40 Something - Safety (2 page)

“Evelyn.”

“Daddy,
please.”

“Oh all right.
I’ll go run a few errands and when I come back you’ll be ready to
go?”

“Yes daddy.
Thank you daddy.”

She jumps off
my knee and runs to him hugging him and the man’s eyes actually
have tears in them. I’m astounded.

Harper came
home from school waiving an invitation to his best friend, Jack’s,
10
^th
birthday party. Every year this kid's mom goes
all out. The lady is Martha Stewart on steroids. My kid's are
lucky if I remember to pick up the cake on the way to whatever
venue I booked for the party. This woman transforms her home into
party central and makes the whole thing an experience.

For the kid's
6th birthday she made these pop up pirate invitations. She made
them. The kids were supposed to dress up like pirates. That’s
right, a fucking costume. It wasn't good enough to just show up
with a gift, I had to figure out a costume for the event. Worse,
I'm expected to stay because it's a big person event too. I'm not
one for socializing and thankfully costumes were optional for
adults.

As soon as we
get there she hands Harper an old looking aged piece of paper. It’s
a letter written, in calligraphy, that says:

Blackbeard the
Pirate has stolen Captain Jack's treasure and he needs your help to
find it. Meet him on his ship. It is below the tavern where the
world's best chili is made. On the way you will need to find a few
things to help Captain Jack battle Blackbeard.

Great. A
treasure hunt. No, correction. A scavenger hunt.

Harper drags me
down the stairs to the basement where a ship has been constructed
out of large cardboard boxes. The floor is covered in blue tarps
secured down with large stones and there is even a mermaid swimming
in the water. To get onto the ship Harper had to walk the plank. A
balance beam made out of wood and about a foot off the ground.

This is not a
birthday party. It is a theatre production.

“Wow. Can you
believe this party?” Christine leans over and whispers in my ear.
“I thought last years Thomas the Train party was over the top.
Kathleen out did herself this time.”

“I know. Harper
is going to want something like this. Is the whole class here?”

“Yep. Along
with a few more.”

I can feel a
head ache coming on, just from the thought of all the work that has
gone into this day. I don’t understand how she does it or even why
she does it, all this work for a party that lasts what, 3 hours?
She must be exhausted by the end of the day.

“I don’t know
about you Justine, but I think this calls for a bowl of wine,
coming?”

I follow
Christine to the kitchen, which has been converted into a pirate’s
pub with a wench and bartender.

“Arr Matey what
ye be wanting?”

“Two glasses of
white wine.” Christine orders and the bartender, Kathleen’s
brother, places two half full glasses on the kitchen island’s
eating bar. I take a few sips and smile conspiratorially at
Christine. “Let’s go outside.”

The deck was
even decorated to make it appear like an extension of the pirate’s
pub. This must cost them a fortune.

“How much do
you think she spends on these things?” I ask Christine.

“A few hundred
dollars and weeks of work. I saw Rose in the grocery store the
other day, she seems to be doing well.” I nod. “Any chance her and
Gus are on the outs?”

I force a laugh
while shaking my head. Every single woman, and even a few married
ones, I know ask me regularly if there is any chance that Gus will
be single. A few are even bold enough to ask how my marriage is
holding up in hopes that Gary will be a free agent soon. I bet a
few of them have considered offering up a sacrifice to the gods
that I’ll die leaving Gary a grieving widow.

“A girl can
always dream.”

“How is the
hunt for the new man coming?”

It’s her turn
to laugh and her laugh is genuine.

“It’s not. I
swear there are no decent single men out there. You won the lotto
when you snagged Gary. I went on this one date, if you can even
call it that, and the guy shows up at the pub, he’s 20 years older
than his photos and the age on his profile.”

“What? Why
would he do that?”

“Cause he can.
Thinks that if younger women just meet him and see how charming he
is, they will over look the lies. He even asked me what I thought
of him. I told him that he didn’t look anything like his photos and
that I didn’t appreciate the bait and switch because it makes him
look like a liar.”

“You
didn’t?”

“Yep I did. He
asked for the bill, threw it at me and said he’d buy dinner next
time and walked out.”

“What did he
expect you to say?”

“Probably that
he was great, even though he was 20 years older than I thought he
was and could we go back to his place. The idiot.”

“I thought only
women lied about their age.”

“So did I.
Apparently, not. Men are just as delusional and vain.”

“Christine,
Justine, hello. I think there’s a bad joke in there.”

“Gwentine, have
a seat.” Christine says and I hold up my glass of wine to Gwen in a
cheers motion. “Maybe we can start a trend.”

“Or a band.” I
say.

“So, what do
you two think of all this?” Gwen asks.

We go over our
opinions of the lavish event as others join us. The consensus is
that it sets the bar high, but the kids love it and Kathleen enjoys
doing it. It’s all good. Yeah until our kid’s next birthday party
and they want a big production too.

Kathleen’s
husband has led the little pirates on the scavenger hunt around the
neighbourhood to find clue after clue, hidden in the parks,
neighbours yards, and even the local convenience store for a
slushie in special take home pirate cups.

“Hey ladies can
you give me a hand?” Kathleen asks.

“Sure.” We all
say together.

While the kids
are out scavenging, we take all the gifts and hid them in the
backyard play structure. We then use fabric to transform the
structure into a pirate ship and hoist the pirate flag.

When the kid’s
get back they have a second treasure hunt to find out what
Blackbeard did with the presents. They have to go through an
obstacle course in the backyard, play a game of throw the cannon
ball (water balloons), buy swords with the items found in the
scavenger hunt and then have a sword fight with the adults to
defeat Blackbeard, (the kid’s dad in costume) in order to get the
presents back.

By the end I
was exhausted from all the noise, talking, and kids hyped up
on candy treasure, flavoured gelatine, and ice cream cake. Harper
had so much fun it was all he talked about for months. He begged me
for something just as cool as Jack's birthday party. He got laser
tag.

This year the
theme for Jack’s party is Video Games. No costumes. Thank God. I
guess the boys are getting too big for that. There are going to be
multiple video game tournaments with lots of prizes. That's what
Harper tells me. They even rented some big screen and two or three
big screen TVs so multiple games can be going on. It's enough to
make my head hurt thinking about it. How much noise can 4 video
game systems make? Maybe I should buy some earplugs.

Craig went away
for a business trip.

It’s heaven
when he goes away, so peaceful. It’s like we live in a different
house. A calm house filled with laughter and fun.

When he’s home
the kids and I are always trying not to upset him. Trying hard to
do everything we are supposed to do. Keep the house clean, put the
toys away, make sure dinner is prepared and ready for him. We watch
the clock and hold our breath waiting to see what mood he’ll be
in.

Sometimes he’s
in a good mood and the evening is filled with laughter. Craig can
be quite funny when he’s in a good mood. He does these voices with
all these different accents and the kids giggle and laugh. They all
have the same sense of humour.

I watch.

Sometimes I
laugh and whenever I do. Craig makes a big deal of it and makes a
note on the calendar, made Sophie laugh. There aren’t many days on
the calendar that say that. I’m always waiting, watching, to see if
his mood will change. I am on guard and tense. Not the best way to
be if one is to enjoy a comedy act at the dinner table.

On these days I
clean up dinner while the kids and him find something to watch on
TV and it’s always something I don’t want the kids to watch. It’s
inappropriate comedy for their ages. Just because something is
drawn in cartoon form does not make it a kids show.

When I feel
safe enough and we are fighting I let him know what I think about
his choices. About his always being busy on one project or another.
About him never being part of the family. Those fights always end
with me in tears and him breaking something from another temper
tantrum.

These fights
used to be common, until my son witnessed one. I think he was 3.
He’d just stood there with tears on his little chubby face and I
felt like such a terrible mother. I thought for sure I had damaged
him. After that, I stopped fighting back when Craig attacked. Now I
only fight back if I feel backed into a corner and have to protect
my children from his outbursts. I don’t mind it when he directs his
temper at me, but when he goes after my kids. I fight back,
hard.

We had one of
those fights the night before he left for his business trip.

Wyatt was just
being a boy and wanted to build a fort or something. He’d gone into
the garage and borrowed a hammer, some nails, and some boards from
his dad. I was busy in the house, cleaning, organizing, and washing
Olivia’s long thick hair, a job that can take a good hour to wash,
condition, dry, and brush out.

I wasn’t paying
attention to what Wyatt was doing.

After I was
done with Olivia’s hair, I started dinner. That’s when I heard the
yelling coming from the backyard and raced outside.

“What the fuck
Wyatt? You didn’t ask.” Craig was mad and in full out tantrum mode.
“You idiot look what you did to the side of the house. What the
fuck. Now I have to fix the siding. You stupid little shit.”

That’s when I
walked around the corner to the side of the house where Wyatt had
nailed some boards to a wall that juts out from the house. Inside
it holds a built in cabinet that is flush with the rest of the
wall, outside it sticks out. I guess Wyatt thought it would be a
good place to build his fort.

“Craig.”

“And where the
fuck were you Soph? You’re supposed to be watching him.”

“I was. I can’t
watch him every second. He’s 8 years old.”

“Busy with
what? Sitting on your fat ass eating and watching soaps and
exposing the kids to smut?”

“I don’t watch
TV. You’re the one who lets them watch smut with those
cartoons.”

It goes back
and forth like this. Then I remember Wyatt is there because he
moves.

“Wyatt get back
in the house and clean your room.” I scream at him. His eyes go
wide and he bolts for the house.

“He needs to
clean this up first.”

“I’ll clean
this up.”

I move toward
the board that is somewhat connected to the house.

“No, you’ll
just make a bigger mess of it and then I’ll have more to fix. I’ll
do it. It has to be fixed before I go. Fuck Soph I didn’t need this
bullshit. Why the fuck can’t you just do what you’re supposed to
do. I have to do everything. I work hard for my money and you spend
it like it’s water.”

“I don’t spend
all your money. I buy groceries and some stuff for the kids, that’s
it. Nothing that we don’t need.”

He buys
whatever he wants, whenever he wants. The house and garage are
filled with his tools, toys, and collectables.

“It’s my money.
You don’t contribute anything. You’re worthless Soph. A drain on my
bank account.”

I’ve heard this
numerous times. I turn to leave him and get back to the dinner that
I started. He grabs my arm pulling me back to face him.

“You fucking
bitch, how dare you walk away from me I’m not finished talking to
you.”

I stand there
empty. Not feeling. Numb. Not thinking. Not feeling. Nothing. Just
an empty shell because I’m not really here. It’s like there’s an
invisible wall between us muffling his voice. I listen as he goes
on about how I can’t clean the house good enough, how I don’t take
care of the kids right, how I cause him more work and do nothing to
make his life easier. I wait until his temper has subsided and he’s
sane again. Sane enough to let me go back in the house where dinner
is probably burning.

“Mommy.”

Wyatt comes
into the kitchen. He’s been crying. It’s my fault he’s crying. I
yelled at him in a state of stress. The poor boy, I lead him to the
reading chair and he sits in my lap. We cuddle and I kiss the top
of his head. My poor, poor boy, you deserve better.

“Mommy. Can you
divorce daddy? Please?”

My heart
breaks. If only I could. I have no way of leaving. I have no way of
taking care of the kids if I do. Craig won’t leave. He’d never
leave his house. Even if he did I can’t pay for it. I don’t have a
job. I can’t get a job, what would I do with the kids? We have a
good life for the most part. We live in a nice house. We have food.
We have what we need here. Out there? Fear grabs me and holds on
tight. I can’t leave, I have no way of surviving if I left. I’d be
alone. Broke.

“Oh honey. I
wish. But I can’t afford to. We’d be poor. We’d have nothing and I
can’t.”

I break off.
I’m too scared to leave. Too scared of poverty. Too scared of being
alone in this world. That’s why I married Craig in the first place.
Fear of poverty. Fear of being alone. Fear of never finding love.
Fear that he was all I deserved.