized as important. Rose remembered trying to write and getting interrupted every single time. She opened her laptop, and someone needed her because something had broken. Her life was claustrophobic, and she couldn’t breathe.

Here was the peace she craved, an escape, a brief way out.

She looked at the people around her. They were mainly men, drinking pints and talking. The hoppy smell, the chatting, and the occasional laugh created a comfortable atmosphere. She felt at ease here; here she was a writer. She let out a big sigh, her shoulders dropped, and she smiled at the idea of her being a writer. She felt she was honoring her core, who she was meant to be.

The bar was a safe place for her to write, to process the difficult emotions of the day. Here she was just another customer, relaxing and writing.

Okay, she got interrupted sometimes, she conceded.

The questions came unbidden into her mind. What if the kids needed something? What if they got sick? What if they couldn’t get to where they needed to go? That sick, guilty feeling again.

Then Rose remembered her attempts at family meetings.

With them all sat round the kitchen table, she tried to reason with them.

“Do we have to do this again, Mom?” Deborah whined.

“We need to talk about sharing some of the chores,” Rose said firmly.

“I’m not doing chores.” Steve crossed his arms.

“Why do we have to have these meetings? Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it!” Dave seemed like another child when it came to reorganizing things.

“Chores are for losers.” Deborah looked at her nails. “I’m going to my room.”

“You sit down here!” yelled Dave.

“Don’t scream at me!” And so it went on.

Rose couldn’t communicate with them. She tried her best to get them to see each other's perspective, but it felt as if she was trying to persuade the tide not to come in. If only they would listen to her, be open to her suggestions. The children took their cues from their Dad, who never listened properly, Rose mused.

She needed out of the chaos. She was ready to scream. The pressure swamped her.

Rose had to find a space to unwind, somewhere, anywhere!

With laptop under arm and Charlie on lead, Rose marched to the bar for some peace. The freedom to write gave her mind room to breathe.

For Rose, writing was similar to therapy. Expressing her emotions was like lifting a valve on a pressure cooker, letting off steam. It also let her escape; she could join her characters and let them enjoy the things she wished she could do.

Rose hadn’t always wanted to escape. When Steve was young, she remembered dancing with him, his head back, laughing as she sang and swayed. Every bit seemed like a precious memory now.

Now Steve was a lanky teen with his own ideas.

“Dad! Have you sorted my rugby kit?” he barked.

“No?”  

“I’ve got an important rugby match tonight!” His frustration met with his dad’s ineptitude.

“No clean kit!” Deborah taunted. “Won’t they kick you off the team for this?”

“Shut up both of you! I’ll batter you if you don’t stop fighting!” Dad’s voice bellowed.

Dave had his own issues.

A longstanding gambling habit. He hated it. Dave’s dad had gambled too, and Dave swore he would never be like his Dad. The first time he held his son, he promised him:

“I'll be a good dad to you, Steve. Not like my Dad.”

Rose felt blessed in that moment.

When his son came home from the hospital, he started betting on the horses. Maybe the responsibility of bringing home the money was too much for him? Maybe he was copying a pattern from his dad? He truly wanted to be a good dad and a good husband. But he felt like he was in a dark room, unable to find the way out. Good intentions were not enough.

Rose discovered his lies about losing money, his dishonesty about his earnings. Soon she realized Dave had destroyed their trust.

Before their trust broke, they shared everything. Now it was very different. Rose kept everything she had locked away in accounts he couldn’t access. Every laptop, phone, or computer in the house had complex passwords to keep him out. She put software on his computer so she knew where he had been, with gambling sites firmly blocked.

Just call me the marriage police, she thought.

Dave hadn’t even agreed to counseling until recently. Rose wasn’t sure she had the emotional energy it would take, or whether she could face what it might demand.

She turned back to the keyboard and continued writing, her story coming along well.

The men in the bar didn’t disturb Rose much. She was in her fifties, with grey hair and wrinkles; she felt she wasn’t exactly a catch. Sometimes one of them would come over to “chat,” but Rose was sharp.

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“Nurse or purse?”

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“What?” the inebriated man would ask.

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“I am not a nurse or a purse. I’m bankrupt. I haven’t wiped a backside for years, and I don’t plan to start!”

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“Bitch!” They ambled off to moan to the other guys.

“She was ugly close up.”

Rose went back to the keyboard, typing furiously. Immersed in what she wanted to say, the loud ringing of the bar bell made her jump.

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“Time, gentlemen, please!” the bar landlord roared. “Come on, last call!”

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Rose’s chest dropped. That hollow feeling inside her body, the dread. Time to go home. Rose shuddered. Home. Not a happy place. Rose felt the emotions inside her teeming about like snakes in a pit. Was it even possible for her to make herself go home?

As the men rushed to the bar for one last pint, Rose thought once more about her looming decision.

Would she go home tonight? Her mind screamed NO!

Did she really want to leave the kids behind and slip into the night? Not really. But actually, yes, she did.

Rose's temples throbbed with a tension that hurt. Her shoulders were up near her ears, her back muscles rigid. Her whole body was torn, waiting for a decision.

The turmoil of leaving her children made her feel nauseous. She hadn’t left them with their Dad for years. Not only that, but practicalities of the situation were on her mind, too.

In Rose’s car were some supplies, ready for action.

A bed. A toilet. Blankets. A cooker. Dog food.

Yes, Rose had been squirreling money away for a while.

She remembered going to her mum's for a week after a big argument with both Dave and the kids. She and Mom stayed in a tiny cabin together. She needed the space, the mental space. The memory made the present feel even heavier.  

Men were putting on coats now, as the landlord walked around the bar saying goodnight and picking up glasses. Slowly they went out into the drizzly rain, making their way home.

Rose wondered if they were going back to peace. At least the alcohol insulated them from the arguments.  Then, Rose realized, they probably have women at home, women who do the mental work, the emotional labor, so they can do what they want.

“Back to the old lady, she’ll be moaning!” One guy said to his pals.

They all laughed, like it was normal. Like they didn’t care about their wives and partners.

Well, the only person who cares about me is me, she realized. That was the final straw.

The break is tonight, Rose decided. Those men escape from loving families, and everyone thinks it’s fine. This is my time to escape, and it’s happening tonight. Decision made.

Rose walked over to the landlord. He was chatting to a couple. He turned as Rose approached.

“How can I help you?” he asked with a smile.

“I need to stay in my car for the night. Is it okay with you?” Rose asked.

“Sure, love. I’ve had loads of customers have a skinful and need to kip in their cars. Just make sure you’re warm enough. Do you have blankets? Do you need water for the dog?” His southern English accent was soft.

“We’re fine, thanks.” Rose’s stomach curdled again. ‘Am I really going to do this?’ she wondered. Her body was full of butterflies, right up to her throat, as the nerves hit hard.

Charlie pulled on the lead, heading for the door.

Rose grabbed her coat and laptop, tucked her phone into her pocket, and went out to the car. She sat in the driver's seat, mulling over her decision.

She opened her phone. 46 missed calls and 12 messages. Then it struck her. She wrote in the family group chat:

“I'll not be at home tonight. You needn't worry about me, I have Charlie, and I’m completely safe.”

Send.

Instantly, there was a flurry of replies. Rose didn't want to deal with all their clamor.

She wrote:

“While I'm away, I'd like you to consider what would happen if I just … disappeared?”

Three little dots started and stopped. Then started and stopped again.

Rose turned her phone off. She suddenly surged with excitement. She was going to car camp at last! Rose had wanted to do this for years, and now was the time. She had scraped the money together to buy the camping gear she needed. She looked at her camping equipment, her signs of success. Her nerves had turned to joy, and her eyes shone as she smiled to herself.

Now, she thought, we need to be careful. Make sure we’re safe.

She parked the car closer to the bar under a light.

Rose hopped out of the car and started preparing for the night. She took the cover off the passenger seats and folded them forward. She had picked the car because the passenger seats folded over twice. This left a huge space in the rear for her to set up her sun lounger.

Rose added her zero-degree sleeping bag and made sure the toilet was accessible. The last thing I need is to struggle for the bathroom in the middle of the night, she thought to herself. She brought Charlie's old bed with her and put it at the foot of the sunlounger. Charlie took one look and jumped in. Rose gave Charlie his travel bowl with some water in it; he settled down, content.

Rose covered the front window. For the side windows, she had covers that allowed her to crack the window slightly. This meant the moisture from her breathing could escape from the car, keeping it dry.

As she lay down, she was thankful for the blacked-out windows in the rear of the car. She thought about Dave, Steve and Deborah. They would manage for one night. Cuddling into her warm sleeping bag, Rose whispered “I need to do this” to herself. Determination was her final thought.

Charlie’s ears flickered, the sounds of hooting from the woodland nearby disturbing him. Rose slept lightly, too. Who said reclaiming her peace was going to be easy?

When they woke, the sky was pink. Dawn.

Charlie was whining, and Rose was glad she was still fully clothed. She got gingerly out of bed and opened up the car. It wasn’t too damp, just some condensation on the front window.

Rose’s confidence skyrocketed. She had car camped. She faced her fears; she survived the night. The possibility of escaping to other places tempted her. Not only that, what other things could she achieve if she put her mind to it? Write that novel? Self-publish?

Happy, she clipped Charlie’s lead to his collar and took him for a walk to the edge of the woodland. Suitably relieved, he snuffled in the grass, taking in the new sights and smells.

Rose felt at peace. The sun was rising steadily. It was lovely not having any emergencies to deal with as soon as she got out of bed. She felt the new possibilities growing like seeds, sprouting roots and pushing through the soil.

She began making coffee, humming to herself.

She gripped her coffee and sat on her folding chair. Steam rose from her mug as she watched Charlie, fastened to the car with a long leash, exploring his new surroundings. All was quiet apart from the birdsong, and it felt like Rose's brain was unwrinkling from the stress.

Rose could take a closer look at her life.

What would she make happen next? Where would her new path lead?

The truth was, Rose loved her kids and would never, ever leave them permanently. Although she enjoyed the break, they were her priority. So whatever she did next, they were coming with her.

That meant she needed somewhere for them to live.

Rose had to provide for her kids. Her earnings from writing were irregular at best. So she had to get a job. She groaned inwardly. That meant hours away from the kids; they would have to look after themselves while she was at work.

Unless she got a job working term-time only. Like a dinner lady or a teaching assistant. She opened the notebook app on her phone and wrote: investigate teaching assistant.

Charlie pulled on the lead and whined. Seconds later, the landlord walked around the corner.

“I only wanted to check you were okay,” he said. “Will you need to stay another night?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Rose replied. “I’ll take the dog for a walk and then be off home.”

The landlord, whom Rose learned was named Ben, made a fuss of Charlie and then went on his way.

Rose packed everything into the car and grabbed the lead. Charlie pulled her towards the woods, to a well-worn path. As she walked through the woods, she saw a lake. Heading for the path around it, Rose remembered a wise old friend saying, “A lot of thinking can be done while walking.”

Marriage counseling was the next thing on her mind. She decided it couldn’t hurt. Sometimes marriages just broke down, but certainly counseling would help. Even if it only helped them communicate better about the children.

Charlie demanded his freedom, so Rose let him off lead. He zoomed around, sniffing enthusiastically. The birds were quieter now the morning chorus was over.  A family of rabbits nibbled the lush grass at the edge of the lake. If only I could hold onto this feeling, she thought.

Rose felt sad when she thought about Dave. Their marriage had so much potential. So many happy times at the start. She wondered if they could ever get that back. Anything is possible, she said to herself. Marriage counseling could work its wonders.

Rose couldn’t be sure what would happen with her and her family. But she had the beginnings of a plan. With a revitalized sense of purpose, she strode on, optimism burning inside her. Was she too old for college? Would it be possible for her to start again? Rose knew she could do this. Would Dave be able to change his ways? So much depended on him and how much effort he was willing to put in.

As Charlie scampered about, playing with sticks, Rose felt more content than she had done in a long time. Having a plan of action helped her view the future with confidence. She realized she needed more space than she was getting at home, for her own mental health. She decided that car camping would become something that she did often, something she planned.

As she walked, her mind ran over the last 24 hours. She had put herself first for once. Found peace at the bar. She had conquered her fears and car camped. She had grown her confidence and self-esteem and made plans for the future. She felt like anything was possible now.

Rose came back to the car. She put the cover on the passenger seat and clipped Charlie into his seatbelt. The weight had lifted from her shoulders. There was a way forward. She knew she could make the changes she needed.

Rose decided she would phone a marriage counselor and find a college to train as a teacher assistant when she got home. She wanted to keep the amazing momentum going. 

Onward and upward!

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