Mary Jane Black - She Rode a Harley: A Memoir of Love and Motorcycles

SHE RODE A HARLEY

Copyright 2019 Mary Jane Black

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Published 2019
Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-63152-620-6
ISBN: 978-1-63152-621-3 ebk

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019940987

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Im a believer.

THE MONKEES

M y escape cant happen until Tom finishes his breakfast. While I wait, I pack his lunch the way I have for twenty-three years. I carefully arrange the ham-and-cheese sandwich on the left and exactly twenty-five chips in a bag next to it with a two-inch square of cake in the bottom of the black plastic lunch box. Suddenly the phone rings. It breaks the silence like a shot.

I grab it and say hello in the most normal voice I can find. Its the manager of the apartment complex where I have just rented an apartmentthe security deposit paid with a secret bank account where, for five years, I hoarded twenties, tens, and fives.

A voice chirps in my year, Good morning, Mrs. Richards, I just wanted to confirm that you and your daughter are moving in this afternoon. The woman asks if I want to move into a ground-floor apartment or the third-floor one I looked at earlier.

I consider how I can answer this question without raising Toms suspicions. I shift my body slightly so I can see his face more clearly. Hes stopped shoveling eggs into his mouth. The yolks drip from his raised fork onto his plate.

No, third floor is fine. I finish the sentence in my head. Its much harder for someone to get through the security door and up three flights of stairs without warning. She assures me she will be glad to have me join their little community of residents, then tells me how much Ill enjoy Springfield, Missouri. I cant tell her that I already live in a small town near the city, since I want her to see me as a stranger who doesnt know anyone.

I lay the phone gently back on the hook. I return to the sink and start washing a cup, taking a long time.

Who the hell was that? He lays down his fork and brings his plate to the sink, standing inches from me. His dark eyes glare into mine. I stare at the patch of pink scalp beneath his thin brown hair.

It was my principal. He wanted to make sure I was okay with his moving me to a classroom on the third floor next year. For a moment, I feel triumphant in my ability to create a lie so quickly. Then I remember that any slip can be dangerous. Im an acrobat on the high wire waiting to fall.

Tom studies me. I absorb myself in removing every speck of food on the plates.

He reaches out and jerks my right arm out of the soapy water. His fingers dig into my wrist. He stares at me and clears his throat with a loud rapid hacking. I wonder if hes always done this, or if after the recent tense years, Ive noticed it more. Now I flinch at the sound.

I blank out any emotion on my face. Water drips slowly onto the floor. We stand in silence, and the clock behind us ticks away the seconds. Finally, he drops my arm with a flourish. It bangs painfully against the edge of the counter. He steps away from me to avoid getting water on his starched blue shirt.

Wipe the water off the floor. He walks away.

I stand frozen as I listen to the garage door roll up with a groan. Then I hear his car start and the sound of the motor growing fainter as he pulls out of the driveway. I look out the window over the sink and watch the birds fly and dip over the newly green grass in our back yard. In my head I count off the minutes until its safe to move.

When enough time has passed, I yell down the stairs to Stephanie to start bringing her stuff up to her car. I help her load her car, shoving boxes and clothes on hangers in every inch of space in the small car. I marvel at how many clothes and shoes a sixteen-year-old girl owns.

I open the drivers door. She hugs me. Her eyes are big with fear but also a little excitement at the idea of joining me in running away. I know it has been hard for her keeping this secret from her father and even her brother. He has never shown any anger toward them. His rage and jealousy are saved for me.

Ill call Steven as soon as I stand safely in our new home. I know how angry my son will be that I have left his father. The last time I tried to leave, I told him in advance. It cost me bruised ribs and a twisted arm.

Now Stephanie climbs into the car and screeches out of the driveway, clothes fluttering in the wind. Thumping music trails behind her as she pulls onto the road and heads to her high school. After we unload the truck, shell come to our new apartment this afternoon.

Soon my mom and my cousin Bryce swing the top-heavy U-Haul Ive secretly rented into the driveway and back it up to the front door. Ive stacked the dishes and other things Ill need from the kitchen on the counter.

We develop a rhythm of packing. Wrap in newspaper, place in box. Wrap and place. Wrap and place. Go outside and stack the boxes in the truck. Moving quickly, we soon have everything packed. Im careful not to take too much. I agonized over whether to take the coffee pot. I do.

I check the clock each time I go in the house to watch the time. Every minute that passes increases the chances of Toms return home.

What furnitures going? Bryce asks.

I list off the furniture were loadingexactly half of the furniture in the house, but not the bed we shared.

With strength we didnt know we possessed, we load the truck with furniture and boxes in two hours. An added incentive for our speed was finding his packed lunch box in the garage, signaling he is planning on coming home for lunch. He wants to surprise me.

The phone call this morning had not been forgotten. Since my ultimate betrayal of going to college and getting a teaching job six years ago, hes been on watch for other abnormal behavior. I cant think about this now. Time marches forward. My heart beats furiously against my ribs, and I steady myself, placing a hand against the wall until the dizziness passes.

As I finally stand by the loaded truck, Mom hesitates at the truck door as she starts to climb up into the passenger seat.

For fifteen years after my fathers suicide, we barely spoke and have only recently begun to feel like mother and child again. I realize in this moment of escape that she was forty-one like me when she left me and her life in our hometown.