{"id":22,"date":"2010-11-05T13:30:13","date_gmt":"2010-11-05T17:30:13","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.writtenGESStures.com\/?p=22"},"modified":"2019-08-16T13:56:59","modified_gmt":"2019-08-16T17:56:59","slug":"the-last-straw","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.writtenGESStures.com\/?p=22","title":{"rendered":"The Last Straw v.1"},"content":{"rendered":"

The night was warm. And it was June. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCharleston gets so hot so soon,\u201d Janie Lynn sighed from her bunk. She lay face up, her right arm tucked behind her head. Her left hand hung low enough to touch the cool cement floor. Her only movement was the rise and fall of her chest and diaphragm. Even so, perspiration formed, gathered, or ran along every inch of her body. It pooled in little dips and crevices. It ran along the nape of her neck. Janie Lynn didn\u2019t dare take off the stiff orange jumper, but she rolled up the sleeves and pant legs as far as they\u2019d reach. And she folded the comically inappropriate wool blanket into a hot augmentation of the flat pillow under her head.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/span>From her supine position, Janie Lynn looked through the barred window at the night sky. She pictured a moonlit beach outside. The salty scent of seawater reminded her of family trips to the beach during her childhood. The roar of crashing waves soothed her nearly to slumber. <\/span><\/p>\n

A passing semi truck honked long and loud. With a sigh, Janie Lynn came back to herself. The rush of passing vehicles hissed in her ears. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cA fine mess this is. And in this damn heat, too.\u201d She looked at her fingernails and recalled the dried blood that had been under them just a few hours before. Then she touched her left hand to the floor again. Janie Lynn didn\u2019t know that to cool her body, it was her wrist\u2014not her fingertips\u2014she needed to press against that rough, cool surface. \u201cThree hours is all. Just three hours. Damn.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Three hours earlier, Janie Lynn had been handcuffed on her front stoop. A black and white police car had swooped into the gravel driveway. Its brakes screeched. And sharp pebbles took flight at its heels.<\/span><\/p>\n

Officer Merritt climbed out gut first. He moved his heavy body\u2014unreasonable on a 29-year-old trooper\u2014with surprising agility. His right hand hovered near his holstered gun. And he mumbled into the walkie-talkie on his left shoulder. Then he spoke to Janie Lynn. \u201cGood afternoon, ma\u2019am. Are you injured?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

For a few seconds, Janie Lynn only stared at him. Then she replied. \u201cMe? Oh, I\u2019m alright. I\u2019m just fine now.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not your blood then?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She looked, as though aware of it for the first time, at the blood and gore on the front of her shirt. \u201cNope, it ain\u2019t.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCan you tell me whose blood it is?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s LT\u2019s blood. It got all over the damn place. It’s gonna take all damn day to clean up his mess this time.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWho is LT, ma\u2019am?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s my husband. LT Swelter. The L and the T stand for Larry Two. But he doesn\u2019t go by that no more. Not since this lawyer we had dealings with said that it\u2019s supposed to be Larry Junior, or Larry the Second. Only his buddies from high school still call him LT. They don\u2019t know no better.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd he\u2019s hurt?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYup, he\u2019s hurt. Or maybe he ain\u2019t hurtin\u2019 anymore. I think he\u2019s dead. I\u2019m pretty sure.\u201d She recalled the last few moments before going out onto the porch. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe may be dead then. And where is he, ma\u2019am? Where is, uh, Larry?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s in the kitchen, waiting for his dinner.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Officer Merritt handcuffed Janie Lynn then, very carefully, just so she wouldn\u2019t wander off, or run off, or go \u201churt\u201d someone else. He led her to his patrol car, gently guiding her by the elbow. And he walked slowly, giving her time to take her steps carefully.<\/span><\/p>\n

Janie Lynn ducked into the back seat while Officer Merritt shielded her head with a hand and then firmly shut the door. He spoke into the radio again. And then he approached the front door.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe have a report of a bloodied woman outside a house.\u201d That\u2019s what the dispatcher had said. \u201c9713 Loblolly Lane.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

At those words, Officer Merritt\u2019s heart began to race. He whipped a U-turn in the middle of the street in front of Lucy\u2019s Caf\u00e9. He skipped lunch for the first time in months.<\/span><\/p>\n

Nothing much had been going on in town. After Boomer Johnson started the big brawl on New Year\u2019s Eve, everything and everybody had calmed down. It was like they\u2019d all settled in for the long chilled winter and never fully woken up again.<\/span><\/p>\n

But May and her dear cousin Heat came sauntering in, and then June hit hard with climbing temperatures. She’ll only be the first<\/em>. Office Merritt thought of Janie Lynn. I’ll bet on it<\/em>.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHere we go,\u201d he mumbled as he stepped over the threshold into the house. He could probably not say, if asked, whether he referred to the task at hand or the surge of heat dementia crimes to come.<\/span><\/p>\n

The home of LT and Janie Lynn Swelter was inconspicuous. The one-story 1970s architecture was exactly like that of the surrounding houses. Janie Lynn had tried to beautify it and make it distinctive with brightly colored plastic pansies and purple faux wood shutters. But in one summer, the unrelenting sun and salty, humid air had bleached them all to dim imitations of the pale reproductions they had been.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was a small house; a simple square. The living room and kitchen were the same size: small. The two bedrooms were nearly equal, too. One was slightly smaller for losing space to the miniscule bathroom. Throughout, the walls had been painted a dull, flat, soul-leeching beige. It deadened sound and muted all other colors. It dimmed light and stunted the growth of all houseplants; even cacti.<\/span><\/p>\n

The Swelters had lived in that house for 7 years. They moved in a year and a half after getting married. LT had made a lease-to-own arrangement with its yuppie owner. It was a verbal agreement. And although the owner\u2019s accountant kept copies of their rent checks in a file labeled RENTAL PROPERTY, no record of an agreement with LT could be found when the owner died suddenly of a heart attack. LT had himself a hell of a time convincing the dead landlord\u2019s wife, relatives, and accountant of it. For three years, he had answered their threatening phone calls and made demands of his own. The calls followed Larry to work too, where his boss took to reprimanding LT for getting too many personal calls. \u201cYour time is my money!\u201d he had shouted at LT.<\/span><\/p>\n

Needless to say, LT was stressed.<\/span><\/p>\n

The June morning when Officer Merritt visited the Swelters home was oppressive. LT and Janie Lynn awoke with a layer of sweat on their flesh.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo hot already,\u201d she said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cToo damn hot already!\u201d he said. \u201cWe should have replaced that fucking AC last summer.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

But they couldn\u2019t have. They bought instead two plastic oscillating fans to spread the meager cool air seeping from the dying window unit. They used the same fans in winter too, strategically placed in front of the space heater. <\/span><\/p>\n

The lack of hot water was welcomed. But Janie Lynn made the coffee too weak\u2014there wasn\u2019t much in the Folgers can\u2014and she took too long making breakfast.<\/span><\/p>\n

LT left the house 20 minutes late without giving Janie Lynn his routine smoke-filled kiss. His boss, Mr. Maynard, was sure to mention his late arrival, and then threaten to fire him for the umpteenth time. LT foresaw the whole scene as he surged his El Camino to Open Meadows, the neighborhood where M & M Construction was framing houses. LT didn\u2019t know yet that Mr. Maynard had called the Swelters\u2019 house 5 minutes after LT was due on the job site.<\/span><\/p>\n

Janie Lynn had spoken to Mr. Maynard. \u201cOh, LT left right at 6:30,\u201d she lied. \u201cTraffic must be real bad this morning. Everybody is probably real put off with this heat. Can you believe it\u2019s so hot so early in the year?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Mr. Maynard neither believed Janie Lynn\u2019s story nor approved of her casual conversation topic. He hung up without replying. To LT he grumbled, \u201cYou get here on time from now on, or don\u2019t bother coming back.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

LT\u2019s mood worsened and grew darker as the day went on. His nail gun jammed. He had lost his wallet and had no money to buy lunch from the mobile snack shack. By early afternoon, the temperature had reached 93\u00b0 Fahrenheit, and LT was out in the clear open, nowhere near the few trees left after the initial clearing of the site. He stopped for gas on the way home, but found only $1.63 in the folds of the car seat. He used every cent to keep the car going. Without funds, he had to miss his daily stop at Big Mick\u2019s Bar for a beer. He was home an hour and a half earlier than usual.<\/span><\/p>\n

Only minutes before LT\u2019s arrival, Janie Lynn had finished freshening up. She had spent the day doing all the things she hated. After LT\u2019s departure, she abandoned her own breakfast and the dishes. She quitted the house and walked the 7 blocks to the Super S Foods. She spent a meager $18.59 on food and toilet paper, and then walked back with 5 plastic grocery bags cutting through the skin of her fingers. She was drenched in sweat when she stepped into the steamy shade of the house.<\/span><\/p>\n

After putting away the groceries, she cleaned the bathroom, spending as little time as possible on LT\u2019s shit splashed around the commode. Then, even though there wasn\u2019t much laundry detergent left, she washed away the evidence of the previous night\u2019s sex. For a long time now, Janie Lynn hadn\u2019t been able to stand the sight and stench of LT\u2019s useless cum on the threadbare sheets. She didn\u2019t dwell on how it got there, and she sure as hell didn\u2019t want to look at it.<\/span><\/p>\n

Then Janie Lynn reheated her abandoned breakfast in the 80s era microwave, worrying whether the contraption was sterilizing them both. Maybe it’s why LT can’t give me no babies, <\/em>she thought, not for the first time. She finished the meal in lonely silence. It didn\u2019t take long, for which Janie Lynn was thankful. She kept the dilapidated TV off to save on electricity. And LT always took the hand-held radio with him to work. The house was a quiet prison. Showers and dish washing made amusing noises. Janie Lynn even welcomed the roar of the vacuum cleaner. But when she ate, all she had was the chewing and the slurping in her head.<\/span><\/p>\n

To give Janie Lynn credit she would never give herself, she had her imagination. She discovered it early in childhood. And to this day, it got her through all manner of situations, from tedium to tantrums. She had begun with colors. And colors became and remained her fallback. But first there was Suzie Q, the baby doll she desperately wanted and never got. For several months when she was 6 years old, Janie Lynn had imagined all the games she\u2019d play with the blue-eyed Suzie Q had she owned one. On rainy gray days, she imagined a bright yellow sunny day. When she was forced to wear the green and purple striped sweater Granny Jean knitted, she imagined it red and white, her two favorite colors. In autumn, she imagined spring. And when LT rode her on the creaking mattress, she imagined sweet Cal Jenkins, her nerdy neighbor during high school who had once kissed her sloppily on the lips and later became a pediatrician. Imagination got Janie Lynn through loneliness, fear, and worry. On the June day she met Officer Merritt, it had gotten her through the chores.<\/span><\/p>\n

After breakfast, Janie Lynn cleaned the entire kitchen and living room. In the latter she found 2 full ashtrays and 6 empty beer cans, the remnants of LT\u2019s two most favorite things. She also found LT\u2019s wallet between two couch cushions. She considered taking some of the $17 in it, then thought better of it on the off chance he knew exactly how much cash was in it.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was only after hustling through the entire house that Janie Lynn took care of herself. Instead of adding to the water bill with a refreshing cool shower, she gave herself a thorough cleaning with a washcloth repeatedly soaked in tepid soapy water. Then she cooled her steaming body with a wet cloth she had stashed in the fridge for that purpose. Wearing a pair of cut-offs and a child-size T-shirt with a Care Bear on its front, Janie Lynn sat on the front step in the little shade of their little awning for a little while. When the sun crawled past the awning\u2019s edge and began to toast her thigh, she went back inside. It was a quarter after five in the afternoon.<\/span><\/p>\n

After brief consideration of her few options, Janie Lynn sank into the couch and turned on the TV. That Oprah woman was talking earnestly to a family of beautiful people. They all looked well-manicured, like people in ads for expensive clothes. Without following the conversation or tuning into the reason for their appearance on the show, Janie Lynn stared at Oprah and her guests. Their images flashed across the screen in wide shots and extreme close ups. When she muted the loud commercials, she heard the slam of LT\u2019s car door.<\/span><\/p>\n

Janie Lynn sprung up and rushed to the door. She knew full well that LT\u2019s coming home early was in no possible way, never ever, a good thing. Mainly, she hoped he had not lost his job. There wasn\u2019t much work to be had anywhere in town, and they sure as hell couldn\u2019t afford to move.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHi, LT\u201d she chirped with feigned delight. \u201cYou sure home early.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s for dinner?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhatever you want. I haven\u2019t started cooking yet.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s only 5:30.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSo what? I\u2019m here ain\u2019t I? And I\u2019m starving.\u201d He shoved past her into the house.<\/span><\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t ask how she should have known he\u2019d be home an hour early and hungry to boot. She didn\u2019t ask why he was home so early either.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo wonder dinner ain\u2019t ready,\u201d he grunted upon spotting the TV. \u201cYou probably been sittin\u2019 here since I left this morning.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I got a genie to clean the house and buy the food.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t back talk me, woman. And turn this shit off.\u201d He fell across the armrest and flopped full length onto the couch. His boots hung over, flaking mud and concrete mix onto the carpet. <\/span><\/p>\n

Without replying, Janie Lynn switched off the set. She pushed the power button so hard that they rickety stand wobbled, threatening to collapse. The beautiful people stopped talking and faded away.<\/span><\/p>\n

In the kitchen, Janie Lynn unwrapped two frozen flank steaks so thin she could nearly see through them and dropped them into the frying pan. They clanged like stones on the metal and merely dripped over the electric heat of the burner.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is that racket?\u201d LT called from the other room.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m cooking,\u201d she sighed. \u201cLike you told me to,\u201d she added in a whisper.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, keep it down in there. I hear enough clanging and banging and shit at work. Bring me a beer. And some nuts. You know the ones I like.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t want to tell him that there were no more nuts. But she had to. And she had to listen to him bitch about it. And more, to feel the sting of his slap on her ass as she put down the beer. She had lingered a second, perhaps two, looking for something to use as a coaster. The sharp whack of his palm and the rough grope of his widespread fingers made her flinch and cringe.<\/span><\/p>\n

LT guffawed loudly while she scurried back into the kitchen. \u201cYou aren\u2019t no blushing virgin. It’s been plenty long since those days. And you didn\u2019t blush even then!\u201d He shoved his chest up and roared out a laugh.<\/span><\/p>\n

Janie Lynn blushed with a surge of anger, but said nothing. She busied herself adding water to potato flakes from a box and boiling canned peas and carrots. The steak sizzled and popped as Janie Lynn seethed.<\/span><\/p>\n

With wicked glee, LT continued reminiscing about the early days of their marriage. \u201cYour little ass was so tight!\u201d He chortled and slapped his thigh.<\/span><\/p>\n

Janie Lynn stirred the boiling vegetables and started to make gravy from the plentiful fat of the thin steaks. She was reaching for the gravy packet when LT strode into the kitchen.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cRemember?\u201d he asked.<\/span><\/p>\n

But Janie Lynn hadn\u2019t been listening. She had been purposefully not listening. Instead of answering LT\u2019s question, she concentrated on adding water to the gravy mix, on whipping the growing mass of potatoes with a fork.<\/span><\/p>\n

LT just kept yammering.<\/span><\/p>\n

And Janie Lynn kept whisking.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? Cat got your tongue?\u201d LT asked, while sidling up behind Janie Lynn. He slid his dirty hands along her body\u2014up her thighs, over her waist, under her shirt.<\/span><\/p>\n

Very slowly, Janie Lynn stopped stirring. Her mind went blank. The cooking tasks lost their place of prominence in her brain, and were replaced with another more important job. With deliberate movements, she reached for the knife beside her. She touched her fingertips to it, and then nudged it forward to allow her long digits to wrap around its handle.<\/span><\/p>\n

LT began to knead her breasts while still chattering and giggling in her ear. <\/span><\/p>\n

Janie Lynn lifted the knife off the counter top. And with a smooth, firm motion slid it along LT\u2019s forearm.<\/span><\/p>\n

His talk turned in mid sentence to yells of profanity-filled queries and curses.<\/span><\/p>\n

Janie Lynn turned to look at the long, red line on his arm. Beside her, the contents of the skillet, pan, and pot sizzled, popped, and bubbled.<\/span><\/p>\n

In a flash, LT swung his slightly injured arm toward Janie Lynn’s face.<\/span><\/p>\n

Janie Lynn wielded the knife once more.<\/span><\/p>\n

This time, the cut was perpendicular to LT\u2019s arm. It was deepened by the force of his downward swing, too. Immediately, blood poured out of the shorter, deeper wound before LT moved his arm to fit firmly against his shirtfront. It traveled down to his elbow and onto his shirt. It dripped onto the yellowed linoleum.<\/span><\/p>\n

Janie Lynn stared at the dripping, running, pooling liquid. The red of it obliterated the dirt and grime on LT\u2019s shirt. It blossomed in spots of various shapes, sizes, and shades of red. She didn\u2019t hear his words but saw the lurch of his body toward her. She looked finally at his face, saw the rage there, and determined to end its reign.<\/span><\/p>\n

With automaton movements, Janie Lynn repeatedly poked the knife into LT. She tried different angles and depths. She aimed for his chest, cheeks, and forceps. She considered aiming lower, but there was much less flesh to work with below LT\u2019s belt. On the other hand, there was much in the way of gut and shoulders and jowls. <\/span><\/p>\n

When LT\u2019s shirt front was red from seam to hem, he fell to his knees. He was still cursing, but his volume was considerably lower and his conviction diminished.<\/span><\/p>\n

Janie Lynn stopped jabbing. For a few moments, she watched his kneeling figure, his moving lips, and his dripping blood.<\/span><\/p>\n

Then he fell forward onto his wicked face.<\/span><\/p>\n

Janie Lynn gazed down at him\u2014at the red-free expanse on the back of his shirt. It presented a whole new canvas. She used it thoroughly, squatting and kneeling as needed.<\/span><\/p>\n

Then the smoke detector began its shrill call, and Janie Lynn let drop the well- and much-used knife. She turned off the burner beneath the charring meat and boiling vegetables. Then she stepped over LT and strode out of the kitchen and through the living room. She left blood smeared on the knob as she opened the front door. Once outside, she sat down on the stoop. She raised her face up to the molten sun, breathed in deeply the smoggy air, and smiled serenely.<\/span><\/p>\n

Her imagination had gotten her by once again.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cThat\u2019s not your blood then?\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked, as though aware of it for the first time, at the blood and gore on the front of her shirt. \u201cNope, it ain\u2019t.\u201d <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[26,28,24,29,30,27,25],"class_list":["post-22","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-scattered-smothered-covered","tag-charleston","tag-janie-lynn","tag-june","tag-lt","tag-oprah","tag-orange-jumper","tag-the-night-was-warm"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.writtenGESStures.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.writtenGESStures.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.writtenGESStures.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.writtenGESStures.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.writtenGESStures.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=22"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"http:\/\/www.writtenGESStures.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":412,"href":"http:\/\/www.writtenGESStures.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22\/revisions\/412"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.writtenGESStures.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=22"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.writtenGESStures.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=22"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.writtenGESStures.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=22"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}