Chapter 3 - Michelle

TW: References to domestic violence

Frankie curled up as soon as I put him to bed, hugging his tattered, stuffed bear close to his chest. Between the excitement of meeting our neighbor and the unbearable heat, the poor little guy was wiped out. I quietly closed the door behind me and made my way back into the living room to straighten up before Frank got home. The red numbers on the cable box read 8:04pm; he was expected back soon. After rounding up the mess of toys scattered across the floor, I sat at the kitchen table to enjoy the silence before leaving for work. Putting together the remaining scraps of that night’s dinner on a plate, I looked at the disappointing excuse of a meal and hoped that he would just eat it without complaint. I couldn’t help but laugh at my own misguided optimism. Has he ever done anything without complaint?

Glancing back at the clock, it was now 8:15. If I was going to make it to work on time, he needed to be here by 8:30 the latest; which he knew, because I’d told him about a dozen times before he left in the morning. I called his cell phone, hoping to hear that he was just a few minutes away. It rang and rang, and there was a brief moment of hope before I heard “You have reached the voicemail box of-” Click. I was growing more irritated by the minute. I couldn’t afford to be late to work again. Not again. I can't deal with this crap again. My asshole manager would definitely fire me this time. According to that clock, my fifteen minute window was closing fast. I tried again. Voicemail.

“Frank, it’s me. When are you coming home? It’s 8:20, and I don’t know if you remember this but I reminded you this morning that I needed you home no later than 8:30 so I can go to work… Call me back as soon as you get this. Bye.” I resisted the urge to slam the phone down on the kitchen counter. It looked like Alan would have to handle the late-night rush of obnoxious teenagers on his own, and I would have to find a new job. Again.

I distracted myself with the mountain of laundry on my bed before calling Frank for what felt like the hundredth time. It didn’t even ring before I heard the automated voicemail greeting. Either his phone battery died, or he turned it off and is dodging my calls.

“Shit!” I threw the phone across the room in frustration; it hit the dresser and bounced onto the floor. Great. I had been pacing and watching the clock since putting the baby to bed. That was almost an hour ago, and my husband was still nowhere to be found.

At 9:15, headlights swept over the front of the trailer, and I heard the rusty pickup truck groan its way up the driveway. I hate that damn truck so much. I took a few deep breaths, trying to steady myself and get my anger under control. My goal was straightforward: grab my purse, get the keys to the truck, and leave. There was no use in going to the diner; I was definitely out of a job now. I just needed to get away for a little while. Purse, keys, leave. Purse, keys, leave. Don’t do it, Michelle. Don’t give him the satisfaction of getting angry. The pep talk only lasted as far as my taking one step out the front door. I flew across the grass in a rage, which was only exacerbated by the unbothered look on my husband’s face.

“What the hell, Frank?! I told you that I needed you here by 8:30! Alan’s been looking for a reason to fire me, where the hell-”

He spilled out of the driver’s seat, answering the question that hadn’t finished leaving my lips. He was drunk. Again. I watched as he struggled to keep his eyelids half open and his feet planted firmly on the ground. He was pretty far gone, and I’m sure he’d be unconscious on the couch seconds after walking through the door. I didn’t even want to think about how far he’d driven like that.

Frank stumbled his way across the patchy grass, his feet dragging across the ground. I watched him trip over his own feet, his face meeting the grass about six inches away from the wooden front steps. Even though the baby would most likely sleep through the night, I couldn’t trust my mess of a husband to watch him for a minute.

“You’re drunk,” I said accusingly, as if he didn’t already know. “Damn it Frank, how many times have we gone through this? I can’t do this all by myself! Now I’m out of a job again, and who knows how long it’ll take for me to find anoth-” Before I could finish, his arm swung around and the back of his calloused hand collided with the side of my face.

“Shuddup,” he slurred, jabbing one of his sausage fingers in my face. He swayed as he rose to his feet, catching himself on the banister. “I’m tired of yer bitchin’. It’s always ‘Frank this’ or ‘Frank that’ and I’m tired of it. How ‘bout this? I do what I want, and you do what I tell you. Now get the hell out of my way.”

I could feel the heat from my stinging cheek as I fought back the tears forming in my eyes. I tried to push past him into the house when I felt his giant hand close around my wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going, Shelly?” he growled. I could smell the alcohol on his breath and the rising anger in his voice as he uttered the nickname I despised.

“Let go of me, Frank,” I said, as calmly as I could. With a sleeping toddler inside and nosey neighbors on either side of us, I wasn’t looking to make a scene. Gossip travels fast around here and we’d given them enough to talk about over the years.

“What did I tell you about leaving?” His grip tightened as he jerked my arm towards him.

“You’re hurting me, Frank. Let me go.” I kept my voice even, trying not to let my fear give me away. I just wanted to leave.

“You better be here in the morning,” he spat. “If I don’t, I will find you.” The drunken slur seemed to disappear as he said this, his voice suddenly steady and chilling. “You don’t want me to have to hunt you down, girl. So don’t make me.”

His legs were still struggling to support him, despite how sobering his words sounded. As soon as I felt his hand relax, I threw my weight into my shoulder and shoved him backward. His eyes widened with surprise as his arms flailed, trying to regain his balance, but gravity was against him. He hit the ground with a dull thud, his head bouncing once on the grass. He was out cold.

I froze, staring at the unconscious man now sprawled just outside my front door. I don’t know what I expected to happen when I pushed him, but it definitely wasn’t this. Fear started to wash over me, but I shook it off. I didn’t have time for this, I had to grab the baby and get out of here. Frank wouldn’t be down long, and the last thing I wanted was to be the first person he sees after regaining consciousness.

I hurried into the bedroom, grabbing a small overnight bag for myself and the baby. I would head to my mother’s house for the night, and if I was lucky, Frank would be too hungover to remember the events of the night before. I left as you were walking inside, you seemed alright to me. Grabbing a handful of clothes from the pile on the bed, I hoped that I would have what I needed for the night. I packed a few of Frankie’s things, along with whatever toys were within reach. I would have to face Frank in the morning, but I sure as hell wasn’t subjecting our child to him. He would stay at my mother’s house for the time being.

I went back out front to load up the truck with our bags before getting the baby out of bed, not wanting to risk Frank regaining consciousness because of our shuffling. We had to make it out of here, tonight. As I stepped outside the front door, I could see Frank on the ground, right where I’d left him. I cringed as the bottom step let out a loud creak, but he still didn’t stir. He must have come down pretty hard, all 300 pounds of him.

Walking around to the passenger door, I laid my bag on the floor of the truck and secured Frankie’s diaper bag on the seat. I turned back to the house for the last piece of precious cargo but something caught my eye: the keys were gone.

Frank was constantly leaving the keys in the ignition; it was a miracle that the truck hadn’t been stolen yet, with the amount of times it’s happened. Goes to show what a piece of shit this is. No one would take this, even if it were free. But of course, the one time that I was counting on him to be careless was the one time he wasn’t. I circled the truck in hopes that he dropped them, but there was nothing. I looked over and the heaping pile of fat and bullshit that was my husband. I had to search his pockets.

I went inside to pack up the baby first, allowing us to make a quick getaway after finding the keys; assuming he didn’t wake up before then. Frankie nuzzled his face into my neck as soon as he was in my arms. With his favorite blanket and pacifier in hand, I closed the screen door behind me, tiptoeing past Frank one last time. He seemed awfully still. Focus, Michelle. One thing at a time; get the baby in the car.

Frankie slept as I strapped him into the car seat, only stirring for a moment when I kissed his forehead. I froze, waiting for him to settle down before moving; it didn’t take long before he was out again. I eased the car door shut and turned to face the next challenge of the night. Please don’t let the keys be in his back pocket, please don’t be in his back pocket... Turning a 300 pound man over onto his stomach would not be easy to do alone. I took a deep breath and walked across the grass to where my husband lay. I can do this.

I crouched down next to him. Luck was on my side that night, because I immediately made out the shape of his keychain in his shirt pocket; but something still didn’t seem quite right. Even in the moonlight, I could see that. I put the keys in the ignition, but couldn’t bring myself to turn the key just yet. Taking the few steps back, I crouched next to him again. He was oddly quiet. The air wasn’t filled with his disgusting snoring; he didn’t seem to be breathing at all. I held a finger under his nostrils, waiting for the exhale of breath against my skin. Nothing. I grabbed him by the wrist, lifting his arm up. He was limp. His arm fell back to the ground with a soft thud.

My heartbeat quickened with anxiety as I began to panic. I shook his shoulders, calling his name. I firmly patted his cheek a few times before full on slapping him; no response. I struggled to catch my breath as I felt my chest tighten.

Frank was dead.