The Walls Are Caving In

“Yah know something? I don’t give a flying fuck one way or the other. Just do something—anything. Make something happen. I’m bored as hell.” Alex’s eyes didn’t leave the TV screen while he screamed. Xbox controller in hand, he slouched on the hand-me-down floral-patterned couch.

            “Fuck you, Alex. What am I supposed to do? Everything about this place is boring,” I yelled back from the kitchen, where I sat at the chipped dining room table, balancing our checkbook. We both could’ve walked the seven paces to the other room, but were far too focused on what we were doing to do so. I flipped my bangs out of my eyes.

            Shit, I thought. Looks like we still can’t take that trip to Florida. Our trailer here in Akron, though shabby and rundown, still ate up all my tip money every month. Waitressing at the local diner had proven futile. How had we ended up this way?

           

Alex and I had met at Ohio State seven years earlier. He’d washed his hair daily back then, and he was clean-shaven and well dressed. A sophomore business major, he’d had graduated at the top of his high school class and planned to attend the University of Michigan for his MBA. Yeah, yeah, we know about the rivalry, but even I can admit UM’s business school is highly ranked. I would’ve made due in Ann Arbor, anyway.

            I was still writing, then, and my passion for European history hadn’t faltered. I was thin back then, too. I was a catch. Alex and I—we were a good match—great, even.

            We met on a snowy Friday night. Since it was so chilly outside, the local bar was packed. Halfway through the evening, I went to grab yet another beer. I spun away from the thick oak bar and ran directly into him, dumping my Coors all over his plaid button-down.

            “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! Let me help you clean that up,” I exclaimed, searching for the barkeep and his rag.

            “Don’t worry about it,” Alex said and smiled, his electric grin lighting up the dim, smoke-filled bar. “Can I buy you another?”

            I nodded. We got another and I followed him through the hordes of drunken students to the table he and his buddies had claimed. The cheap veneer was chipped and scratched, carved with the names of hundreds who’d come before us. Though he was there with a bunch of his friends, Alex seemed to only have eyes for me. That night, I discovered that he was in one of my history classes and had often thought about asking me out.

            “Ya know, Sarah, you’re beautiful. I look at you all the time from across the lecture hall,” he said, grinning again. I was smitten.

            “Yo. Bring me a beer, will ya?” Alex didn’t even glance up from his game to make his request. I was tempted to throw the can of Coors directly at his head, but aimed for the couch cushion instead. Couldn’t afford those hospital bills, that’s for sure. Can’t afford anything about this life, I thought, looking around the kitchen, suddenly severely depressed. The paneling was peeling off the wall above the ten-year-old stove. The refrigerator was dirty and barely kept anything cold anymore. The faucet in the rusty, discolored sink wouldn’t stop dripping. Seven steps away, in the living room, the carpeting was a mess of cigarette burns and stains from spaghetti sauce, chocolate syrup, and coffee. Alex spent all his time in that room, playing his games and wallowing in unemployed self-pity. I had the lucky opportunity to serve him dinner night after night, my existence barely being acknowledged, unless I happened to step in front of the television. After five years of marriage, added to an earlier two of living together, I had picked up on some tricks to get him to notice me again.

            He’d proposed in July, after graduation but before we hopped the flight to Paris. Our plan was to backpack through Europe for a few months before grad school. Alex told me he was too anxious to wait until we returned to the States.

            “…So, Sarah, will you?” Alex was down on one knee in the middle of the busy expanses of O’Hare. His jeans were wrinkled and his hair had grown a bit shaggier to go along with his new beard. I’d never been more in love with him.

            “Oh my God! Yes, yes, YES! Of course!” Tears were streaming down my face, and I dropped my pack, letting brochures fly. Alex picked me up and spun me around, my white peasant skirt floating behind me. I’d never been happier. I felt as if I was floating myself.

            The ring was vintage, tiny and perfect. He slipped it on my ring finger and the crowd that had gathered around us applauded, blew kisses, and smiled. We walked, hand in hand, toward the gate to board our flight.

            Alex’s blond mane was shaggier now—greasy, too. He’d lost his love for business, for sports, for running…for me. That was obvious. He was too far-gone, adrift in the fantastical worlds of Halo and EA Sports. His obsession with video games had stemmed from a long list of unanswered resume submissions, unreturned follow-up phone calls, and hundreds of rejection letters. Although he’d had all the education, money, and talent in the world, Alex was missing something. It took six years for him to give up, but he has, and for no other reason than he’s found it easier to give up than to continue trying and failing.

           

            When we returned from Europe, Columbus sat waiting for us like a big ball of clay with which we could build our hopes and dreams into reality. Though he hadn’t been admitted into any of his MBA programs, Alex was determined to make his mark on the business world. He considered opening his own store, but couldn’t decide what to sell, buy, repair, or otherwise do for the general public. He didn’t have much talent or passion for things beyond learning business techniques, but was positive his ambitions would prove fruitful.

            We had a small ceremony in the backyard at my parents’ estate outside of the city. My father’s horse breeding business had been doing well for decades, and I’d grown up comfortably, riding horses and attending private school. Alex also came from farming money, but we both decided to move away from our parents in hopes of striking out on our own—for real this time. We refused our inheritances and swore that we knew how to live simply and support ourselves.

            “You don’t want any of your old jewelry, Sar?” My mother was concerned, as it felt to her that our determination was a renunciation of our former lives. “What’ll we do with Betsy? She’ll be so lonely without you.”

            “Mom, it’ll be fine. Alex and I don’t need all that stuff. I’ll come visit Betsy when I can, ride her for old time’s sake. We want to do things for ourselves!” I was certain we were making the right decision. “You’ve taken care of me, fed me, clothed me, given me everything I could’ve ever needed or wanted…I want to try things on my own now. And Alex…well, he’s right here beside me.”

            “My darling daughter, I’m just so damn worried about you!” She started crying again. “I’m proud, too. I know you and Alex will be happy and do great things. I just don’t understand why you’d want to cut ties with us!”

            It wasn’t Alex and I that cut ties, in the end. My parents stopped visiting when we moved out of our apartment and into the trailer. They claimed the drive from Columbus was too long and exhausting, but Akron was only two hours away. They were too embarrassed to knock on our busted door, too worried about parking the BMW in the trailer park lot. Alex’s parents were too busy traipsing around the world to come visit at all. I still call Mom on Christmas and her birthday, but she’d grown so ashamed of us that I wouldn’t doubt she’d told all of her friends we’d died.

            With the checkbook balanced, I went to see about the laundry situation. I generally spend my days off from the diner doing the cooking, cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping—everything. I’ve stopped trying to get the stains out of the carpet in the living room, because I’m sure to find new ones every time I step foot in there. Otherwise, I keep the trailer as tidy as possible so I don’t go crazy.

            I separate the boxers and bras from the jeans and towels and start a load of colors. I wish with all my heart that things will change, that Alex will come around, that we can try again someday. I rub my belly; it’s emptiness the sorest subject of all in this predicament.

            I was pregnant by the time we moved to Akron, two years in to our marriage. My parents came to stay a lot back then; our apartment was far more welcoming and acceptable. I’d make them lasagna and meatloaf, feeling so matronly with my apron wrapped over my bulging belly. Alex had hoped to find work, but was sorely disappointed at the lack of options in his field. For a long time, he refused to work, leaving me to fend for the three of us. Since I wasn’t able to get my master’s, I couldn’t teach history as way I’d intended. I started waitressing after our savings ran out, when Isabel was nine months old. With all the hours I was picking up at the diner, I wasn’t able to do much else. Losing the baby weight had proven impossible and I dealt with it as best I could, but I knew Alex was no longer attracted to me. Our only saving grace was little Izzi. No matter how many rejections Alex got, he was ecstatic to be a father. He poured all of his energy into Izzi, coming up with creative ways to keep her occupied while I was away at work. Night after night, I’d walk in to macaroni necklaces or play-doh messes on the kitchen table. She’d leave her coloring book pictures out for me to admire and always expected to see them on the fridge the next day.

            With the laundry started and the checkbook balanced, I moved on to the dishes and grocery list. The sounds coming from the living room were unmistakable—gunshots and clinking metal were the soundtrack of my Sundays at home.

            “Al, hon, do you want anything from the store?” I pulled my dark hair back into a ponytail and turned on the faucet.

            “Just, whatever. Hey, are we leaving this town or what? I need to get out of here.” I heard him take a swig of his beer over the din of the video game.

            “Um…I don’t think so. I wish we could, but we can’t afford it. Maybe if you got a job…” I closed my eyes, waiting for his verbal abuse to begin.

            “Oh, right,” he replied, scoffing and pausing the game. “Rrriiight! Like that would solve all of our fucking problems! Me getting a job…bah. Fuck that. You owe me so much. Izzi…” His voice sounded choked, and he coughed to clear his throat. “I just…I’m not getting a job. Not right now. I can’t.”

            “Six months ago, on a day-off Sunday, the three of us had decided to go to the zoo in Columbus. Izzi was four, and all she could talk about were the bears and penguins she saw on TV at daycare. Alex held my hand as we traipsed about the park. He’d been working at FirstEnergy Corporation for the last four years and was, luckily, making enough money for me to cut back on shifts at the diner.”

            The prosecutor looked uninterested. “What happened next?”

            “Izzi’s four-year-old independent streak had convinced me to allow her to buckle herself into her carseat. I drove the Camry on I-71 north towards Akron. We were singing along to Izzi’s favorite Disney Princess CD and I may have allowed myself to get a little reckless.”

            The prosecutor looked up from her nailbeds. “And…?”
            “All I remember is waking up in a puddle of blood. I saw Izzi’s legs sticking out of the windshield, but she wasn’t squirming like she normally does. Alex was still unconscious and we had flipped the Camry over the median. I could hear sirens and see lights, but I couldn’t move.”

            “Thank you, Mrs. Douglas. That will be all. The prosecution rests.”

           

A year ago, I was sued after a car crash I had caused killed three women and a child in a neighboring car. The crash also took Izzi’s life and severely damaged Alex’s psychological state. The lawsuit ate away at our savings and we found ourselves hitting rock bottom emotionally, physically and financially. Alex went to therapy for a while but, ultimately, we couldn’t afford anything but absolute necessities.

The funeral was held on the Sunday following the crash. Alex and I had been lucky enough to walk away from the crash with minor cuts and scrapes. I had continued to work, as I felt more productive at work that I ever could at home. I threw myself into my job and allowed my mother to plan the service.

It drizzled that day, as if we were in the movies. Izzi’s casket was the smallest I’d ever seen. I felt uncomfortable in my black polyester dress, aware of the way it hugged my chunky body. Alex couldn’t stop crying, but I couldn’t bring myself to start. Everyone brought flowers and casserole dishes for Alex and I. Of course, the procession to the grave was as depressing as ever, but I kept my mind on my dress. I didn’t think about Izzi.

            After the funeral, my parents sent Alex and I to a hotel. When we returned, every trace of Izzi was gone. The apartment was wiped clean of her coloring pages, colored macaroni, and tubs full of Barbie dolls and play-doh. My license had been revoked, so we found a trailer park within walking distance to the diner and a grocery store. Well, I found it. Alex has been a little off ever since. He stopped going to work during the trial and can’t bring himself to search for another job. Times are tougher than ever, and I don’t know where to turn.

            “Okay, well, I’m off, then,” I said, grabbing my ragged shopping bags and heading for the door.

            “Don’t forget another thirty-pack of Coors. And hurry back!” Alex’s eyes were glued to the screen again.

            As I walked the mile to the Piggly Wiggly, my mind went blank. I didn’t want to think about Alex, or Izzi, or work, or my life any longer. I didn’t want to pity myself any longer. Maybe I can go back to school in the fall, or maybe I can find a better job. Something, anything to make this life worth living again. I hadn’t allowed myself to mourn the death of my own daughter. I’m sick of serving everyone else, putting Alex before myself. Putting my customers before myself. I’ve stopped looking out for me. I looked up to see my reflection in the grocery store door. I’m thirty pounds overweight. My hair’s stringy and unwashed. I’m wearing stained gray sweatpants and a tattered Ohio State t-shirt. My face is wrinkly and my eyes are drooping. I’m twenty-six years old and this is all I have to show for myself. After buying these groceries, I’m going to go home and find some extra money. We need a vacation.

            I could smell it before I saw it. Burning leaves, maybe? As I rounded the corner and headed in to the trailer park, I caught a glimpse of orange flame licking a tree. Shit. I dropped the groceries and ran straight down the dirt road towards our trailer, now fully engulfed in flames. The wood paneling, cheap carpeting, and electronics must’ve it easy for the fire to spread quickly, devastating everything in its path. The trailer was gone. But where’s Alex?

            “ALEX! Where are you?” I screamed between sobs. As if things couldn’t get any worse…

            I ran to the neighbor’s to use their telephone, but Mrs. Mulvaney had already dialed 911. A fire truck, ambulance, and two police cruisers screeched to a halt in front of the trailer. As the firemen hosed down the remains of my home, Officer Kirt questioned me.

            “Do you know what the cause of the fire was?”

            I scanned my brain, trying to remember leaving the stove on. “Well, there were clothes in the dryer…”

            “Was anyone inside?”

            Panic seized my heart. “Alex! Alex, my husband. I can’t find him. I went out to get some groceries…”

            “Settle down, ma’am. We’ll figure out where your husband is. Anything else you can tell me?”

            “He was playing video games. That’s what he does, for hours on end. Could it have been an electrical fire?”

            “Maybe, ma’am. We’ll find out soon enough. Do you have anyone to stay with?”

            I tried to remember the last time I’d talked to my mother. “My parents are in Columbus, but I don’t want to leave without my husband!”
            “I’ve sent a search party out to the woods. He probably thought the fire would spread and wanted to get as far away as possible.” Officer Kirt pulled out a notepad and pen. “Can I call your parents for you?”

            I gave him my parents’ address and phone number and asked if I could use his phone to call them myself. My mother picked up on the first ring and hesitantly agreed to come pick me up.

            “It’s two hours from Columbus, officer. What should I be doing right now?”

            “Well, I can take you back to the station if you want. Or you can wait in my cruiser.”

            I needed something to busy myself with, something to keep my mind off of my husband’s disappearance. I knocked on Mrs. Mulvaney’s door once again, and spent the next two hours planting her tulip bulbs.

            “Sugar, don’t beat yourself up. I’m sure everything will be just fine,” my mother said calmly, rubbing my back as I took deep breaths to steady my thoughts.

            “I know, Mom. I just need to know if he’s alright.”

            “You’ve been through a lot today, hon. Why don’t you go take a nap and I’ll let you know when Officer Kirt calls?” She pushed my shoulder gently, urging me upstairs.

            In my old bedroom, remnants of my old life glared at me from every corner. Horse show ribbons, honor roll certificates, and dance medals covered one wall. My desk was as I had left it, with college papers strewn about. Straight A’s, all of them.

            I sat down on my canopy bed and pulled my knees to my chest. The floral pillowcases invited me to lay my head down and, before I knew it, my mother was shaking me awake, holding the phone out towards me.

            “Officer Kirt? Did you find him? Did you find my husband?”

            “We did, Mrs. Douglas. I regret to inform you, however, that it was only his body we found. It was inside the trailer.”

            A single tear slipped down my cheek. I brushed it away quickly, unable to think of anything but the phone calls I needed to make. After hanging up with Officer Kirt, the fire department finally called with their final report. Their assessment, along with AAA’s, determined the cause of the fire to be faulty wiring. I was able to claim all my losses, but could barely think knowing Alex would never sit by my side again. After hanging up with AAA, I called Alex’s parents, who were in Alaska for the summer.           

            “Mrs. Douglas, I’ve got some horrible news.” I explained about the fire and expressed my sadness for her…our loss.

            “Well, m’dear, he’s probably in a better place now.” Mrs. Douglas’ voice was garbled, as if she was holding back sobs. I wasn’t sure where her optimism was coming from.

            “Darling, he never wanted to burden you, but he was a horribly sad boy. Right from the very beginning, we had him in therapy. Bipolar disorder.” She went on to tell me about the late-night phone calls she’d been receiving from him for years, the tears and agony and threats of suicide.

            “He always told me that he was a bit…off…but never to this extent. I can’t believe him!”

            “Like I said, dear, he didn’t want to burden you. He loved you, wanted to be with you, wanted what was best for you. He wanted everything in the world for you and, when he couldn’t give it to you, he sprialed out of control.”

            “I don’t understand. How could he not tell me?”

            “He was never very talkative, dear. He loved you and Izzi with all his heart, though. He hasn’t been able to cope since you lost her. I’m so sorry, Sarah.”

            I lay back down, finally unable to hold back the sobs that had been building for so long. That night, I cried for Izzi. I cried for the life I was never able to give her and for the time I wasn’t able to spend with her. I cried myself to sleep and, in the morning, cried for Alex. I cried for the things he was never able to tell me and for the bitter end he had reached. I cried for what seemed like days. My mother and father came in intermittently with tea, water, and their own tears. We shared grief that had been, for so long, bottled up and hidden away. I had finally found a way to express myself and I spent days holed up in that room. I found my voice again, started writing and started allowing myself to face my failures for the first time. In the end, it was me that I found. Finally, I had reconnected with that girl. When I emerged days later, I breathed deeply, knowing that things would be forever different.