Short Story

The Motor Bike

“Daddy can I have my toy back?” asked the little boy, sitting at the kitchen table. “Now why would you ask for something like that? I’m holding it,” said his father in reply. “But I want to play--” he stopped short as his father smashed his spider man action figure to pieces on the floor in front of him, stepping on the tiny arms and legs, breaking bones with the toe of his dirty brown boot. The boy looked up at his father with tears forming in his eyes, and like the water breaking over the top of a dam, started to cry.
His father’s face contorted into an expression of disgust, and he raised a large, callused hand. “Don’t touch him!” a panicked voice exclaimed timidly from the background. Liz, his wife, stood in the kitchen over the beginnings of Sunday afternoon’s lunch.
Gerson raised himself out of his chair and screamed “Don’t you tell me what to do!” he picked up a piece of mail off the counter in front of her, “You have my name! You are raising my kid and living under my roof! If you had wanted a man to boss around, you should have thought about that before you married me!” He threw the piece of mail at her and turned to walk towards the door. “I loved you when I married you,” she said. She turned her back to him as she walked upstairs to quiet her screeching 4-year-old, who had run to his room for safety. As she took the first step up, a strong, rough hand grabbed her neck from the side. He tightened his grip, and slammed her head against the wall as he yelled “Don’t you ever insult me again, you ungrateful whore!” and with a last shove, he tramped out the door red-faced, the crooked screen door bouncing off its frame behind him.
She heard him start his motorbike, and she was left sobbing in the stairwell, each breath raking through her lungs like nails down canvas. As she listened to him roar away, she knew that like every other night, he was headed to the bar down town with his friends Taylor and Jane. Like every other night, he would return home fuming and full of that fire called alcohol, in need of someone to take it all out on. If never for a confidante or someone to console him, for that atleast, he would turn to her.
Her son made it down the stairs, and settled in her lap. She stroked his hair as she calmed herself. He looked up at her with his big brown eyes, and she saw the bruises all over his arms. That was when she realized, enough was enough. “ ‘Kay you… we’re goin’ out. Get your sneaks and I’ll put them on for you.” She picked her car keys off the side table and held her baby’s hand as they walked out the door. She sat him in his carseat, strapped him in well, and closed the door. She leaned against the car door and sighed, thinking of her decision. It weighed on her like a million pounds, but she knew it was the right thing. She knew that he would never agree to a divorce, after all, who would take care of him then? That would just make things worse. So this was the only way. “This is the only way… this is the only way,” she repeated to herself like a mantra. She got into the van, and started it. They rolled down the gravel driveway, the white van leaving a wake of dust.
She drove down the road, and stopped the van three driveways down from the Coopers’. Sure enough, in no time at all the three of them, Gerson, Jane, and Taylor were on their way out the door. “What are we doing, Mommy?” her son asked. “We’re waiting. Just be patient and maybe after we’ll go out for food. Play with your toy, okay?” She watched the three of them as they rode down the road, and as soon as she felt it safe, she started after them.
She followed them as they drove through town for a while. Jane and Taylor were in front, Gerson trailing behind on his beloved Harley. Liz grimaced at the thought of how he cherished that thing more than her and her son combined. He would never hit his bike.
The traffic light ahead turned red, and Gerson slowed, while Jane and Taylor hit the gas to beat it. This is the only way… this is my chance, she repeated over and over to herself. “Honey, close your eyes for a minute,” she told her son. She looked at the man who had been the singular generator of five years worth of pain and terror. She accelerated. She closed her eyes and waited for the impact. The crunch of metal on her front bumper, and the soft thud of Gerson’s body hitting the top of her car told her that she was free. The car behind her honked its horn and swerved, and she kept driving. Leaving the chaos of her actions behind her. She was free. “Okay baby,” she told her son, “You can open your eyes now. Everything is going to be okay."