Hold Her Down Page 2

  "Oh." She couldn't even muster fake enthusiasm. She let out a defeated sigh. "How long do you think you'll be gone?"

  "I leave tomorrow morning, and they hope to have me back by the following Tuesday, but you know how it goes."

  Elizabeth sighed again and pasted yet another pleasant look on her face. At least, she hoped it looked that way. She looked up at the calendar. The week held the typical entries – Sydney had dance tonight. Piano for both kids and a dentist appointment on Tuesday. Baseball and PTA meeting on Wednesday. Guess she'd have to skip the meeting. Again. Teddy had a spelling test on Thursday. Saturday held a birthday party for Sydney. No school next Monday, which meant another day that she had to entertain the kids. They were barely a month into school, and she was already behind on her overwhelming paperwork. Her shoulders fell and her head dropped.

  Life with a second grader and a kindergartener was always busy, especially when you were working full time. Elizabeth felt like she never got a chance to breathe. Something always needed to be addressed. Some fire needed to be put out. She looked around at the kitchen, with her counter covered in papers and dishes piled up in and around the sink. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to take deep calming breaths before she totally snapped. She balled her fists and pressed them tightly to her eyes, hoping that when she opened them, the house would miraculously be as organized as her calendar. Some days, she could pull it together and she felt like Helen Reddy, Martha Stewart and Supernanny all rolled into one. Other days, she felt like a hybrid of Mommy Dearest and Cruella de Ville. Today was a Mommy Dearest/Cruella kind of day. The thought of facing the week alone was too much for her to handle on a Monday morning.

  "Peter, since you're going away this week, do you think you can get the kids on the bus this morning. It'll be my only chance to get in early."

  Peter was pouring his coffee, spilling creamer on the counter. He stirred his coffee, licked the spoon and put it down on the counter, next to the drops of creamer. He didn't answer her before leaving the room to watch CNBC in the living room. Elizabeth let out another exasperated sigh and wiped the counter. She threw the spoon into the sink, startling the kids sitting at the counter, waiting to be served. She wished she could break every single dish in the sink. It took all the restraint she had not to start smashing plates. The only thing that stopped her was the knowledge that she would have to clean it all up. She was seriously on the verge of losing it. She wiped again, using too much force, and then proceeded to vigorously scrub the rest of the counter. Well, at least the part that was not covered in papers and shit. Elizabeth knew she needed to calm down. She bent over, resting her head on her arms on the newly cleaned counter. Sydney, ever-compassionate, even for a five-year-old, said, "Mommy, why are you sad?"

  Elizabeth steeled herself and raised her head, trying to make the rage go away. "I just have a case of the Mondays, that's all." She turned on her nice-Mommy voice. "What do you want for breakfast?"

  "Can I have eggs?" Sydney asked. Elizabeth looked at the clock. The kids needed to leave for the bus stop in twelve minutes. So much for getting to work early. "No, sweetie. We don’t have time. Tomorrow morning we'll plan better and have eggs then."

  This was her life. Every day. The same hectic rushing. The same refereeing. The same disdainful looks from her husband when she lost her shit. The same feelings of inadequacy in her marriage. The same feelings of guilt at being a working mom. The same feelings of failing to live up to the standards that the other mothers set. The same feelings of needing approval of the other mothers at school, to somehow reassure her that she was a good wife, mother and volunteer. Elizabeth's life was certainly not un-full, but it was unfulfilling. She dare not admit that out loud though. What would the other mothers at school think? It was pitiful, she knew. Elizabeth feared that if her marriage failed, as it seemed destined to, the other mothers at school would judge her and, in turn, her children would be ostracized. It was pitiful that here, in the face of her failing marriage, she cared more about what the school community thought, than about the prospect of losing her husband. It was stupid, she knew.

  Elizabeth tried. Lord knows, she tried to be the best wife and mother she could. She was not an idiot. She could tell where her life was heading. She knew it was only a matter of time before Peter stopped coming home at all. When he was home, all they did was bicker. They no longer saw eye-to-eye on anything. They really did not have a marriage anymore. She thought that this realization should devastate her; it didn't. It did, however, terrify her. Not because she feared the logistics of the situation—she had been on her own so much in the seven years since Teddy was born that she knew she could handle that aspect. She would hate it, but she could certainly handle it. She felt often, even on days when Peter was home, like she was a single parent, shouldering all of the responsibility alone. Rather, she was terrified of the financial burden. She knew of other women whose husbands had left them, and they were financially ruined. Teaching special education at a local preschool did not pay well. She was not financially stable without Peter's support.

  Somehow, Elizabeth managed to pull herself together, get the kids off to school and get to work. Dealing with fifteen three-and four-year-olds with various levels of disability was draining. By the time her day was done at 2 p.m., Elizabeth felt like she barely had the strength to walk to her car. The energy it took to repress her depression was considerable. It left her drained and disconnected. She drove, on autopilot, to the grocery store. She silently berated herself for not going on the weekend, but her free time was so precious that she hated to spend it at the market. She should have clipped coupons, because Peter was so tight with the money, but in her own passive aggressive manner, she purposely resisted out of spite. She wandered up and down the aisles, half in a daze, throwing items that looked appealing into the cart. Occasionally, she had to back track, forgetting that she needed onions for the stew, and then remembering that she needed tomato sauce for the pizza. With Peter gone all week, some of the pressure to produce a "real" meal was off, and Elizabeth fully planned on taking the easy way out this week. Sandwiches, breakfast for dinner (always a hit with the kids), and possibly fast food on Wednesday after baseball.

  This was the part of her life that Peter did not understand. The constant planning, thinking three steps ahead. The juggling. Peter went to work and came home. He traveled about once a month, but sometimes he was gone for two weeks at time. Everything fell on Elizabeth to balance, in addition to her career. Not that Peter understood, or respected it. Peter was resentful that Elizabeth had a career that did not pay well. She brought to the relationship student loans, which she had been slowly but diligently paying off. Peter was fortunate to have parents who could afford several years of college without passing the burden on to him. Elizabeth felt that she valued her education more for having to pay for it, where as Peter switched majors and switched schools several times before deciding on a career path. He was also resentful that she worked shorter days and on the school calendar, rather than fifty-two weeks per year. Fight after fight occurred over childcare, and how working a full day, fifty-two weeks per year was not feasible with two young elementary-school-age children. Peter could not see that after paying for before-school care, after-school care and vacation care, that the family would end up only with about a thousand dollars more for the longer work year. Originally, when they discussed planning a family, Elizabeth had always planned on staying home. She valued her education, and valued her career, but had no intention of having children simply to put them in daycare forty hours a week. It was her own personal set of beliefs, and she had always thought Peter was on board. Apparently, he was not. He felt that Elizabeth’s salary did not contribute enough to the household. He never considered how she contributed to the household in non-monetary ways.

  Meanwhile, Elizabeth was responsible for all of the housework, the grocery shopping, the cooking, laundry, and carting the kids from one activity to another. She covered days off from school, and w
hen the children were sick. She did all the homework, and all the school projects. She arranged her schedule to attend as many field trips and class parties as was possible. She saved her sick days for when the children were sick, going to school when she felt absolutely miserable just so she could be there for her kids when they needed her. She asked, playfully at first, and then more seriously if she could hire someone to help her clean their house. Peter scoffed at her and told her when she worked full time (which to him was forty hours a week, fifty-two weeks per year), then she could hire someone to help her. Otherwise, there was no excuse for why she couldn't get their house cleaned every week on her own.

  Wearily, Elizabeth finished her marketing and trudged up to the check-out, quickly scanning for the slow bagger. She had neither the patience nor the wherewithal to deal with the gentleman who was slow in not only mental capacity, but work ethic as well. Then a wave of self-loathing washed over her. Here she was, a special education teacher, and she was trying to avoid dealing with the bagger who was disabled. In that moment, she hated herself. It was no wonder that her husband did not like her. She didn't like her.

  She hauled the groceries out of the cart and into the back of her filthy mini-van. She was momentarily distracted by the dirt, rubbing her fingers together distastefully, trying to remove the gray film that had transferred from the rear hatch door to her fingers. She wiped her hands on her pants, splotched from work anyway, and continued unloading the bags.

  She sat in the driver's seat and put the keys in the ignition. She reached to turn the key and stopped, dropping her hand to her lap and resting her head against the headrest. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the solitude of her van, feeling enclosed and safe. Peaceful. Her job in the classroom was stressful and busy. Eight special needs preschoolers, in a class of fifteen students. Two other adults in the classroom, in addition to a team of therapists in and out. Parents, always needy and demanding. And at home. It was the same, her family always needy, always demanding. Elizabeth truly didn't know how she was going to make it through. She needed an outlet to vent, but was sorely lacking one. She tried not to drink too much, as she felt it would be a slippery slope into drinking all the time. She felt very much at the end of her rope. Although she was not terribly religious, she reverted to her long-forgotten Catholic upbringing, closed her eyes, and prayed for strength.

  It was only Monday. Elizabeth could not remember ever feeling this low; this detached from the world. She was in survival mode, stuffing all of her feelings down so deep that they would never see the light of day. She was not sure how she was going to make it through the week. She glanced over at the car parked next to her to see a teenage girl behind the wheel. It made her think back to her teenage self. That girl, the one everyone called Liza, was long gone. She had been innocent and naive. Even into her twenties, she had been idealistic, thinking that Peter was her knight in shining armor. Now, at the age of thirty-four, she felt dead inside. Well, she wanted to feel dead inside. Because when she really let the feelings out, they were too painful to deal with. She could not live with those feelings. She could not live with herself. She could not keep living with Peter this way. But she could not be the one to destroy her family either. So, it was better to push all the thoughts and feelings down and just carry on for the sake of the kids.

  She had to pull herself together. She didn't have time to sit and pray. She pulled into the driveway, just moments before the bus. She struggled to unload the groceries from the back of her van while the kids ran up the driveway darting in front of her cutting her off and almost making her fall down. Elizabeth dared not to admit this to most people, but she truly dreaded the moment the children arrived home from school. She knew she should love it, should look forward to embracing her children after a long day apart and hearing how their days had gone, but that's not how it went by the time they got in the house. Sydney and Teddy, shoving and pushing, calling names, complaining that there is nothing good to eat in the house every day. The same. Elizabeth tried to ignore the cacophony that her children created as she unpacked the groceries, making sure to get all the freezer stuff in the freezer. Occasionally she would overlook something and have to throw out food she had intended to use. This frustrated her not so much because her plans were thrown off, but because Peter saw it as wasting money and gave her a hard time about it.

  Ahh, money. There it was. Perhaps one of the largest sources of tension in their marriage. It was all Peter seemed to focus on. All he seemed to care about. He was obsessed by it. Elizabeth couldn't fault Peter for working hard to provide for their family, but he didn't seem to see that there was no point in working for your family when you never spent time with your family. Elizabeth resented how much Peter worked. Elizabeth resented how tightly Peter controlled the finances. Elizabeth resented how closely Peter watched her spending. She was at the point where she very rarely bought anything new for herself. But mostly, Elizabeth resented the fact that Peter now had her "trained" in how and why she could spend money. She also knew that should their marriage fail, which it was likely to do, she would be unable to support the kids. She doubted that Peter would continue to support her and would fight excessive support for the children. Well, what he deemed excessive. Of course he had no idea what it truly took to run the house. And she resented and resented and resented.

  This resentment consumed her, turning her into a person she didn't recognize. Gone was the bubbly girl she once had been. Gone was the girl who had dreams and aspirations. Gone was the girl who would sing and dance and create stories in her head. Elizabeth was so far removed from that person that she often forgot that girl once existed. Every so often, something reminded Elizabeth of this girl that she used to be. But that was even more painful, thinking about who she should have or could have been instead of who she was.

  After putting the groceries away, Elizabeth turned on her laptop and opened her e-mail. After wading through countless spam and junk e-mails, Elizabeth finally opened an e-mail from a college friend who lived in the next town and was chairing a gala fundraiser for the local juvenile diabetes association. Elizabeth's mind began to race with the possibility of a night out on the town, getting all dressed up. She looked down at her stained khaki pants with the cuffs starting to fray. Her turquoise, long-sleeved t-shirt had tiny holes down the front of it. Her dark chocolate hair was cut in a perfunctory "Mom-bob," despite instructions to the hairdresser to give her a modern, updated look. Now, by the end of the day, it was messy and unkempt. She had started the day with some make-up on, but it was minimal, and sure to be gone by now. She preferred not to look too closely at what she looked like anymore. It was easier.

  With a small sense of renewed hope, Elizabeth closed the laptop, getting ready to start dinner. She would discuss with Peter the possibility of attending the charity gala over dinner. Sure, it would mean spending money, but they could afford a splurge here and there. They had not even been out to dinner, just the two of them, in the past year. Peter traveled too much and their schedules were too hectic. Plus, Elizabeth hated getting a sitter. The kids were, at times, difficult, and she was not comfortable leaving them with a teenager. Her mother offered to take the kids occasionally, but it sometimes led to more headaches than a night out was worth.

  As Elizabeth processed the logistics of attending the gala, her hope slowly began to deflate. Would her mother even be able to take the kids overnight? Would she give her a hard time about it, reminding Elizabeth that her own parents never offered when Elizabeth was growing up? She would wind up calling Elizabeth throughout the night because the kids were bickering, and she couldn't handle it. Sydney's reticence to go with her grandmother because she felt like her grandmother was too bossy. Elizabeth's mother, Agnes, was too bossy. She was a sad lady, depressed and anxious, fearful of the big bad world. Her defense mechanism was to be controlling in a paranoid way. This led to tension between mother and daughter, as Agnes was ever-critical of the job Elizabeth was doing raising her children. Elizabeth's
father just sat there, never saying anything, and certainly never defending Elizabeth. Thomas had been verbally beaten into submission throughout his long and unhappy marriage to Agnes. He just sat there, never standing up to Agnes. Another issue that Elizabeth had to deal with. Another identity that was not her own, Agnes' daughter.

  After the kids were in bed that night, Elizabeth realized that she needed something tangible to pull her out of her funk. And the diabetes gala was just the thing. She needed something to look forward to, and the gala was it. It would be a way for her and Peter to rekindle a little romance. Any intimacy she felt towards Peter was long gone, replaced by feelings of resentment. If they could just have a special night, with fancy clothes, and good food, with a little dancing and without the pitter-patter of little feet, she was sure they could spark something. And if that could not do it, then it was time to end their farce of a marriage and move on.

  Elizabeth started thinking about what she would wear. Whatever it was, Elizabeth wanted something that made her feel the way she hadn't, in oh so many years. Like a beautiful, sexy woman. Not somebody's mother. Not somebody who had given up on herself. All Elizabeth wanted was to feel desired. To feel special. But it was not to be. Because as much as she hated to admit it, and never said it out loud, Elizabeth knew she wasn't special. She was just a regular woman; a teacher, a wife, a mother; plane and frumpy. Ordinary. Her husband no longer found her attractive. She often wondered if he ever had. He must have at one time, she thought. She had trouble remembering back that far. For the life of her, she really couldn't remember when she stopped being special to him. She knew that he had made her feel special, and that was what made her fall in love with him in the first place. He was the first man to make her feel truly special, and who didn't then turn around and betray her. It was hard to know when he stopped finding her attractive, but she guessed it was somewhere around the time that she peed on the stick and found out they were going to be parents. The fact that he began traveling shortly after their son was born did not help the issue. Elizabeth suffered horribly from postpartum depression following Teddy's birth. Being alone with a newborn probably didn't help. But that was a long time ago.