markers

She walked through the park with the old dog.  No, not that old, he was barely eight.  She remembered the day that she got him.

She'd met Charley through a friend a few weeks before.  He was handsome, funny, gabby--everything that her father was not.  A few years out of high school, she wanted to escape.  She still lived at home; she worked at Penney's during the day and came home to her father and brothers at night.  Her mother died years earlier; she was left to cook and clean and listen and be sympathetic--and dodge any drunken blows that might come her way.  Her father hadn't been the best of parents before her mother died; he was a miserable excuse of a man after.  She felt fifty years old when she was barely 20.  When Charley came, she felt that she was ready.  It surprised her that he got so serious so fast, but again, she felt that she could handle Charley and whatever might come her way in his company.  On the first date, he asked for a kiss.  By the third date he was taking her body.  She was a virgin, though not by choice.  She'd just never had time to date before.  Charley was different.  He met her at work and took her on walks.  One day, only a few months after they'd met, Charley met her after work with a little Pug tucked under his arm.  "His name's Pugsley," he said.  "He needs a mom, don't he?"  She smiled and said yes.  "Well, he's yours."  She giggled her thanks and began to take him from Charley.  "Oh, one thing.  Him and me--we're a package deal. Okay?"  It took her a minute to realize that Charley was asking her to marry him.  No ring, no bended knee, just a cute little snuffly dog.  She remembered thinking, 'Oh well, why not?' as she agreed.

One of the first things they did together was to find Pugsley a collar and a tag.  He only wore it for a year before his neck got too full, but she kept it.  It was her first marker--a reminder of the happiness that she felt that first year.  Life with Charley wasn't a picnic, but it wasn't hell, either.  He seemed to care about her.  Yes, she still worked at Penney's, still came home and cleaned house and made dinner, and she learned to live with the understanding that Charley was out of work as often as he was employed, but there were no drunken rages.  She was thankful for that.  Instead, though, there was Charley's pure meanness.  She hadn't experienced it before they were married, but Charley had a sarcastic mouth and a way of making her feel small.  Even though she was the one making the money, he criticized her for spending it.  Charley, however, could do extravagant things like buy himself a PS-3 and a new truck.  If she dared to say anything about it, he would look at her in a way that was a warning.  She soon learned to keep her mouth shut.

As time went on, Charley became more and more critical and less and less loving.  His sense of humor was now his tool to inflict pain.  In a group of friends (his friends--hers had somehow stopped coming over), he would talk about her as if she wasn't there--he belittled everything from her looks to her cooking to the way she made love--and his friends thought that he was hilarious.  The first time it happened, she was shocked.  She was serving chips and dip when he compared her to a rutting pig.  She was caught unawares, embarrassed, and so hurt that she set the food on the nearest table and ran to her bedroom.  Their bedroom.  There were no locks--not even in the bathroom.  She ran to the bed and held the pillow to muffle her tears.  Next thing she knew, she was pulled up by her hair.  "What do you think you're doing?  Get your butt back down there! We have company!"  "But Charley, what you said..." "Oh, shut up! Can't you take a joke?  It's your responsibility to be there for our guests, so get down there!"  Without another word, without checking the mirror, with her head hurting from his treatment of her, she went down and took care of his company.  When they went home, for the first time, he didn't ask her if she'd like to sleep with him.  He just made her.  That was how it was from then on.

For a while, life with Charley stayed ragged but manageable.  She had her dad's example; she even gave Charley the benefit of the doubt--maybe there was something in her that made men treat her that way.  But then she lost her job.

It wasn't her fault.  Penney's was losing money in her area; they simply couldn't keep their doors open. She had known about it for weeks, but she'd had no idea how to tell Charley, so she just didn't.  As a result, he came home from work (he had a job in the oilfields--something he'd found through a relative) and found her there.  "Why the hell aren't you at work?  He said.  "We were all laid off, Charley.  Penney's went out of business here."  "What?"  He was furious.  He went to the shelf and found a figurine that was precious to her.  "This is you!"  he screamed, and he threw it on the floor, where it broke into tiny shards.  He went to the kitchen, got the coffee pot, and smashed it into the sink.  Again, shards of glass littered the area.  And then he bent down..."No! Not Pugsley!"  But it was too late.  He threw the little Pug straight at her.  His twenty pounds knocked her down, but the dog was all right.  She lay on the floor with him, too stunned even to cry.  She carefully set the Pug back on his feet, quietly shuffled away from him, got the dustpan, and cleaned up the mess.  She was unable to save the coffee pot, but she painstakingly restored the figurine.  It sat on her dresser beside Pugsley's collar--another marker.

Perversely, Charley refused to allow her to find a new job.  He told her that she was too stupid to do any real work.  She might as well stay home and try to find something that she could be good at--maybe like having babies.  He continued to work, and his buddies at the oilfields were all hard drinkers.  He went with them round for round and often came home roaring drunk.  She didn't know which was worse--sober, mean, sarcastic Charley or drunken, amorous, romantic Charley.  Worst of all, though, was Charley once he noticed that she had done some little thing wrong--not to his liking.  Then Charley became a demon from hell.  He would take her into the bedroom or the bathroom or the kitchen and start whaling on her.  It was only when she admitted through her tears that she was a horrible wife and didn't deserve him that he would stop.

Of course, if someone is forced to admit to a lie long enough, that lie becomes a truth.  It didn't take her very long at all to believe everything she said.  She saw herself as unloveable.  She truly believed that she put Charley up to it.  She even began to rethink her relationship with her father--maybe he'd been the victim all along.  As her self esteem plummeted, a fatalism like nothing she'd ever experienced took its place.  Whoever was at fault, she would stay with Charley.  She knew that sooner or later he would kill her.  It was only a matter of time.  But until that day, she would stay with him.

She probably would have, too, were it not for two things:  the first was Charley's increased insistence on a baby.  He would get up with her any time she had to go to the bathroom to make sure she wasn't sneaking contraceptives.  He told her daily that a baby would make her a new woman--someone worthy of his love.  The very thought of bringing a baby under the same roof with Charley terrified her.

The second thing was her father's death.  It was not unexpected.  He died one cold January morning--so drunk that he couldn't make it home and died in his car.  His family paid for his funeral, and of course she and Charley went.  She sat on a chair at the cemetery and watched the casket as it stood beside the cleverly concealed hole--her father was so entirely gone--and yet she still felt his presence, felt the menace that even now seemed to hover around him.  Although she couldn't see it, she knew that her mother's stone was right beside his.  They would be buried together.  As she was leaving, she stumbled and looked down. There was a beautiful piece of granite--a chunk of rock that seemed to be out of place.  She wondered if it broke off a marker as they were preparing her father's area.  Hardly realizing she was doing it, she took the piece of granite and held it all the way home. She put it beside the collar and the figurine--not as a marker, just because.

That night, she had a dream.  In it, she was once again at the cemetery, but instead of Charley, it was her mother at her side.  Her mother walked with her to her father's grave.  It was older now, and the marker had been made and even grown a little worn.  To one side, as she'd known, was her mother's grave.  But to the other--there was another marker, granite the color of the stone she'd found, with a beautiful picture of an angel.  Written on the marker were the words Marjorie Wooten.  Beloved wife and sister.  Gone too soon.  She was stunned.  Then she heard her mother's voice:  "Marjorie!  Wake up!  You don't have to live like this! Get out!"

When she woke up, she knew that she'd only been dreaming, but she truly believed that the dream was prophetic.  She got out of bed, packed her clothes, her markers, took what little money she still had--she only took enough to get out of town--and left.  The one thing she took that belonged to both of them was Pugsley.  She felt that she had to; if she didn't, she was sure that he would take it out on the dog.

The next few years weren't easy.  She was in bad shape.  She startled easily.  She didn't trust.  She was afraid of everyone and trusted no one. But she had her markers and she had her dog and she got help.  She found a job and started counseling.  And most of all, she kept walking.  She started taking walks, first for her dog but then equally for herself.  She would practice breathing, feeling...being.  And one day, she realized that she wasn't afraid.  She felt that she was no longer running away.  She looked around the city park and picked up the first thing she saw--a little pine cone.  It was added to the parade of markers on the dresser in her apartment.  It signified hope.  Each of the little tear-shaped pieces of the pine cone had the choice--to stay closed or to open.  She also had that choice.  She chose to open herself to new experiences.

Marjorie kept walking, kept looking, and one day, she decided to go on a trip.  She hadn't thought in those terms since...well, to be honest she didn't remember ever thinking in those terms.  She thought about where to go and immediately the thought came--the beach.  It wasn't close and it wasn't easy--she lived in Arizona and had no car--but she made it work.  She saved up and bought a train ticket, and she had a beautiful time.  Starting with the trip aboard the Coast Starlight, she gave herself up to the experience.  (Pugsley was along, too, in the baggage compartment--she made sure he was well taken care of.)  It had been so long since she'd seen the waves, smelt the salty air, heard the seagulls, that when she arrived, she simply stood still and was.  She felt the years roll away from her, and she realized that she really wasn't all that old.  Maybe it wasn't too late.  Maybe she could try again....Out of the stillness of the moment, she heard a voice: gentle, musical, and firm.  "I will redeem all you have lost," it said.  Hope.  She went to the shore and...she didn't even have to look.  A sand dollar--pure and unbroken--was waiting for her.  She carefully wrapped it in a Kleenex--another marker to add to her collection.

Years went by, and slowly and gently, God was true to His word.  She found the will to go back to school.  She found a few friends--only a few, but enough.  From a life without hope, she began to have a few timid dreams--little ones at first:  another trip to the beach, a new laptop, going to a concert.  Then the dreams became bigger, took feet, and became goals--get her bachelor's degree, become a teacher, find a good job.  And then, one day, she realized--God had done what he'd promised.  He had redeemed her.

One night, just after sunset, she was walking Pugsley in the park. She walked through the park with the old dog.  No, not that old, he was barely eight.  She remembered the day that she got him.  She remembered without fear, without regret, without anything other than a sense of love.  Yes, love.  Charley wasn't evil incarnate.  He wasn't the devil.  He was a messed up kid who became a messed up man.  And she wished him well.  Then she realized a truth:  it was time to move down another road.  She went to the store and found a beautiful box.  Inside the box--all of her markers.  They were valid, they were important--but it was time to move on.  She shut the lid on the box, put it in the closet, and took out the other thing she'd found at the store:  a framed calligraphy of Jeremiah 29:11  For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you  future and a hope.   Marjorie took a deep breath and smiled.  Her journey was about to begin.