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A Survivor's Tale

       That morning a norther blew into the little community of Curry, Texas. Driving through town, Clare didn't mind the inky black clouds that raced to block out the morning sun; the resulting darkness matched her mood perfectly. She resented being mysteriously summoned to an interstate truck stop diner at 6:30 in the morning by her ex-husband, Donnie. She also hated the implied threat of violence if she didn't come and the fear that caused her to respond to that threat. After she found out what Donnie wanted, she would make it clear to him that this was the last time he was going to bully his way into her life making demands. Of course, telling Donnie he couldn't have access to her anymore meant an unlisted phone number and certain relocation. Disagreeable thoughts of disrupting her whole life just to keep Donnie out of it lingered until she reached the truck stop diner, a place called the Longhorn Restaurant.
      After pulling into the parking lot, Clare turned off the motor but made no move to get out of the car. Working up the courage to go in, she wondered what Donnie wanted from her now. Over the last two years the only time he'd contacted her was to discuss the sale of property they owned together. But that property had been sold and the money divided. That's why, when he called the night before and launched into a drunken tirade bent on getting her to meet him the next morning, she'd resisted. But when he responded by threatening to come to her home, Clare agreed to meet him as long as it was in public. After Donnie set a time and place, she pressed him for a reason and was rewarded with a dial tone.
       A long audible sigh escaped Clare's lips. One thing was for sure sitting in the car wasn't going to give her any answers. The only way to find out what was on Donnie's mind was to go into the diner. Clare had one leg out of the car when it began to rain. "Could this get any better?" she muttered to herself, turning up the thick collar of her wool jacket.
       Running through the parking lot didn't help, Clare was soaked by the time she burst through the double glass doors of the diner. Although the place was crowded to overflowing, no one seem to take notice of the tall, thin red-headed woman standing by the doorway drenched from head to toe. Just barely inside the entrance Clare could feel an air of urgency. This was a restaurant where the diners did not linger; they inhaled their food and left. Rough looking truckers lined the counters and occupied the booths. Drivers fresh from sleeping all night in their trucks ate breakfast; others, half numb from driving all night, ate nothing, filling up on coffee before resuming their trek cross country. Waitresses in pink uniforms and white aprons buzzed around the customers with coffee pots and plastic pitchers, taking orders and refilling cups and glasses.
        Wiping the rain from her eyes, Clare searched the sea of truckers for Donnie. Her gaze settled on the far corner of the restaurant in the smoking section. There, in a booth surrounded by a blue haze of cigarette smoke, was a man who resembled her ex-husband. Clare was still trying to make up her mind when the man returned her gaze and beckoned with a weak wave of his hand. Unbuttoning her jacket as she went, Clare cautiously approached booth.
         "Donnie?" she whispered when she reached the table.
         "Sit down, Scarlet," the man said in Donnie's voice.
          Sliding in on the opposite side of the booth, Clare couldn't help but stare in disbelief. This couldn't be her ex husband. Donnie was lean and handsome; this man was overweight, his face rounded and softened by fat. Donnie's hair was full and sandy blond, this man's hair was receding and streaked with gray. Donnie had a tan year around and his eyes were a clear blue while this man's complexion was florid and his eyes were a rheumy gray. The man pretending to be Donnie was dressed in a stained plumber's uniform, his gut spilling over his belt. Only when the stranger flashed a charming smile, showing perfectly brilliant white teeth, did Clare finally recognize her ex-husband.
         "Donnie, what--"
         "Happened? High blood pressure, blocked arteries, heart disease. 'Course it don't help that I don't eat right and I can't stop smokin' and drinkin'." Donnie laughed, taking a long pull on his cigarette before stubbing it out in an ash tray. Then as if to prove he was ill, he reached into his pants pocket and produced a pill bottle. He took a small white tablet out and popped it into his mouth. After washing it down with some orange juice, he returned his attention to Clare. "Damn, girl, you look good even soaked to the bone! But why'd you cut all that beautiful red hair, Scarlet?" He spoke softly and reached across the table to touch the short bangs plastered against Clare's forehead.
          Clare couldn't believe he thought he could touch her and grabbed Donnie's thick wrist before his hand reached her face and placed it back on his side of the table. "To keep creeps like you from pulling it out," she answered, staring fearlessly into his pale eyes. Before Donnie could respond, Clare decided she'd had enough reminiscing. "Ok, why am I here?" she demanded.
         "Whoa, you don't beat around the bush, do you," Donnie laughed, bobbing his head as if she'd just said something funny. But when he raised his eyes to hers the mirth was gone, replaced with the violent glare Clare remembered from their years together. "I got a call from your friend Cynthia. Seems she couldn't wait to brag about you writin' a book and it gettin' published right outta the gate plus the fat advance they gave you. Said it was all 'bout an abused wife. She told me you took most of it from a diary you wrote in when we was married." He paused as if he'd given her too much information for her to comprehend and was waiting for her to catch up.
          Clare didn't understand the point of Donnie's disclosure, the forth coming publication of her book was common knowledge in Curry. "And?" she prompted with a roll of her hand.
           "She said it was so good it'd probably end up on that Oprah's book club. Now, the way I see it, you owe me half of what that book's goin' to make, Scarlet." Donnie drew a cigarette from the package beside his orange juice glass and lit it, blowing the smoke directly in Clare's face.
           "W-what?" Clare choked, waving the smoke away.
           "Look, if I didn't beat on you when we was together, you wouldn't have had anythin' to complain about in that stupid diary. No diary, no book. I deserve half of those proceeds."
           Clare stared at her ex husband in disbelief. Did Donnie really think he had a snowball's chance of getting any of her royalties because he beat her? She decided she wasn't going to listen to any more and began to button up her jacket. "You're crazy, Donnie."
           Donnie grabbed her arm and squeezed it tightly. "No, Scarlet, I just know my rights. I'll take you to court to prove it."
          Clare jerked her arm free of his grasp saying, "You mean sue me? You wouldn't have a prayer."
          "Maybe not. But I sure could stop that book from bein' published as soon as I filed and it'll cost you your precious advance just for lawyers."

         Clare's heart sank like a stone. She knew that frivolous suits were brought into court all the time by people who had no intention of winning but every intention of forcing a sizable out-of-court settlement instead. The sensible thing would be to reach an agreement now before it went any further but Clare wasn't known for being sensible and she'd worked too hard writing that damn book to let Donnie win that easily. "So sue me," she said defiantly.
         "You sure you want to stop publication?"
         Clare didn't have to say anything, the answer was in the fear etched across her face. "Look," he sighed, balancing his cigarette on the lip of the cheap tin ashtray in front of him. "At least think about it before you say anythin'. In fact, I'll offer you a deal. I'll just take a third of your proceeds if you don't make me use a lawyer to file. Why don't you think about it while I make a phone call and take a leak?" Clare watched helplessly as Donnie heaved his bloated body out of the booth and made his way across the diner to the men's room.
         Left alone, Clare was suddenly overcome by the greasy smells of cooking, sweat and sour cigarette smoke that permeated the air around her. Her head began to pound and she reached into her jacket pocket for the bottle of Tylenol she kept there and took two tablets out. She succeeded in getting the attention of a passing waitress and requested a glass of ice water.
         Glancing at Donnie's empty orange juice glass and not wanting to waste a trip on a free glass of ice water the waitress asked, "Does your husband need a refill?"
          Clare, distracted by the pain in her head and the possibility of paying Donnie for beating her, nodded absentmindedly. She hardly noticed when the waitress returned with not only a glass of ice water but orange juice, too. After the waitress left, Clare took two pills with a sip of water and stared out the window at the wind and rain raging outside. How had this happened? A few hours ago she was an author about to publish her first novel and very much in control of her life. Now it was as if the two intervening years hadn't happened at all and she was still letting Donnie victimize her. Just the fact that she was sitting there proved that no matter how much time had passed he was still able to overpower her in a heartbeat. When a tumbleweed rolled by the window, pushed by the raging wind, it occurred to Clare that she was just like that dried up old weed. She would be forever blown through life by Donnie's demands unless she did something about it. But what? If she fought him in court she'd win but it would cost her a lot in time and money. If only there was something she could threaten him with, something that would make him feel it was dangerous to cross her. Clare shook her head regretfully. Even if there was something she could threaten Donnie with, she wouldn't use it. Threatening him reduced her to his level, she admitted to herself. Better to concentrate on how much she could afford to give him.
           As she silently crunched numbers in her head, Clare noticed Donnie's medicine bottle by his cigarette pack. Curious, she reached for it and read the label. "Important: Take as prescribed unless otherwise directed by physician. One tablet two times daily to lower blood pressure." Donnie wasn't kidding, he really was sick. She wondered if he followed the warning. This was powerful stuff, if one pill could lower your blood pressure enough to prevent a heart attack it made sense that more than one could lower it to zero and kill you. She was about to return the bottle to it's place when she abruptly changed her mind and emptied it's contents into her coat pocket before putting the empty bottle back beside the cigarettes. Then she dropped two pills into his new glass of orange juice.
           Clare was calmly drinking her ice water when Donnie made his way back from the men's room. Donnie smiled as he slipped into his side of the booth. "Scarlet! You remembered how much I liked OJ, I'm touched," he said. Then staring out the window, he added softly, "Would you just look at it blow. Uh--I'm not goin' to kid you. I aint workin' as much as I use to, I lost my health benefits when I changed jobs last month and because of these pre-existin' clauses in insurance policies nowadays I can't even get into a hospital if I need to. I know you think I'm stoopin' pretty low here but the truth is, I need money."
            When Donnie failed to face Clare, she was certain he was trying to hide tears. She began to soften. There was something of the old Donnie in his voice; the Donnie she'd loved before the alcohol and constant abuse took him away. Maybe he did deserve some of her proceeds, she had based one of the characters on him without his permission. Clare was about to offer him a fourth of her profits when he looked back at her. Instead of teary eyed desperation, a slight smirk tugged at his swollen lips and conceit lit his face. He was convinced he had her cornered.
             "Drink your juice." she whispered, pushing the glass toward him.
              "Don't mind if I do," he chuckled, downing the eight ounces in one gulp. As soon as he swallowed the last of the juice he gave her a sour look. "That tasted terrible. They're crazy if they think I'm payin' a buck fifty for that." Donnie peered into the bottom of the glass. "Hey--what's that? It looks like a couple of--"
             "Pills?" Clare asked quietly.
              Donnie glared at Clare, "What?"
              Clare gestured toward the empty pill bottle with a slight nod and Donnie grabbed it. He didn't have to open it, he knew by its weight it was empty. "You bitch! You didn't--" he whispered.
              Clare smiled.
             "Oh, no--" he gasped. The florid color in his face deepened and his eyes seemed about to burst from their sockets. His left hand suddenly flew to his chest.
                Trying to get Donnie's attention, Clare grabbed his right wrist. She wanted to tell him to calm down, it was just a couple of Tylenol in his orange juice, that she just wanted to scare him--when Donnie looked directly at her. Even in distress his eyes were filled with undisguised hatred for her. Clare could feel the pulse in his wrist racing and remained silent. Then, like a motor locking down from lack of oil, Clare felt his pulse stop. Donnie's eyes rolled back under his eyelids and he slumped forward. Staring at his motionless form Clare knew all she had to do was to call out and something could still be done. He could be revived. He would live.
               Instead, Clare relaxed her hold on Donnie's wrist and glanced around the diner to see if anyone was watching. Satisfied that no one was looking in their direction, she pried the bottle from his clenched fist and put it in her jacket pocket with the rest of his pills. After watching the second hand sweep across the face of her wrist watch a couple of times, she stood up and screamed, "Somebody call 911--I think he's having a heart attack!"
                Although the diner was on the interstate outside of the city limits it seemed to Clare that the paramedics got there incredibly fast. They pulled Donnie from the booth and laid him prone on the dirty floor to do the chest compression's and mouth to mouth breathing of CPR. After watching them struggle over Donnie for ten minutes Clare was aware of someone tugging on her elbow. A patrolman was asking her to come with him. Once they were a few feet away from Donnie the patrolman began to gently question Clare about what happened. Clare didn't lie, she told him that they were talking when Donnie grabbed his chest and slumped forward. Half way through her description of the events one of the paramedics came up behind the patrolman, tapped him on the shoulder and whispered something. The patrolman nodded and told Clare he was sorry but Donnie was gone.
               Clare wiped a tear from her cheek and said, "Does that mean I can go now?"
                It was still storming when Clare left the parking lot of the truck stop. In her rear view mirror she saw the wind whip the rain-spotted sheet covering Donnie's body as the paramedics loaded the stretcher into an ambulance. Heading north on the interstate toward Amarillo, Clare missed the exit that would've taken her back to Curry. Telling herself it didn't have anything to do with Donnie's sudden departure from this earth and that she'd catch the next exit, she continued driving northward.
                When she was within fifty miles of Amarillo, Clare pulled off the interstate into a roadside rest area. No matter how ambivalent she felt about Donnie's death, she'd just driven a hundred miles without intending to. She turned off the motor and watched the cold wind of the norther blow though the trees and tried to sort out what she was feeling. She knew one thing. The whole episode couldn't have gone any smoother than if she'd written it herself. In fact she was sorry her novel was going to press soon or she'd revise the ending so that the heroine not only survives her abusive marriage and leaves her husband, but gets revenge without planning to. Clare smiled. No, that wouldn't work. It would make her character less sympathetic and no one would believe it.
                   Watching the bare branches of the trees thrash around in the wind Clare remembered the moment in the diner when she recognized Donnie was in trouble and could have saved him with a word. She winced remembering the hatred in his eyes and how it lead her to a last minute decision. But if she had saved him, she reasoned, it would never be over for her. She would always be available for Donnie to abuse one way or another. If not extortion, just the knowledge he could call or come by her home anytime would haunt her no matter how many times she unlisted her phone or how far away she moved. When she had chance to save him, she simply decided not to. Clare started her car turned it toward home. At the end of her book the conflicts were nicely resolved and her heroine, after going through the necessary changes, faced a bright future. Not so in reality. The only change Clare had endured was going from victim to victimizer and the only thing facing her in the future was learning to live with what she'd become.
                    That night as Clare approached Curry, the little town was still being pounded by wind and rain. As she watched the fat raindrops slam into her windshield Clare wondered if this storm was ever going to pass.