Respect Me, Part 1 by Nia Arthurs
Harriet
Engine oil ismy new favorite scent. Right up there with jasmine and sea breeze.
“I completed my assignment.” My chin lifts another notch. The pride in my voice rings as loud as the wrench clanking against metal.
Doc freezes, one hand on the tool and the other braced atop the hood. Dark eyes swing from the engine to me. They widen for a second. Just a flash of mild disbelief. Then they narrow in unspoken approval.
It feels like getting a high five from my father. Dad appreciated bloody knuckles when the blood wasn’t mine. He liked broken noses that needed ice. The comfort and apologies I brought to those I felled. He liked the underdog. Defeating someone outside of my weight class. A hint of a smirk. A sprinkle of I knew you could do it matched with a dose of relief.
I blink and the image of my father is gone.
This is Doc.
And Doc is… different.
Today, he’s wearing a dark shirt beneath oil-stained overalls. His hands bear even darker stains from repairing broken things. His trimmed goatee has just a bit more grey in it than before.
“When?” Doc returns to his task after a beat of silence.
“When did I leave? Yesterday. Well, it was more like early this morning. I’ve been quietly preparing for a while now and yesterday, I just… I went for it.”
There’s more to that story. A lot more. There’s a beautiful woman named Ashley, secret photos from disgruntled former clients, and shaking hands bracketed by moonlight. There’s pacing back and forth. Picking up the gasoline tank to burn his cars. Setting the tank back down. There’s clothes that got dumped into bags. Suitcases. Clutches.
I wasn’t sure when Jerrison would be back. If he saw me, if he caught me in the act, he would have words. He would try to stop me. It would get loud, painful and ugly.
I skipped all that. Became a ghost. Disappeared with the wind.
“Has he called you?” Doc inspects a part of the engine.
“All day.” I nod.
“And you’ve ignored them?”
“All day.”
He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving behind a smear of dark oil. “How do you feel?”
“That’s a surprisingly sweet question.” I smile. Not a real one, but it’s close enough.
“This is a tender situation.” He grunts. “I probably should have mentioned this before, but you’ve taken a risk by leaving. There’s a possibility your husband will thank you for ending it. He might have wanted you to move out. He might move his girlfriend in as soon as possible.”
I gulp at the thought of Ashley and Jerrison starting a family in the house we bought together. In my mind, she changes the sheets. Redoes the bathroom. Tears down everything I built only to touch it and make it her own.
Anger splits through me. Claws at the nerves I thought were safe from reach.
I didn’t consider Jerrison’s pleasure at this turn of events. I didn’t think that it would work out to his favor. As I left, I only thought of how his surprise and horror would taste. I imagined it. Played it on a loop in my mind as I called a taxi and sped away. Even in the fury, my hope was to jar him, not lose him. Not willingly offer him up to her.
Doc’s voice curls around my thoughts. Ropes them into submission. His tone is quiet and thoughtful. Familiar and comforting. “This is not my area.”
“What is?” I accept the wrench he hands over to me.
“Dealing with feelings. A woman’s delicate emotions.” He clears his throat. Makes an effort. “But I’m sure you’re going through… stuff.”
I laugh because his gruff tenderness is, somehow, even more endearing to me. “I have feelings. Yes.”
They’re ugly feelings. I spent my first night in an unfurnished apartment. The floor was hard against my back. The tears were soft.
I’d never felt more alone in my life.
Doc’s reminder that Jerrison might have waited for this moment, might capitalize on it, doesn’t help.
“Your leaving could cause the marriage to physically die.” He calls for a spanner. I don’t even take a second to fish it out of the tool box. Doc accepts it and keeps talking. “Emotionally, it was already dead. In terms of commitment, it was already over. At least on his part. Now the physical separation could cause the relationship to shut down completely or…”
I lean forward because it’s what comes after that ‘or’ that I need to hear.
“…. Or the separation could be a battery booster.”
“Sorry, Doc. I haven’t looked up that tool yet.”
His lips tug up at the corners. “It’s a tool that boosts the power of the car.”
“Ah.”
“It’s just like a seed.” He fights against a stubborn valve, twisting his back to get the perfect angle. “For it to grow, it has to die so it can begin to change state.” He wins over the rusty car part and slides it to the side. “And this is where you are.” Doc glances up at me. Those eyes burn with wisdom. “Be prepared. This could be the end of the marriage.”
Those aren’t the words I want to hear. Those aren’t the words I spent months on my knees, cleaning this garage and scrubbing old cars, to receive. They don’t fit in my hands. Slimy. Wiggling. Unwelcome.
I toss them away. “I’ve come this far, Doc. I can’t give up now.”
“It’s better to be prepared for the worst,” Doc says, wiping his hands on a cloth.
“I’m a realist, so I’ll concede that.”
He dips his chin good.
I sigh and face the truth that I’d rather run from. “I can’t force Jerrison to change. You’ve taught me that. If he doesn’t want me, then he doesn’t want me.”
“True.” Doc trots to his lemon water. “And this test requires nothing from you except to hold firm. If he doesn’t pursue you, that tells you what you really mean to him. If he’s just willing to let you go…”
I hang my head. “I know.”
“Would you like a glass?” Doc asks tentatively.
My heart sags to my toes. “No thanks. I, uh, should get going.”
“Harriet,” Doc calls me when I’m halfway to the door.
I spin. “Yes, Doc?”
“You can visit if you need to talk. I may not understand the female’s complex emotions, but I can listen.”
Tears of gratitude fill my eyes. “I appreciate that, Doc.”
He nods.
I leave his garage feeling oddly vulnerable. A part of me wants to drive home and peer into the windows. I want to see if Jerrison’s brought his mistress into our bedroom. I want to see if Ashley’s left her mark already.
The bitterness that festers inside is unfair. Doc helped me understand that it’s Jerrison’s responsibility to fix this and it’s Jerrison’s fault if it stays broken. The women he sleeps with have little to do with our broken marriage. So raking my fingernails over Ashley’s eyes and bashing her car with a bat won’t change a thing.
I’ve tried that road already.
Didn’t do a damn thing to change my husband’s behavior.
The sun falls warmly on my shoulders. An old friend patting my back. Birds chirp their encouragements and the leaves shake to try and cheer me up.
I soak in the fragrance of the breeze. Try to imagine my world spinning like this forever. The loneliness of an unfurnished apartment. The task of buying groceries for one. Cable for one. Bills. Mail.
No more Mrs. Bradley.
No more.
It’s like walking around naked. I glance over my shoulder and behind the rental car. I search for the clothes that are familiar. The label of ‘wife’. It’s all I’ve known for so long. All I’ve ever been.
My phone buzzes with a text.
It’s Jerrison.
Two words.
Come home.
I stare and stare at it. Given his propensity for hiring private investigators, he probably already knows where I live. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew where I was right this moment.
For a second, I stand there and stare at the text. Try to imagine what kind of tone my husband would convey if he were in front of me.
Come home.
Is that a threat? A violent order riding on the tides of his fury? Is that a plea? Knees hitting grass, dirt. Earth mixed with the fragrance of tears, smelling like the ground after a rain?
I wonder.
And then, as usual, thoughts turn to stones that I pick up and throw at Jerrison’s imaginary face. I know who his sweetheart is. I saw him move with her. Talk with her. Laugh with her over glasses of champagne.
They were brazen at the party.
Shameless.
I don’t know why Zedina sent me that picture. Was it revenge for Jerrison or for me? Either way, I’m glad he did. Seeing that photo and then looking up and watching the betrayal play out in real life stole something from me. The hesitance. The fear. Replaced it with urgency.
We went home and I heard my husband on the phone with his mistress. Cooing to her. Catering to her. I watched him walk into the room and spew his lies. Ugly, twisted words coated in pills he thought I would swallow like a fool.
It was at that moment I decided to move. Now.
Not wait until the furniture was delivered. Not hesitate until the bills were out of my name.
Now.
By the time I heard his vehicle leave, I wasn’t thinking. I was just moving. Grabbing things from here and there. Packing them away. Slipping them into the waiting taxi.
Pax calls while I’m still staring at Jerrison’s text.
I tell her without preamble. “I left him.”
A beat of silence passes between us.
Finally, she croaks, “You aren’t afraid you’ll lose him?”
“If he’s in love with someone else,” I exhale and then breathe in the truth, “did I really have him at all?”
