On the Fire Escape
Was it the fear of being alone that forced her to stay? Or was it the fear of proving all of her friends and family correct in their assumption that Peter was a repeat offender of the most basic of rules of long-term commitment: monogamy? Each time he said it would be his last, though she knew all too well how cliché such a line was. Why had she let it go on for so long with so much deception?
She sat on the wrought-iron fire escape contemplating the future of her relationship with him. Gazing onward down her street, she watched as a sweaty and quite exhausted man turn a wrench in a seemingly vain effort to open the fire hydrant for his children to play in. The day was stifling and the children, much like Grace, could do for some nourishment. Neighbors watched in amazed fascination, not in any way attempting to help the poor soul but making jokes about his lack of physical strength and his predeliction for listening to the occasional Mariah Carey chart-topper. Sweat dripped copiously off his brow as he struggled in turning the bolt loose.
Grace smiled a bit, remembering a similar time when her father tried to attach a weather vane atop the pitch in their garage roof. It had been one of the hottest summers on record and her father, ever committed to his home’s upkeep, refused to succumb to the heat. Grace’s mother chided her husband as she entertained the neighbors, who had assembled for an Independence Day barbecue. Despite all odds, he firmly attached the implement and proved the man he was. After he had died some years after that event from a heart attack, Grace always remembered and cherished her father’s commitment to both his home and family.
A cardinal chirped off in the distance, snapping Grace back from her respite from reality. The man was still struggling with the wrench. Grace twirled her auburn hair with her fingers, tying it into a ponytail.
In college, Peter had been seemingly more devoted to Grace and she knew that. She was in most of the same classes as he, as that was how they met, and she helped him on more than one occasion in cheating his way to a passing grade. This was a revelation; Grace noticed the theme in Peter’s relationship with her.
She did have happy moments with him, however. He had helped her through the death of her grandmother, as well as the dramatic antics of her mother when she told her she was moving to Brooklyn. He held her hands the entire time and that, at the time, made all the difference. That was two years ago though, well before the first incident of cheating, as well as the second and third.
Had they not talked about eventually taking the next step? Had they not spoken about moving in together when their respective leases were due to expire? Had they not named their potential children?
She warmed at this prospect; she had always wanted to have children. More than anything, more than her prospective career and certainly more than being a wife, she wanted in earnest to be a mother. Her first son would be named after her father, while her first daughter would be named after her grandmother.
Down the street, an uproarious outburst. The man had put too much force into turning the bolt and lost his balance, stumbling onto the sidewalk.
Grace brushed the interruption from thought away, looking skyward. She had oft envisioned the home Peter and her would create.
A solitary question crept into Grace’s mind: Do you really see Peter as the father of your children?
She had no idea where the question had come from, but thought about its answer nonetheless, as people are wont to do when the subconscious breaches protocol in such a manner.
She thought of her own father and the commitment he had always shown to her mother. Though the marriage was far from the stuff of 1950’s television, there was not a day that went by when Bob didn’t tell Veronica that he loved her. Their relationship had its share of tumult, but there was never a question about where their marriage stood.
Furthermore, she thought about who she had become. She had allowed her boyfriend to not only cheat on her, but do so repeatedly. She granted him permission to do so, which only made her shudder in shame. He demeaned her in front of friends, he held her emotions ransom, and he publicly disrespected her.
You always have a choice though. If you put up with it, you’re allowing it to continue.
Many times she had been lying on the couch, wondering what the current status of her relationship was. Many nights she would lose sleep over wondering who her boyfriend was sleeping with, as well as her next appointment to get tested. Too many.
If she couldn’t handle life with him at this point, she knew that the answer to the question was a resounding and unanimous “no.”
It was in that moment that she decided to leave him, and she felt a surge of happiness she hadn’t felt in quite some time. She did have a choice, and she knew that Peter hadn’t the courage to make it on his own.
Down the street, applause. The bolt loosened, and water sprayed down upon the eager children. The man sat on the edge of the hydrant, took a rag from his back pocket, and wiped his brow.