slide down into that
pegged board and bounce around a hundred times, and it would always
thrill her. The only better thrill would be to actually win the grand
prize of fifty thousand dollars while playing it.
An overweight woman spun the wheel—quite powerfully—and
stepped back to watch, hoping she struck gold. Numbers came, went and
repeated, all a blur. Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep! It took a
while for the wheel to slow down, to return to its original position. Beep. Beep... beep..... beep..... The marker eventually came
to stop on: 100. The woman opened her big flap in shocking glee.
“You've won a thousand dollars, Jenna!” Drew Carey said.
Janna almost choked on her last bite of waffle. For a second, she
thought Drew had spoken directly to her through the TV. Maybe
God really was trying to tell her to get her life in gear—to
start a life, period.
Easier said than done.
Easier said than done.
Janna had been leading an easy life for the last nine years. Of those
nine, what had she done ?
Little to nothing.
Between the two, the word nothing stuck out more
prominently—like a beacon flashing her dawdling attitude and
incompetent qualities over and over again.
Janna set down her plate—sticky with blueberry syrup—exhausted.
When you had nothing going on, sleep became an almost unbidden
necessity. It killed the boredom, the time, the emptiness.
Another dream began to manifest as soon as her mind turned off.
It wasn't anything new or scarcely pleasing. Her ex, Ben Jillipi, who
had the face of a puppy but the temper of a pit bull, cursed at her
and cut her apart with his usual inelegant choice of words. The young
man was constantly paranoid, constantly on a power trip, destination:
me-me-me.
“ I
wanna know the truth, dammit!” he shouted.
“ I'm
telling you the truth, Ben,” Janna heard herself say. This
fight had taken place back in the run-down apartment on Coax Avenue,
nearly ten years ago. Still, every detail, every memory of the place
(from the color of the walls to the way the sun shined in through the
windows) and the argument (or argumentS—there were a hundred of
them), felt fresh, very recent in her mind.
“ I'm
not seeing him, Ben. Why would I? We're engaged.
I'm supposed to marry you next
month!”
“ You
say it like you're obligated.” He raised his raspy voice. “Do
you want to marry me? Really? You dress like... like that, and go out
when you're supposed to be here and do things for me.”
“ What,
I'm not allowed to have a life outside of you?”
Ben, a five-foot-nine mechanic who always smelled of grease and
cherry chewing tobacco, stuck his flushed face an inch from hers. His
lips were pursed, his nostrils flaring, his eyes open in a way as if
to say, You bitch, I will kill you!
“ What
do you think marriage is?” he shouted. “Why do they call
it ball in chain? I spent 2200 bucks for that ring on your finger.
So, no, you're not supposed to have a life outside of me.”
“ Newsflash!
I do!”
Janna didn't see his hand flying toward her face—she expected
it but didn't see it—until it already made contact.
Smack!
Her right cheek burned from the impact. Four red lines stood out.
Tears filled her eyes, but she didn't turn away from him. It was not
the first he'd struck her; yet, every time he did something like
this, it was always surprising, even when she knew it was coming.
Maybe it was in every man's nature? Maybe it was supposed to be
tolerated? Maybe it was somehow her fault? No matter the reason,
Janna figured she could calm him down, tame him.
Eventually.
Eventually had been what? Two years?
Nothing had changed.
And Ben wasn't the first guy to smack her, either.
There had been two others, three out of three boyfriends.
Heath Headler had broken her nose during their short time together.
Masson Sprike had knocked out two of her molars.
Janna had told nobody about any of these instances, not even her
parents. She'd lied and told them her nose got broke while
pegged board and bounce around a hundred times, and it would always
thrill her. The only better thrill would be to actually win the grand
prize of fifty thousand dollars while playing it.
An overweight woman spun the wheel—quite powerfully—and
stepped back to watch, hoping she struck gold. Numbers came, went and
repeated, all a blur. Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep! It took a
while for the wheel to slow down, to return to its original position. Beep. Beep... beep..... beep..... The marker eventually came
to stop on: 100. The woman opened her big flap in shocking glee.
“You've won a thousand dollars, Jenna!” Drew Carey said.
Janna almost choked on her last bite of waffle. For a second, she
thought Drew had spoken directly to her through the TV. Maybe
God really was trying to tell her to get her life in gear—to
start a life, period.
Easier said than done.
Easier said than done.
Janna had been leading an easy life for the last nine years. Of those
nine, what had she done ?
Little to nothing.
Between the two, the word nothing stuck out more
prominently—like a beacon flashing her dawdling attitude and
incompetent qualities over and over again.
Janna set down her plate—sticky with blueberry syrup—exhausted.
When you had nothing going on, sleep became an almost unbidden
necessity. It killed the boredom, the time, the emptiness.
Another dream began to manifest as soon as her mind turned off.
It wasn't anything new or scarcely pleasing. Her ex, Ben Jillipi, who
had the face of a puppy but the temper of a pit bull, cursed at her
and cut her apart with his usual inelegant choice of words. The young
man was constantly paranoid, constantly on a power trip, destination:
me-me-me.
“ I
wanna know the truth, dammit!” he shouted.
“ I'm
telling you the truth, Ben,” Janna heard herself say. This
fight had taken place back in the run-down apartment on Coax Avenue,
nearly ten years ago. Still, every detail, every memory of the place
(from the color of the walls to the way the sun shined in through the
windows) and the argument (or argumentS—there were a hundred of
them), felt fresh, very recent in her mind.
“ I'm
not seeing him, Ben. Why would I? We're engaged.
I'm supposed to marry you next
month!”
“ You
say it like you're obligated.” He raised his raspy voice. “Do
you want to marry me? Really? You dress like... like that, and go out
when you're supposed to be here and do things for me.”
“ What,
I'm not allowed to have a life outside of you?”
Ben, a five-foot-nine mechanic who always smelled of grease and
cherry chewing tobacco, stuck his flushed face an inch from hers. His
lips were pursed, his nostrils flaring, his eyes open in a way as if
to say, You bitch, I will kill you!
“ What
do you think marriage is?” he shouted. “Why do they call
it ball in chain? I spent 2200 bucks for that ring on your finger.
So, no, you're not supposed to have a life outside of me.”
“ Newsflash!
I do!”
Janna didn't see his hand flying toward her face—she expected
it but didn't see it—until it already made contact.
Smack!
Her right cheek burned from the impact. Four red lines stood out.
Tears filled her eyes, but she didn't turn away from him. It was not
the first he'd struck her; yet, every time he did something like
this, it was always surprising, even when she knew it was coming.
Maybe it was in every man's nature? Maybe it was supposed to be
tolerated? Maybe it was somehow her fault? No matter the reason,
Janna figured she could calm him down, tame him.
Eventually.
Eventually had been what? Two years?
Nothing had changed.
And Ben wasn't the first guy to smack her, either.
There had been two others, three out of three boyfriends.
Heath Headler had broken her nose during their short time together.
Masson Sprike had knocked out two of her molars.
Janna had told nobody about any of these instances, not even her
parents. She'd lied and told them her nose got broke while
Similar Books
