Tom let his foot off the gas, the car then slowed rapidly to below a hundred miles an hour. His fear evaporated, his breathing returned to normal and the tingling left his hands. There were no commuters at that early hour and he had waited until the last possible moment before veering away from the abutment. He was on a high, the sudden relief from the pressures caused by last night's row with his wife Alice, leaving him in a state of well-being.

Trouble was Alice had suffered sexual abuse as a child, which left her with an abnormal, touchy-feely manner that suitors had found disturbing. But not so Tom, who saw it simply as flirtatious, a behaviour that would naturally end once they were committed, and so he made the big mistake of asking her to marry him. Soon after their marriage, came the first demonstration of her proclivity which brought his incipient paranoia to the surface and they had their first row.

The argument of the previous evening, that led him to confronting the abutment, had been typical.

'How can I think otherwise? Like that guy I got to check the wiring. You couldn't keep your hands off him!'

'I did nothing wrong.' She said, sounding hurt.

'When you took his coat, I saw you touch his bare arm.'

'I meant nothing by it.' Her was face grim.

'No? Then why your smile of approval when he palmed your ass?'

'I don't know! I don't know!' She protested, sounding small and confused.

'You think I'm stupid enough to believe that? That smile was a come-on and even if not, that's how he took it!'

Alice stood, in the driveway waiting her taxi. It was Sunday and she was dressed in her business suit, bags packed and ready to fly off on a three-city speaking engagement. Tom had just finished a harangue that had followed them outside but, by the anguished look on his face, she could see he was still caught in its throes.

'Tom,' she said fiercely, 'Stop this!'

Then, without a word of goodbye she had turned and walked briskly to the waiting cab. The driver took her bags and she was gone.

Tom stood there, feeling very foolish, the parting just another disaster, his emotions simply too hard for him to handle.

It was Sunday afternoon, one week later and Tom was out front polishing the hood of his car when her taxi pulled up and there she was, paying the driver. He was out there in a moment saying;

'Glad to see you sweetie.'

Hefting her bags before the transaction was complete, but business done, she turned on her heel without a word and made for the front door.

'Hey! Hey!' he said, following her, 'You can't treat me like this.' but suddenly remembering she had just crossed three time zones on her flight back from San Diego, decided to hold his tongue.

She breezed in, stowed her coat and was halfway up the stairs before he realized he was being left alone. Tightening his grip on the bags, he followed her up to the bedroom.

'What's up?' He asked.

'What do you mean?' She was undressing and practically ignoring him.

'You damn well know what I mean.' He was beginning to lose it.

'Look Tom, I'm tired. This is my home, isn't it? So I'm back. That's it for now.'

He pushed her onto the bed.

'No. That's not it...' he hissed, glowering over her.

She clutched her clothes and cringed.

'Don't give me this shit! I've never hit you! Never harmed you, but you're pushing me to the limit. Who was it this time?'

'I've told you and told you! I've never done it with anyone else!'

'Then its just plain hatred for me you're showing. Why bother to come home?'

'You can't see it, can you? I'm plain exhausted and fearful of what to expect!'

Though paranoia always got the better of him, he was sometimes introspective enough to see it and stop. He felt suddenly deflated.

Seeing him relax, Alice took advantage of the moment.

'Just leave me alone. No, you don't have to leave; just lay off. I'm home, and for now, that's as good as it gets.'

At that faint hint of affection, he retreated downstairs.

Monday morning came, and driving to work, his speed showed his anger. A light rain was falling and he had to watch it. Manoeuvring into the passing lane and taking the expressway, he settled down to think.

'I just don't trust her.'

He was remembering the incident with the electrician.

But Tom was slipping off into a state of despair. Aware of it, he thought, 'Now is a good time to end it.'

He began a count-down, coldly calculating his approach, checking his speed and pouring gas to the engine. No cars were about, overhead; the orange lights were softened by the rain. Leaving the blue haze of the city behind, he hit the straight doing ninety. The windows fogged which left him cocooned with little of the real world intruding. About then, he hit the chicane that he loved to speed through, doing a hundred and ten. The abutment lay ahead, invisible in the murk.

Absorbed in the speed and critical conditions and hardly aware of his intention, he was startled, puzzled, and then terrified at what appeared before him. He swerved dangerously from the target, his breath coming in great sobs as he let the car slow down. He had seen for an instant, a car wrapped solid round the concrete nose.

'Some other guy,' he thought, 'with the same intent, had done it for real.'

He drove on, badly shaken but no longer feeling isolated from the world around him.

There was nothing he could do and with his mind in a furious turmoil, he coasted down onto the river road and headed for home. Soon the police would be notified and the gory business of removing the wreck would begin.

Tom never entertained his fancy again.

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langsandy

04.12.08 Front Page

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