Immolation

Immolation

03-15 April 1991

20 years old

Jenny sighed and drew her bags closer to her body as a man with an overcoat slung over his arm sat beside her, stuffing his worn leather briefcase in the space behind their legs. His leg brushed against hers. She turned her head and stared out the window, swaying with the motion of the crowded train as it twisted its way through the city between grey dilapidated apartment buildings; the only places where an elevated its noise would be tolerated. She envisioned their occupants, like so many tired mice desperately scurrying to and fro within their maze-like trappings in futile attempts to find a way out of their personal hells.

She thought of the phone call to her mother.

“Hi Mom, it’s Jen.”

“Jen, honey! I was just thinking about you when the phone rang and who should it be...! You know, Gladys was asking about you the other day, and I told her that—”

“Mom,” she interrupted. “I want to come home.”

“Sweetheart, what is it...? Oh. It’s him again, isn’t it?”

Jenny was silent.

“Well, what did he do this time?”

Jenny sniffled quietly, hoping her mother didn’t hear. But Dierdre did, and her voice softened. “Of course, sweetie. Come on home. I’ll have your room ready for you. Your father and I are always happy to have you home. You know how much we love you. We really miss you.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’ll take the ten-forty tomorrow, so I should be at the station by twelve.” Tear were running down Jenny’s face, but her voice was steady; much practice had made her adept at such control.

“Tomorrow? How about this afternoon? There still time, isn’t there? Really, don’t you think it would be better—”

“I can’t, Mom. I’ll be at the station tomorrow at twelve. Bye.” She hung up. I love you, she whispered softly in the darkness of her apartment.

Now, less than twenty-four hours later, Jenny was on the El, beginning her journey home. Still staring complacently out the window, she became acutely aware of the man’s thigh pressed softly against her own. She could feel its warmth and solidness as she stirred and looked down into her lap. Her fingers twisted and entwined themselves helplessly into impossible finger-knots.

“If you don’t stop that, they’ll get stuck that way, and then where will you be?”

Jenny started and looked up at the stranger beside her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” His blue eyes crinkled becomingly as he smiled. “My name’s Davids. Jackson Davids, but everyone calls me Jack.”

In one fluid motion, he turned in his seat and offered Jenny his hand. She flinched involuntarily, but then took his hand in hers and shook it firmly.

“I’m, uh... I’m Jennifer Waylan.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jennifer Waylan.”

She assayed him briefly, taking inventory of his good-natured character. She noted his honest blue eyes set in a handsome face unmarred by lines of anger or hostility, and his full, gentle mouth that seemed ready to smile at the slightest provocation, ready to…

She cleared her throat. “I’m going home to visit my parents for a few days.”

“Any specific reason?”

When she paused, he added, “That is, if I’m not being too personal.”

Jenny once again looked into his face. She could see nothing but honesty and open curiosity. “No. Just a sabbatical of sorts. I own an art gallery here in the city and I just opened a particularly gruelling show for a particularly difficult artist. In fact, he’s debuting with us. I think he’s going to make it. He has what it takes. ”

“He’s that good?”

“No, but he’s got the attitude. Lots of attitude.”

Jack laughed. “Well, maybe I’ll drop by sometime. I’m looking for something for my condo. Maybe you could help.”

Jenny’s faced darkened, and then something caught his eye. He reached out slowly, delicately. “What’s this?”

Jenny pulled back and looked down at her lap again, her fingers resuming their intricate knotting. “It’s nothing.”

Jack frowned. After a brief moment, he reached into his suit coat and pulled out a business card. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “I you come across anything special at the gallery—or if you need anything—please, don’t hesitate to call me, okay?”

Jenny took the card, stuffing it into the front pocket of her backpack. His look of genuine concern was not lost on her. “Thank you,” she murmured.

The train came to a halt and Jack slid his briefcase out from its niche behind their legs. Thinking twice, he set it down again in front of them and covered Jenny’s hands with his. “I meant what I said about calling. If you need anything at all…” He left the rest unsaid. Her head was bent and he lowered his to look at her. “Okay?”

Jenny nodded. “Okay,” she said in a small voice. “Thank you.”

Jack squeezed her hands lightly before he stood and jumped off the train just as the doors began to close. Jenny sighed and looked out the window. As the train began to move, she caught sight of Jack walking toward a stairway leading to the pavement below. At that moment, he looked up and their eyes locked. Hers pleaded, Rescue me. His pleaded, Let me help.

At eleven forty-five, the train pulled into the station. Jenny gathered her bags and stepped off the train, breathing in the fresh clean air of the countryside. She looked around and spied her mother. Walking toward each other, they met near the centre of the parking lot.

“Mom,” she said, putting her bags down on the asphalt. A big smile spread over her face as they hugged, and she ignored the pain it caused her. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Why don’t you come home more often, sweetheart?” Dierdre pulled away to look at her daughter and a shadow passed over her face.

Jenny looked down, ashamed, but not for herself.

“I fell…” she began.”

“Like hell, you did. It’s him, isn’t it? It’s that Tom.” Deirdre’s face wrinkled with distaste. “My God, I can’t even say his name without wanting to spit.”

“Mom…” Jenny looked into her mother’s face and winced at the hatred and helplessness she saw there. But what hurt her the most—more than the purpling bruise on her cheek, more than the blows of uncontrolled anger Tom had inflicted upon her physically and psychologically—was the look of pity in her mother’s eyes.

And that’s all it ever amounts to, Jenny thought. That’s all everything ever amounts to. Your friends, your mother, everyone looking down on you with pity and telling you what you should do. You should move, you should call the police, you should kick him out, you should kill him, youshouldyoushouldyoushould...

The voices crowded her mind, stumbling and tripping over each other. She closed her eyes as the tears threatened to fall, trying to block everything out.

“Honey, you don’t deserve this kind of treatment from anybody. You should—”

But Jenny wasn’t listening. Her mother’s voice buzzed softly, soothingly in the background as she was led to the car and her bags were thrown in the trunk.

“Honey?” Dierdre inquired as she started the car. When Jenny didn’t answer, Dierdre sighed and pulled out of the lot. Her daughter was lost to her for the moment and she recognized this. They drove home in silence.

The next morning, the small family ate breakfast together in an atmosphere of cheer and reunion. When Jenny’s father rose to go to work, he bent and kissed the top of his daughter’s head. “See you later, Muffin.”

“Bye, Dad.”

“Miles? When do you think you’ll be home? I want to have dinner ready.”

“Same time, Dee. About six-thirty.” He kissed her lightly on the mouth on his way out. “Bye, Sugar.” He nibbled gently on her ear and nuzzled her neck.

Dierdre pushed him away, blushing. “Jenny’s here,” she warned, smiling.

“She’s a big girl, ain’tcha Muffin? She knows what goes on.” Miles laughed heartily and pulled his wife closer, planting a big, noisy kiss on her lips, and slapped her backend playfully before he pulled away and headed for the garage door. “I’ll see you two bee-yoo-tee-full ladies later tonight.” And he was out the door.

“Oh my. That man!” Dierdre complain, still blushing and her eyes sparkling. “I don’t know what to do with him. I just don’t know where he gets it. Come on, Sweetie. Help me clean up.”

Jenny looked up from her plate where she’d been stirring her eggs around absently, punching holes in her toast in multiples of five with the tines of her fork. She held the fork in front of her. The middle tine was bent. “Hmm?”

Dierdre turned around. She looked at her daughter intently, then sighed. “Never mind.” She walked over and picked up Jenny’s plate. “Are you finished here? Why don’t you watch some TV? I hear Oprah’s finally got something on worth watching today.”

Jenny pushed herself away from the table. “Okay, Mom.”

She wandered into the living room and sat heavily on the sofa. Picking up the remote, she turned on the TV, switching aimlessly from channel to channel. Soon, her mother came in and sat down beside her.

“Sweetie,” she began. “I think we need to have a little talk.”

“What is it, Mom?”

“Tom.”

“Mom…”

“Jenny, you have to leave him. Get him out of your life!”

“Mom, please…”

“Look how he treats you! He abuses you. You don’t deserve treatment like that! Why do you punish yourself like this? What have you done to make yourself believe that this is okay, to make yourself submissive to this? You’re a bright woman, with a successful business. You own and run your own art gallery! How could you hate yourself so much?”

“Mom, I don’t hate myself—”

 “You must hate yourself if you insist on staying with that, that—”

“But Mom, I love him…” She looked up at her mother with pleading eyes. Help me, they said.

“Sure, you love him. But does he love you back? What has he done to show his love for you?”

“He loves me…”

“But what has he done to show it!”

“He…” Tears ran down Jenny’s face.

“He beats you! That’s what he’s done, Jennifer. He beats you!”

Jenny sat crying softly into the arm of the sofa. It was safe to cry here, in her mother’s home, and she had so many tears.

Dierdre moved and wrapped her arms around her daughter, burying her face into Jenny’s long, dark brown hair. It was still fragrant from that morning’s washing, and the heat of Jenny’s damp neck intensified the scent.

“Honey, why do you do this to yourself? You’re not only hurting yourself, but you’re hurting your father and me.” Dierdre paused for a moment. “Sweetie, I just don’t understand it. You didn’t grow up in an abusive home. Your father never laid a hand on either of us. He never even kicked the dog, when we had one. He’s the most gentle—”

Jenny mumbled and Dierdre leaned forward. “What?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about this, anymore.”

“But Jenny, I don’t think you realize how important—”

Jenny sat up, pushing her mother away from her and rising in sudden fury. “Goddammit, Mom! I said I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m fine! I fell! Now will you just leave me alone! Stop butting into my life!”

Deirdre’s voice hardened with hurt. “I was just trying to help you, Jennifer.”

“Well, I don’t need your help, or anyone else’s! Just leave me alone!”

“Then why are you here? Why have you come home with bruises on your face?”

Instead of answering, Jenny spun around and flew up the stairs.

Moments later, Dierdre heard the bedroom door slam. She sank back into the couch and sighed. She was resigned. She didn’t know what else to do.

Jenny ran up the stairs and into her childhood room, slamming the door behind her. She flung herself onto her unmade bed and sobbed quietly. The passion of her emotions quickly exhausted her and she soon fell asleep. When she awoke near five o’clock that afternoon, she groaned softly. She had slept the day away.

Images of Tom flashed through her head like slides projected onto a screen. She saw his face naturally held in an expression of perpetual anger and hostility. She saw the way he grinned, his mouth contorting into an evil grimace, and the way his nostrils flared just before he raised his fists to pummel her senseless; the way he kissed her when they made love soon after, hard and without compassion, just like his lovemaking, his breath smelling of alcohol, his body unwashed, reeking of stale sweat. She thought of all the excuses she made for him.

Pushing these thoughts out of her mind, she brought in new ones, the few pleasant images she had of Jack. His happy, blue eyes and the way the crinkled when he smile; his heartfelt laughter missing the note of mocking derisiveness that she had grown accustomed to; the way he impulsively reached out to her cheek when he’d seen her face and gently held her hands, making sure she’d call him; the way their legs had pressed enticingly against each other… She knew that he was instinctively gentle, and that he would never lay a hand on her in anger.

She flipped onto her back and pulled out his card from her backpack, absently thumbing the corners, reading the raised lettering, silver on black:

Jackson Davids

Davids and Sons Architecture

“Where practicality and style go hand in hand.”

The phone number swam before her tear-swollen eyes as she struggled with indecision.

There was a soft knock at the door. “Jenny, can I come in?”

Jenny quickly wiped her eyes. “Sure, Dad.”

“Are you okay, Muffin?”

“Yeah, I was just sleeping. How was work?”

“It was fine. The same. But I spent the day worrying about you.”

“Oh, Dad. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. You don’t need to worry.”

Miles was silent for a moment, and then sat beside her on the bed. “That’s quite a bruise on your face. How did you get that?”

Jenny’s hand went up reflexively and tenderly cupped her cheek. “I fell.” She felt the tears well up again and looked away.

“That’s what your mother told me. Now, why don’t you tell me what really happened?”

Jenny’s eyes began to overflow, but she refused to let herself cry out loud. Her father reached out and took her in his arms.

“Ssh. It’s okay. Let it all out. Just cry. Cry as hard as you want and we can talk when it’s all over.” He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay, Muffin. We’ll take care of everything.”

For the first time in two years, for nearly as long as she’d been living with Tom, Jenny let herself really cry. She cried long and loud and hard. When she was finished, she leaned hiccoughing against her father’s chest, listening to his ample stomach growl and protest for food. She smiled faintly. “We should go eat.”

“Not until we get things settled here. I think I can take the wait. Or do without it, no pun intended.”

Jenny smiled wanly. Dad and his puns, she thought.

After a few minutes, she took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak. “Tom hit me.”

Miles remained silent, encouraging her to continue.

“He hits me a lot. More than a lot. He hits me all the time. Almost every day. He leaves these bruises on my arms and legs and back, and sometimes I get so sore that I can’t drag myself out of bed in the morning.”

“But he hits you in the face, took doesn’t he?” It wasn’t a question.

“Only when he gets really angry. It’s usually because he’s had a bad day at work and takes it out on me. It’s okay, though. I understand. It’s my fault for setting him off, when I know better.”

“What do you mean, it’s okay? It’s not okay. This guy is a psycho, honey. What do you tell the people at work when you’re not coming in?”

“I usually tell them I’m sick, I have cramps or something like that.”

“What about when he hits you in the face? Do you tell them that you fell?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I can hide it behind my makeup. It’s not usually this bad.”

“He beats you, and hits you in the face, and you tell all your friends, the people who love you, that you ell. You sit there and lie and make up excuses to all these people who want to help you. Why do you do that? Do you think you’re fooling anyone? You’re not, you know.”

Jenny sighed and said simply, “I love him.”

“You like it when guys hit you so hard you can’t get out of bed the next day, that you have to make excuses for him to your friends and family to protect him?”

“Oh, Daddy. I’m so sorry.” Jenny burst into tears again. “I’ve disappointed you, too.”

“No, Muffin. You haven’t disappointed me. That slop you live with disappoints me. Sweetheart, you’re a smart girl, why don’t you get out of there? He’s no good for you. He’ll kill you if this goes on.”

“I can’t, Dad. I love him too much.”

“How can you love anyone who beats up on you like this? He’s no good for you. He’s dragging you down.”

“I know he is. I can feel it. It’s like a great big chain around my neck—the kind that anchor cargo ships—and hanging from it are great stones. They pull me under farther and farther every day, and I’m way over my head now, Dad. I’m drowning. I can’t get it off me because it’s gotten just too damn heavy. I don’t know what to do.”

She paused for a few minutes, and her father remained silent.

“I met this very nice, handsome man on the El yesterday,” she began. “He knows, Dad. I didn’t say anything to him, and I didn’t have to.” She put her hand to her cheek again. “He wants to help me.”

“Are you going to let him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Now, Jennifer. I want you to let this Jack help you. It sounds like he really cares, even if he doesn’t know you. Obviously, he knows a good thing when he sees it. Promise me that you’ll let him help you. Leave Tom. For my sake, for your mother’s. My God, for your own sake! And for chrissakes, call this guy, will you?”

Tears brimmed her father’s eyes. It was the first time Jenny had ever seen him cry.

“Please, Jennifer, Muffin, honey. Please. I can’t stand to see you like this. I love you, honey. We all love you so much.”

Jenny squirmed uncomfortably. “Okay, Dad. I’ll do it.” She looked down at her hands, watching them twist themselves into knots. She forced herself to disentangle them and reach out for her father’s hands. “I’ll do it.”

A few days later, Dierdre drove her daughter to the train station. “Now, Jen. Remember what we said. Remember what you promised.”

Jenny’s mouth twitched in a failing attempt to smile as she leaned over and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I will, Mom. Don’t worry. I’m a big girl, now. I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, well, you’re twenty-six years old. It’s about time you got your life back together again.”

Jenny frowned. “Mom…”

“What? I’m only trying to help. Now when you get home, I want you to call that Jackson right away, do you hear me?”

Jenny sighed and ground her teeth, making the muscles in her jaw jump and writhe. “Yes, Mom. I’ve really got to go. The train’s leaving soon.”

“Alright, sweetheart. Go on. Remember what I said.”

“Fine, Mom. Bye. I love you.”

Jenny turned and ran up the steps of the train. She was glad to finally get away from home again. It seemed to be just another place where people still told her what to do.

As the train pulled slowly away from the station, she watched her mother pull out of the parking lot and wave. Jenny knew that her mother couldn’t see her sitting obediently behind the green-tinted window of the train, so she didn’t bother to wave back. She didn’t want to.

She touched her cheek. It wasn’t tender anymore. The bruise was fading, now only an ugly yellow-green easily disguised with makeup and some artful shading. Reaching into the front pocket of her backpack, Jenny pulled out the worn black business card with silver lettering.

She’d slept with it every night, and it was now soft and bent. Jenny smiled sadly, thinking of Jack and making her choice.

On the El again, returning to the home she belonged to, the one she’d made for herself, Jenny stared out the window, swaying with the motion of the crowded commuter train as it twisted its way through the city between grey dilapidated apartment buildings. She envisioned their occupants, like so many tired mice desperately scurrying to and fro within their maze-like traps in futile attempts to find a way out of their personal hells.

Only rarely did one make the escape.

At her stop, Jenny gathered her bags and exited the train. She stood silent and still on the platform as the train pulled away, thinking about the choices she’d made and the worn business card she’d left lying on the seat.