Circles
Hours of unseen messages cluttered her screen. It was the life she’d been trying to mute as she circled the same
stretch of worn, run down houses that occupied the mundane village for the third time.
She must keep pressing forward because without the air rushing ceaselessly in from both side windows, without each
defiant press of the accelerator, she ends up back there, the marriage cauldron that she is endeavouring to navigate,
threatening to bubble over. The brown uncut lawn and bare porch covered in dead leaves and bird shit. As uninviting
as the lonely asphalt stretched out before her.
These feelings only began to overwhelm her recently, after Brian’s accident. Spending hours at the care facility,
coming home aching and then having to look after the kids, clean up the house, cook dinner and all the other menial
tasks that are required of a person who could walk normally. Whilst Brian sat there on his lounge chair, pointing out
all the insignificant imperfections like a dangling cobweb that he couldn’t take care of.
Just moments ago, her fingers were trembling on the cool steering wheel, waiting for some sort of solace or at least,
inspiration. She tells herself that all she had to do is, put the key in the ignition, pull the gear lever down, and drive
away. No different to as if she were going grocery shopping by herself on a regular weekend afternoon.
This solitary life will suit him, she thinks. Brian, who has always perceived everyone as obstacles getting in the way of
his perfect organized life, suits solitude. She recalled his disdainful sigh every time she arrived home fifteen minutes
late or forgot to turn off the light - it would be these pedantic reactions to most things that would make her burn with
adrenaline-fueled rage, not so much the lack of recognition. After all, silence was a blessing nowadays.
Sweat gradually gathers on the steering wheel, making her rub her hand on her jeans every so often. No. She has to
turn back. She can't just leave him. What about the kids? Where is she going to live? What's he going to do? She
fights the impulse to pass their - his - house, trying to diffuse the sparks of shared memories forged with the passing
of five years. Her eyes dart around the car for distractions, but the radio catches her attention. Bad choice. There
they are. The dented buttons from one of the first Christmases they shared when they hauled a small pine tree into
the then new Toyota, but one too hard of a push sent the tip straight into the front radio. And so, for the whole trip
back, the silences between radio's spluttering were filled with their off-tuned notes and best impressions, making
them weak with laughter.
'Don't worry babe, I 'II fix it when we get home,' Brian assured her, almost unable to breathe.
He was true to his word back then, but since the accident, any sort of household task became a task pushed to the
end of the waiting queue, making anyone wonder why it was even put there in the first place. Week by week, more
car trips turned into awkward silences, the warmth that once formed between them slowly dimmed like an abandoned
fire. Maybe he'll realise now. She forces herself to believe while she reluctantly circles again.
She stops in front of the scorched lawn as the gears hit neutral, peering through the window from the discoloured
driveway. The deceptively harmless silhouette of him lying there on the floor was enough to immediately remind her
of last week. She was baking her treasured fruit cake and Brian had entered the room offering to help. But the only
thing he ended up helping was the fire inside of her as he fussed over how her batter wasn’t thick enough or how the
fruit was cut too big or too small. Beginning to pick at every little thing, like he had been the one making these since
he was a kid. Soon she succumbed to his nonsensical demands, stepping aside and letting him take care of the task
alone, only for it to end with him groaning in pain as he reached for the “whole wheat flour” rather than using the allpurpose one that lay rest on the table next to him.
“Go lie down before you make things worse” she exclaimed.
His insufferable habit of doing everything his own way had always pissed her off. But she’d always managed to find a
way to deal with it, but every time she did so, it got harder to contain. But at that moment, and for the first time in a
while, she broke, she snapped back. And when her kids came into the room surprised by the sudden wail, asking if
they were fighting? She dutifully smiled saying that it was nothing, and they were getting along just fine, feeling
flickers of resentment licking their way up her spine. She could almost smell the acrid smoke.
Back to the drive gear.
With her eyes fixed on the asphalt again, she watches the white, controlling road lines fade under the car. Her hands
seem to have steadied as she maneuvers the metal lever to the glowing 'M,' hearing the gears click logically into
place for manual control. Instead of making the usual U-turn, she firmly presses down on the accelerator, which
sends an instant thrill down her spine.
As the bright ember trails of the evening sun surrenders to the charcoal sky, she only now realises how long she's
been driving in circles. A click of the still-spluttering radio blocks out the buzzing of futile notifications, while the
opened windows seemed to diminish the pungent smell of his cologne, clearing her fogged head. And just for a
content moment, she decides to go on humming, pushing on with the hope that the road in front of her stretches to
the horizon.