Page 7 of Under His Control

White cloud cover lights the way well enough as Ruth and I head down the hill. The snowfall becomes heavier, the wind shoving and pulling at us from every direction.

Ruth’s home is a red brick house with a small square of front lawn. Snow blankets the roof. The flower bushes around the porch are bundles of pointy sticks.

A dirty, red pick-up truck is parked on a severe angle across the driveway. More than half of it sits on the lawn, its front bumper almost touching the lone pine tree. A heavyset man in a black and brown plaid jacket is sprawled on the ground beside the truck.

He’s snoring as if he’s in his warm bed instead of lying on the cold, hard ground. An acrid smell wafts from him in the breeze.

Ruth curls her upper lip. “He pissed himself. He always does when he gets this drunk.”

The disgust on her face makes me feel bad for the guy. This is painfully familiar. I’d dive into the bottle looking for an escape from how awful I felt, only to wind up losing my dignity and becoming a burden to Elizabeth on a few occasions.

“What’s his name?” I ask.

“Wayne.”

I squat and slap Wayne’s cheek a couple of times.

“Come on, Wayne. Time to get up.”

Wayne slurs something unintelligible then rolls over onto his side. Tossing cold water on him is probably the only thing that would jolt him out of his drunken sleep.

“We’re going to have to carry him inside. I’ll lift him under his arms, you grab his feet.”

Ruth nods with grim determination. Together, we heave and carry Wayne up the driveway. His dead weight is like a boulder. I almost slip going up backwards on the slush-covered porch steps. Ruth showed up before I did the strength-training portion of my workout. This partially makes up for it.

“Just dump him here,” Ruth says once we’re past the front door’s threshold.

We set Wayne down on the wide mat. Ruth faces me with a grateful look.

“Thanks again. Mom’s at work, and the next closest house is ten minutes away. You were my only hope.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

She scowls down at Wayne still passed out on the mat. The stench of alcohol and urine is unbearable now that we’re inside.

“I almost left him out there. He’s lucky I have a conscience and don’t want to make Mom sad. She loves him for some reason.”

As someone who’s walked in Wayne’s shoes, I could probably offer some advice. I don’t know much about him or their family though. Nothing seems safe to say aside from empty and potentially false platitudes like, He’ll come around someday.

I don’t want to get involved in other people’s drama either. I’ve had enough of my own to last a lifetime. I turn to the door and step over Wayne, eager to be done with my neighbourly duty.

She gives me a hopeful look. “Do you want a cup of tea or hot cocoa?”

I shake my head. “I should head back before the storm gets worse. Have a good night.”

Snow and the wind assault me all the way up the hill. I finish my workout when I’m home. After a shower, I make dinner and sit down at the kitchen table with my laptop.

Scrolling through rentals in other remote towns doesn’t last long. Even if I hired a real estate agent, I don’t have the energy or the will to uproot my life again. The unfairness of it all angers me too.

“They screwed me over once. Now they’re doing it again.”

If only a voice had whispered to run away when I met Alyssa at that charity event twelve years ago. Then again, my warning sign was my mother saying, “She reminds me of myself.”

I abandon my laptop for a video game in the living room. My irritation disappears as I eliminate enemy targets in a first-person-shooter. Penelope crosses my mind when I glance outside.

The storm is in full swing. Everything is white, snow pelts at the rattling windows, the wind an angry howl. I wouldn’t want to drive in that.

Did she get caught in the storm, or did she stay in town for the night?