the beautiful straw flowers and zinnias outside my bedroom window. One of the first things I’d done when Charles and I settled in that spring of my senior year was plant a flower garden. Mama never did grow anything you couldn’t pick and eat. Planting my annual seeds was comfort I’d chosen a different path. One particular morning after rocking Phillip all night, gazing beyond my blooming flowers, I was struck by the familiar sight of fields I’d known as a child. I closed my eyes and continued to rock Phillip. The truth of the matter was that I was living the same life as my mother.
CHAPTER 3
Going to Work
A strong woman is a woman determined to do something others are determined not be done
.
—M ARGE P IERCY
E ACH TIME I took Vickie and Phillip to the doctor or went to see my own doctor, Dr. Stout, Charles said, “You’re just hunting for somewhere to go.” I didn’t look forward to doctor visits, but I was glad to get out of the house. During the last visit to Dr. Stout’s office, when he couldn’t find anything wrong with my shoulder and knee, both of which had been hurting, he’d commented, “You’re perfectly fine. You just seem a little tired.” I shrugged. He pressed, asking if everything at home was okay. I smiled. Of course it was.
Dr. Stout patted my hand, concerned. “Well, I know it’s not the children. They look fine.” Holding my hand, he continued. “What about Charles? How’s his job?”
I told him that Charles worked as a license inspector for the county. I pulled my hand from his clasp and grabbed Phillip, now about to start school, to stop him from spinning the stool next to the examining table. Dr. Stout started to write something on a piece of white paper, then stopped and took off his round spectacles. Deep grooves cut across the sides of his face from the tightglasses. He wiped the lens with a white handkerchief he took from in his pocket. Placing his glasses back on his face, he commented as he finished writing, “In my experience, if it’s not job troubles, then it’s one of two things.” Finally, I was going to get an answer. “You’re dealing with either an alcoholic or a religious fanatic.”
I shook my head. I’d never thought of Charles as a fanatic about anything, except maybe his coin collection. “No, Charles doesn’t drink. He’s a deacon in our church.” I didn’t say anything else. Neither did Dr. Stout; he simply handed me the piece of paper. I could barely read his scribble. It was a prescription for an antidepressant.
When the door closed behind Dr. Stout, I crumpled up the paper and threw it into the trash can. I couldn’t afford the prescription, and Charles wouldn’t hear of me taking it anyway.
D R . S TOUT was right; everything wasn’t fine. I thought about the real answers to his questions on the way home. The only place I went besides the grocery store was the Baptist church. If Charles had his way, we’d have gone to church every day; as it was, we were there at least four times a week. I didn’t know how or when it had happened, but my world had become too small. I still spoke to Sandra some over the phone, and we had dinner with Charles’s family or mine every Sunday, but during these dinners I felt like I was repeating the same conversation. I sometimes worried I’d never experience that sense of wonder you feel meeting a new friend or traveling to a new place for the first time. I was afraid the major milestones of my life, marriage and childbirth, were past. Was it foolish to hope I still had something exciting ahead of me, something even important, that I could have a life of my own?
I had told Dr. Stout that Charles was a license inspector; what I hadn’t explained was the fact that Charles and I had struggled for years to make ends meet. After the GE plant closed, Charles worked part-time at Railway Express Agency. He took the weekend shift that no one else wanted until his supervisor realized howreliable he was and
CHAPTER 3
Going to Work
A strong woman is a woman determined to do something others are determined not be done
.
—M ARGE P IERCY
E ACH TIME I took Vickie and Phillip to the doctor or went to see my own doctor, Dr. Stout, Charles said, “You’re just hunting for somewhere to go.” I didn’t look forward to doctor visits, but I was glad to get out of the house. During the last visit to Dr. Stout’s office, when he couldn’t find anything wrong with my shoulder and knee, both of which had been hurting, he’d commented, “You’re perfectly fine. You just seem a little tired.” I shrugged. He pressed, asking if everything at home was okay. I smiled. Of course it was.
Dr. Stout patted my hand, concerned. “Well, I know it’s not the children. They look fine.” Holding my hand, he continued. “What about Charles? How’s his job?”
I told him that Charles worked as a license inspector for the county. I pulled my hand from his clasp and grabbed Phillip, now about to start school, to stop him from spinning the stool next to the examining table. Dr. Stout started to write something on a piece of white paper, then stopped and took off his round spectacles. Deep grooves cut across the sides of his face from the tightglasses. He wiped the lens with a white handkerchief he took from in his pocket. Placing his glasses back on his face, he commented as he finished writing, “In my experience, if it’s not job troubles, then it’s one of two things.” Finally, I was going to get an answer. “You’re dealing with either an alcoholic or a religious fanatic.”
I shook my head. I’d never thought of Charles as a fanatic about anything, except maybe his coin collection. “No, Charles doesn’t drink. He’s a deacon in our church.” I didn’t say anything else. Neither did Dr. Stout; he simply handed me the piece of paper. I could barely read his scribble. It was a prescription for an antidepressant.
When the door closed behind Dr. Stout, I crumpled up the paper and threw it into the trash can. I couldn’t afford the prescription, and Charles wouldn’t hear of me taking it anyway.
D R . S TOUT was right; everything wasn’t fine. I thought about the real answers to his questions on the way home. The only place I went besides the grocery store was the Baptist church. If Charles had his way, we’d have gone to church every day; as it was, we were there at least four times a week. I didn’t know how or when it had happened, but my world had become too small. I still spoke to Sandra some over the phone, and we had dinner with Charles’s family or mine every Sunday, but during these dinners I felt like I was repeating the same conversation. I sometimes worried I’d never experience that sense of wonder you feel meeting a new friend or traveling to a new place for the first time. I was afraid the major milestones of my life, marriage and childbirth, were past. Was it foolish to hope I still had something exciting ahead of me, something even important, that I could have a life of my own?
I had told Dr. Stout that Charles was a license inspector; what I hadn’t explained was the fact that Charles and I had struggled for years to make ends meet. After the GE plant closed, Charles worked part-time at Railway Express Agency. He took the weekend shift that no one else wanted until his supervisor realized howreliable he was and
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