The Bus Stop
Yong Takahashi
The school bus stop is the heartbeat of the subdivision. Years are measured as children grow –
their presence and absence intertwining past, present, and hopes for the future.
Sammy Chung
A rock whirled past Sammy’s head. He chastised himself for miscalculating the distance he needed so the bullies couldn’t harass him. The night before, he had practiced how far he could actually be from the bus stop so he could run on the bus just before the driver closed the doors. Twenty-three steps. That was wrong. He would try to stay back thirty steps the next day.
The bus stop was on the corner of the two main roads in the subdivision. This meant the passengers on the bus came from separate quadrants. The northwest section was the five hundred to eight hundred thousand dollar homes. The northeast section was the million plus homes. The southwest section was the two hundred to three hundred thousand dollar homes. The southeast section was the one hundred twenty to one hundred fifty thousand dollar homes.
Sammy’s family recently saved up enough money to move into the lowest priced homes. Most of the residents there were first time homebuyers or renters. Arriving so far into the school year didn’t help Sammy make any friends. His former school had all different shades – black, brown, yellow, and white. This new neighborhood was pale and a few dozen homes had Confederate flags flying out front. He had only seen these flags on television but he was aware what they stood for.
The second day of school, his mother forced him to eat the prior night’s rice, soup, and kimchi before she left for work. Sammy chomped on the spicy, fermented cabbage.
“This is the last day I’m staying with you in the morning then you are on your own,” Mrs. Chung told her boys.
“Don’t eat the kimchi before school,” Sammy’s older brother, Jimmy, warned him.
“Why?”
“Americans don’t like it.”
“I ate it when I went to the other school.”
“This isn’t the same place. There were more of us there. Here, we’re by ourselves. I have to go. See ya after school.” Jimmy grabbed his book bag and bolted out the door.
Sammy ate his breakfast and waited an hour. The elementary school started after the middle school. He would have to brave the mornings on his own but his brother would be waiting for him after school.
“Okay, you go now,” said Mrs. Chung. “I will call you at four to check on you.”
Sammy dragged his book bag off the couch and trudged to the bus stop. Twelve other children were waiting. He stayed back thirty steps just to be safe.
The blonde boy who lived down the street held his nose. “Yuck! Something stinks.” Others joined in and pointed at Sammy. He took a few more steps back.
On the bus, the children sat on the edge of their seats, refusing to let him sit down, and teased him until his eyes welled up with tears. The bus driver had to yell at the others and one finally slid over so Sammy could sit. When the bus stopped, he felt one backpack after another hit him on the way off the bus.
After school, he passed his bus and headed to the road. He heard slurs coming from the open windows as the bus passed him. Jimmy was waiting on the porch when Sammy arrived home. “Why did you walk?”
“I missed the bus. Don’t tell Mom.”
“Kids teasing you?”
Sammy sucked in his tears.
“They tease me, too.” Don’t worry about it. At least school will be out in a month. Mom is sending us to Korea for the summer.”
Sammy nodded his head.
“Don’t worry Mom. She doesn’t need any more stress when she gets home at night. Understand?”
“Okay.” Jimmy had been in charge of Sammy for several years. He taught him to be invisible. If social services found out they were alone after school, they’d be taken away.
“Mom and Dad are working hard. In a few years, we’ll move to a bigger house then we’re off to college. You’re going to be a doctor, remember?”
“What if I don’t want to be a doctor?”
“You’ve got to make a lot of money so they can retire.”
“Okay. You still going to be lawyer?”
“Nah. I have to take over the store. When I turn sixteen, I have to start working there. You’re our hope, kid. Got it?”
Sammy hung his head. Yesterday, his teacher told him he couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag. How was he going to graduate medical school?
He repeated “I have to save the family; I’m the future” every morning on the way to the bus stop. He told himself summer vacation was close. He just needed to survive a few more weeks. His mother assured him this was a safer neighborhood. He wouldn’t get robbed or beat up by gangs here. She was sure he wouldn’t get hurt in this safe neighborhood.
He wanted to believe her even though he knew she was wrong. He was a dutiful son and would never tell her what he had to endure. He’d take the ridicule, shunning, rocks, sticks, and fists. He’d wear long sleeves and pants for the rest of the year to hide his wounds. He’d protect his mother.
He would keep living her lie.
He would make sure his mother wouldn’t get hurt here.
Melissa Meeks
Melissa and Matt Meeks were happy once. Well, happier. That was all before the baby came along. Morgan was born eleven months, three weeks, and two days ago.
That was when Matt stopped helping around the house. He turned into a baby himself trying to compete for Melissa’s attention. The laundry and dishes he used clean piled up. He retreated to his man cave immediately after work to play his video games.
Every morning became a duel. Melissa had to get herself and the baby ready before work. She frantically searched for blankets, diapers, bottles, and binkies while Matt chomped on his Cocoa Puffs. Last week, he’d requested chocolate milk for his cereal.
“What would be better than double chocolate?” he asked her.
“Can’t you get the groceries for once?” Melissa screamed loud enough for Mrs. Beatty, the nosey neighbor, to peer over the fence.
“I don’t know what Morgan needs. You’re going anyway.”
“Then why can’t you watch her while I go to the store?”
“She cries when you leave,” he said as if this was a rational response.
“You’re her father!” Melissa continued to fold the five loads of laundry she finished the night before.
“Babe, hang up my shirts this time,” said Matt before he started scrolling through his Facebook page.
This morning, Melissa asked Matt to drop Morgan off at daycare. She had a meeting with a new client. She took her cream colored suit out of the dry cleaning bag. She finally fit in her pre-baby clothes again.
“Then I won’t have time to go to Starbucks,” said Matt.
“I manage to do it every morning.”
“Girls are more organized, I guess.” He shrugged. How Morgan wished she had a sledgehammer to break both his shoulders.
“Never mind.” She strapped Morgan into the car seat and tore out of the driveway.
Slow down, she told herself. She looked at the children at the bus stop. They were tiny, just a few years older than her baby. She wondered what her life would be like when Morgan was old enough to stand there.
Would life be easier? Would Matt help more since Morgan was self-sufficient? She knew she wouldn’t have any more children. One was hard enough. She was due for a promotion and it was postponed because of her maternity leave. She needed the raise so she wouldn’t need Matt anymore.
They had moved to the subdivision for its family atmosphere, great schools, and friendly neighbors. She hadn’t counted on total isolation. Her family lived over a hundred miles away and her husband regressed into childhood. She couldn’t tell anyone at work that she was struggling with the work-life balance. This would be the excuse they needed not to promote her.
“Would just one day by myself be so bad?” she whispered as she rolled up to the drive-thru lane.
“Can you repeat that?” asked the barista.
“What?”
“Can I take your order?”
“Oh, yes. Quad shot, skinny latte.”
“Hi, Morgan,” said the barista. Melissa smiled. It was nice to have someone acknowledge her daughter’s existence. She coasted mindlessly down the drive-thru lane. Her eyes lasered in on the car that had stopped in front of her. She slammed on her brakes. The coffee lid flew off and the contents of her cup spilled on her suit.
“Shit! I don’t have time to go home and change. She grabbed some baby wipes and dried her arms and legs. “Fuck!”
She wiped up the mess as best as she could. She knew Matt wouldn’t bring a change of clothes for her.
“I have a jacket at work. It’s not as nice as this suit but it’ll have to do. I have to make it work. I hate him!”
She seethed the twenty-one miles to work.
“Fucker, speed up!” she yelled at the red pickup truck in front of her.
“Let’s pretend we have absolutely no place to go,” she said to the Mercedes that cut her off then slowed down.
Traffic was awful as usual. An hour later, Melissa pulled into the parking deck at work.
“Five minutes until my meeting. No time for coffee, breakfast, or a bathroom stop. Fuck Matt!”
She grabbed her suitcase from the front seat and ran into her building. She would not see Morgan again until that afternoon when the paramedics took the lifeless body away.
Darryl Jones
Carly pointed at the children at the bus stop. Darryl, her grandfather, took her for a walk at least four times a day. It soothed her when he couldn’t find any other way to calm her down. The neighbors watched him stroll down the street no matter the weather.
Darryl’s daughter, Lisa, came home last year. She’d been missing since her senior year of high school. He and his wife had searched for her but none of her friends would confess to her whereabouts. His wife held out hope, even hiring several private investigators, but nobody could turn up anything.
Twelve years later, there she was, standing on their doorstep with a child. The shock of seeing their daughter numbed them to the fact that their granddaughter had Downs Syndrome. And was half-black.
Darryl and his wife stood in the doorway until the little girl said, “I’m hungry.”
“Oh, come in,” said Mrs. Jones.
“Let me take your bag,” said Darryl. He looked around for a baby bag, car seat, stroller, then for some mode of transportation. None were found.
“Someone dropped us off,” said Lisa.
“The father?” asked Darryl.
“Yep, if you want to call him that. He doesn’t want us anymore. Can we stay here for a while?”
“Umm, yes. Yes, of course.” Mrs. Jones elbowed Darryl.
“Let’s eat, Carly,” said Lisa. “Grandma makes the best lunches.”
That was almost eleven months ago. Lisa started partying again and six weeks after she reappeared, she disappeared again. This time, she left behind a reminder – Carly.
Mrs. Jones was overjoyed but Darryl worried about his wife’s health. Her cancer was back and she had chosen not to repeat treatment. She would let nature take its course.
Taking care of Carly seemed to be medicinal at first. Happiness seemed to be the cure. They went to the kiddie pool, playground, and Gymboree. She even talked about enrolling Carly in preschool.
Mrs. Jones slowed down a few months later. She asked Darryl to help her by taking Carly around the subdivision a few times a day while she rested. “I just need to rest my eyes for a bit,” she said.
He pushed the stroller with one hand and held a cell phone with the other, dialing all of his wife’s doctors. Even if she wanted treatment, he was told she wouldn’t get better.
Mrs. Jones said she wouldn’t go through radiation and chemotherapy again. She said she would survive with love – the love of Carly. He believed her. Four months later, she died.
She left him a notebook full of instructions. Her sketches were insulting at first but Darryl eventually appreciated the step-by-step notes.
1) How to do laundry
2) When to schedule the HVAC maintenance
3) Contacts of all utility companies
4) How to move their money from their investment accounts to their checking account so they
could cover their monthly bills
5) Carly’s favorite recipes
6) Carly’s bedtime stories
7) Walk with Carly
He only knew how to take Carly for walks. He fumbled through the rest of the list.
They passed by the bus stop every morning, a turn at lunch, when the kids got off the bus because Carly loved to see other kids, and after dinner. If she cried out for her grandmother at night, they took another midnight stroll.
Carly waived until at least one child acknowledged her. It was usually the Asian kid standing far away from the others. Most of the others pointed and laughed and occasionally, an errant rock blew past them.
He tried to lecture the kids at first but it was useless. Were children always this cruel? He’d never paid attention when Lisa was growing up. He was already at work when she was standing at this same stop.
Darryl wrapped an extra blanket around Carly. When his wife was alive, the sun felt warmer on his face and the wind didn’t seem as brisk.
He looked back at the bus stop. Carly would never stand there. She would never grow up. Someone would have to take care of her. Someone would have to push her around the block after he was gone. Someone would have to shield her from the cold world.
Matt Meeks
Matt felt he was clear on their first date. He didn’t ever want kids. Melissa agreed but later admitted she thought he’d change his mind. Matt hoped she would forget about it.
They bought their dream house right before the wedding. He built a man cave in the basement with remote controlled gaming seats, a seventy-two inch flat screen television, and two beer taps. They installed exquisite stained-glass windows, custom-made white furniture, and floating staircases.
Each made a vacation bucket list. Every month, they went on a weekend getaway and every six months, they traveled across the world for a fantasy trip.
Four years into their blissful marriage, Melissa announced she was pregnant. Matt walked into his man cave and cried. He was the oldest of eight siblings. He helped raise them and felt he never had a proper childhood. He promised himself he’d never suffer like that.
All their high-end furnishings had to be ripped out and the house baby-proofed. Soon after, Matt began to drop his dirty clothes on the floor, left dishes on the bed, and tossed candy wrappers wherever he felt like tossing them. The lawn he coveted began to suffer. Their chore bulletin board was empty. He didn’t want to be an adult anymore.
His buddies’ wives told him he was an asshole. He already knew that. He didn’t care. In time, they forbade their husbands to see him as he was a bad influence on them pulling them out to weekend sporting events and boys’ trips. They had responsibilities even if he didn’t want to uphold his.
He told himself he didn’t need anyone. All he needed was his video games and sugared cereal to keep him happy.
He heard the resentment in Melissa’s voice. “I hate him,” she whispered at first then she screamed it across the house.
He sent a group message to his old college crowd. He wanted to feel young again. He wanted to relive the frat parties, spring breaks, and sleeping until he couldn’t sleep anymore. Samantha, an ex-girlfriend, responded to his email. She was a photojournalist and traveled most of the year. She sent links to her travel blogs. Almost a year of emotional infidelity prompted a request from his distant admirer. This morning, she asked him to travel with her.
He panicked. He hadn’t told her he was married, had a child, and a prison sentence. Could he come clean now?
“Why don’t you help me?” Melissa screamed.
Matt set down his phone and shrugged.
“Never mind,” she said and gathered up the baby’s things. He watched as she struggled to load the car and drag the baby seat out the door.
He sighed. She was gone. He could enjoy his cereal in peace then go to Starbucks and unwind.
He waited ten minutes to make sure Melissa made it to Starbucks and left. He didn’t want to risk seeing her there. He could continue his conversation with Samantha. But first, he needed something to calm him down. He pulled out his flask from the glove compartment. He took a long, joyful sip.
Melissa wouldn’t be home until after seven. Maybe he’d come back early and take a nap.
He backed out of the driveway without looking.
“Hey!” yelled Darryl Jones, his neighbor.
“Sorry.” Matt looked into his rear view mirror and waved at him.
“You’re going to kill someone.” Darryl hit Matt’s trunk.
“Sorry!” Matt sped away.
A few feet away from the corner bus stop, his phone beeped. He hoped it wasn’t Melissa. A notification from his Samantha appeared. He smiled.
He looked down to read his text. She was begging him to move in with her. He closed his eyes for a brief moment fantasizing about what his life could be.
Then he felt a bump. The car rolled over something. He heard the kids screaming at the bus stop. He thought he heard a small moan. He didn’t have the courage to look back. He hit the gas pedal.
Tim and Daniel Grant
The newly married couple loved their new home. They had built new fencing which hid their oasis to the rest of the world. Tim was a landscape artist and had installed a waterfall, koi pond, and bench shaded by the mature trees. Daniel was a computer programmer who worked from home, his office overlooking the bus stop in from of their house.
If Tim knew the bus stop was at the edge of his beautifully manicured lawn, he wouldn’t have bought the house. He wasn’t fond of children. They were rude and loud and trampled on his grass and flowers. From time to time, he found candy wrappers and empty juice boxes thrown around the yard. In his spare time, he searched for another house in the woods somewhere. With the improvements he made to the current house, they would make a tidy profit and move far away from the rugrats.
Daniel’s heart ached for children. In his spare time, he searched for surrogates. He wanted a boy and girl, one genetically linked to each parent. When he came out to his parents, his mother’s biggest anguish was that she’d never be a grandmother. He assured her she would.
Tim had used the excuse they weren’t married to get out of having children but when gay marriage became legal, Daniel pressured him into it. Now, he was harping on the subject of reproduction on a daily basis.
Most of the people they met didn’t seem to blink an eye when they introduced themselves as a couple. Their neighbor, Mrs. Lawson, thought it was fabulous. She invited them over for coffee. Mr. Lawson, however, swallowed hard when he heard the news. Daniel was too giddy about the invitation to notice but Tim became sour when Mr. Lawson wouldn’t shake their hands.
“We were sweaty,” said Daniel. “It’s no big deal.”
“He’s homophobic,” said Tim.
“I don’t care,” said Daniel as he arranged the pillows on the couch.
Daniel sat every morning with coffee cup in hand and waited for the children to congregate on the corner. He slowly tiptoed out the door. First, he smelled the roses. Then, he picked up some debris. Soon, he was waiving at the children, waiting for an opening to start a conversation.
“Stop talking to those kids,” warned Tim.
“Why? They’re so cute. So innocent.” Daniel braced himself for another fight.
“It’s creepy. Don’t you know parents warn their kids about strangers?”
“I’m not a stranger. They know me. I’m Uncle Daniel.”
“You’re not their fucking uncle. What are you talking about with them anyway?”
“I told them they could swim in our pool after school.”
“Are you crazy?” Tim threw his mug in the sink. “Do you know how that looks?”
“You’re being paranoid. Not everyone is like your father. People are hip now. They watch Will & Grace.”
“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t mean they want us to play with their kids.”
“I can’t talk to you.”
“Stay away from them.” Tim grabbed his keys.
“If we had our own kids, we could have playdates,” Daniel shouted after him.
Tim left earlier and earlier each morning to avoid seeing Daniel’s ridiculous behavior. Without supervision, Daniel was bolder in his actions. One morning, he baked muffins and poured hot chocolate into small paper cups. He took his tray of goodies to the bus stop.
The kids swarmed him. Mr. Lawson stormed over.
“What are you doing? Are you drugging them so you can molest them?” He shoved his phone in Daniel’s face.
“What? No!”
“I’ve called the police, you pervert.” The children set down their treats on the tray and backed away.
“I told you.” Daniel heard a boy whispering to his friend. “He’s a faggot. My Daddy says he’s going to grope us or worse.”
The police car pulled up and Officer Norman, who lived down the street, got out.
“What’s wrong Stan?”
“This pervert is bothering the kids! One of them will go missing one day and you’ll have to dig up that waterfall to find his body.”
“He’s crazy,” said Daniel.
“Are any of these kids yours?” asked Officer Norman.
“No.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m just giving them breakfast.”
“Let’s step over to the car.” Officer Norman guided Daniel away from the children. “You know some of the other neighbors have been complaining. Nothing official so I haven’t done anything. They’ve talked to your umm, partner…husband about it. He assured them you would stop.”
Daniel dropped his trap. The hot chocolate splashed the front of Officer Norman’s shirt.
“I’m going to have to arrest you. Do you want to call your husband?
Daniel shook his head.
Donna Reynolds
Donna Reynolds rode around the subdivision every morning looking for rule breakers. Everyone who received her snarky violation letters hated her. She didn’t see the gray in any situation.
To her, the homeowner association rules were set in stone. Her trusty ruler to measure the grass height and paint swatch to make sure all the lawns were uniform in color were always with her even though by now she could gauge both by eye.
Donna had been the HOA manager for seven years. She didn’t live in the community as the former managers had in the past. She lived in a run-down trailer with her father on the edge of town. The residents balked of an outsider coming in to oversee them but she agreed to a reduction in salary. The board of directors voted unanimously for her.
Her day started and ended with her father. Her mother had left him after fifty-one years of marriage. After the last trip to the hospital she said, “I’ve had enough.”
It may have been the stern warning from the emergency room doctor stating her face couldn’t take another beating. So at age seventy-two, she filed for divorce and moved to Florida to be with her sister.
No one else would take her father. Donna’s siblings had to take his abuse while under his roof but in adulthood, they fled from his sharp tongue and bloody fists.
“I ain’t moving,” he threatened her. “You come back home.”
“Home.” That was not a word she ever used. It certainly wasn’t a way to describe the ratty, tin shed she was born in. Her father was diabetic and had a heart condition. He still smoked three packs of Marlboro’s and drank a case of beer a day. If she didn’t take care of him, she knew no one would.
“Let the bastard die,” her sister told her.
“It’s not right. He’s old. I can’t let him die alone.”
“It’s your life. Do what you want. But you know he’s been a no good piece of shit for his entire life. Don’t feel guilty about dumping his ass on the side of the road.” Her sister hung up. Her brother didn’t return Donna’s calls.
After preparing his breakfast and being verbally abused about how it was too salty, too done, too hot, too cold, or whatever he made up, Donna drove her 1996 Ford Explorer to her office. She then cruised around the subdivision in her golf cart.
She dreamed of living there one day but it had to be after her father died. No one could know about her home life. She had been saving for over eighteen years and had nowhere near the twenty percent down payment she needed.
“There’s the bitch,” said one of the girls at the bus stop.
“Shhh,” said her friend.
Donna stopped. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” The girl looked away.
“She heard you,” said her little friend.
“That’s what my mother calls her. And all the other moms around here.”
“She’ll get her revenge on you. You better shut up.”
“She charged us two hundred dollars because we had weeds and the grass got a little yellow. Mommy said she couldn’t afford to pay both the fine and buy me the new American Girl doll. Bitch.”
Donna sped off. She saw Mr. Jones pushing his granddaughter past the bus stop. He was as ornery as her father. His daughter lived with him for a while but she was gone now. Mrs. Jones died a few months later. When she was alive, they won Yard of the Month several times. Donna could always count on her to set an example for their neighbors. Their lawn was looking a little haggard lately.
Donna hadn’t fined Mr. Jones. She knew he had his hands full with the little girl who Donna thought had Downs Syndrome. He was so loving and patient with her, pushing her around the subdivision several times a day.
Donna stopped in front of Mr. Jones’s house. She unloaded some plants she picked up at Home Depot. She ripped out the dead flowers and planted the new ones.
Mr. Jones walked up to Donna.
“When I saw you this morning, I thought you were going to fine me. My wife used to do all this.” He took a long breath.
“Mrs. Jones always took so much pride in her yard. I’ll be by later to water them.”
Donna stooped down and touched the little girl’s hair.
“Nice lady,” she said.
“You’re a lucky little girl,” Donna told her.
Adam Graham
She regretted it instantly after she yelled at him. He threw his crayons on the floor, looked back at her with venom in his eyes, and stormed off to his room. This wasn’t the first time his art bled from the drawing paper she provided to the forbidden tables, floors, and walls. Once, he redesigned a designer dress that hung in her closet.
She was afraid he would run off again. Whenever she lost her temper, he tried to climb out the windows or sneak out the back door. The neighbors said it is her fault because she didn’t watch him closely enough. The first time he was lost, a stranger found him near the gas station and went door-to-door looking for his family. The second time, the neighbors formed a search party.
“We didn’t call the police this time,” the homeowner’s association president told her. “You know they will take him from you.”
After dusk, she saw him coming up the driveway with the judgmental mob behind him. He looked both elated to see a familiar face and at the same time frightened of her response.
“Where were you?” she asked him.
“I went to the bus stop. I wanted the bus to take me away.”
The psychologist asked her to be patient. He said others went through the same issues. Medication and therapies could be adjusted. But ultimately, it was her job, not his, to be patient. He didn’t fully understand what he was doing but she did.
She never wanted children. They always seemed unpredictable and uncontrollable. When her friends started spitting out spawn, she was patient. She listened to the endless hellos as she reasoned with a two-year-old to hand the phone over to his mother and then listened to a dial tone. She talked over a screaming child as she told her lunch date about her promotion. She smiled as she told her former college roommate she could definitely scrape clay off her thousand dollar handbag.
The last boyfriend pressed her to reconsider her decision.
“Can’t you see a little you or me running around?” he asked.
“No. We never had enough money when I was growing up. I don’t want to struggle like that. I don’t want to deprive a child of things I didn’t have. You’re free to leave and find someone else.”
He did. The mutual friends told her they saw him at Crate & Barrel a few months ago with his wife and little girl.
“I’m happy for him,” she reassured them.
She knew none of the behavior modification methods she researched would help. Unsolicited advice included spending more quality time together, positive reinforcement, and establishing clear consequences. The doctors told her he was too far gone by then. The best thing was to send him away so licensed professionals could help him.
She couldn’t bear to do it. He was her blood. Even though she wasn’t equipped to handle it, he was her responsibility. There was no one else.
An hour after his temper tantrum, she saw his innocent face appear around the corner. He was making sure she wasn’t watching him. The door closed and she heard scratching coming from his room.
She braced herself for his new creation. She tiptoed to the door and cracked it slightly. The sight punched her in the gut.
A man was holding a tiny girl’s hand at the bus stop. A happy sun and colorful rainbow covered them.
“You’re my good little girl,” said her father. “I know I’m a burden. Please be patient with me.”
In that moment, she decided to let him continue his masterpiece. He worked his entire adult life as an artist using his meager earnings to take care of his family. He ate bologna sandwiches for lunch every single day so she could have the prettiest prom dress, go on vacations with school mates, and attend college. When he offered to drive her to school in that rickety, old car of his, she told him no. She was embarrassed of him. She would wait at the bus stop in the hot sun, pouring rain, and occasional snow storm. Anything was better than being seen in that thing.
“Be patient my dear,” he told his painting. “Someday you will be rewarded for all your hard work. You will have all the things you want. You will have your own family one day. They will love you no matter what.”
All her life, he let her color outside the lines. And for the short time he had left, she would let him do the same.
Anna Mathews
Brady Matthews bought his bride from a catalogue called Happy Harlots. He saw the link on one of the porn sites he frequented. He fell in love with her photo immediately. He put a hefty deposit on his credit card and visited St. Petersburg. A month later, he paid the balance of thirty thousand dollars and spent a month there making sure the paperwork for the visa was in order.
Anna was relieved Brady was handsome. Some of her friends wrote her mentioning their husbands were old, fat, and mean. Brady was always a gentleman asking her if he could hold her hand or kiss her. She thought she was lucky.
Sex didn’t start until they were married. It was always rough. Anna wasn’t a virgin. She knew everyone was different but Brady was meaner than most of the men she had encountered. She accepted it as the American way.
He choked her the first night; he later saying it was normal foreplay. The duration became longer each time. The bruises settled in deeper and deeper into her throat until the purple specks became a part of her skin.
The shoving started weeks into their marriage; he later explaining he was stressed from financial difficulties due to him having to buy her. He only had to push her once the first few times. Her fear caused her to step back along with the shove making it appear that he moved her body a great distance. When she started showing her defiance and planted her feet, he used his might to knock her back to the walls.
The hitting didn’t start until she got pregnant. Brady didn’t want the child. He already had two bastards from his high school girlfriend. Anna had never met them.
“I need to see a doctor,” said Anna.
“Don’t women just pop them out in your country then go back to work the next day?” He laughed.
“Molly, the lady next door is a nurse. She says I need prenatal care.”
“Shut up. Don’t you know how much that will cost? Dumb bitch!” He grabbed her hair and dragged her outside.
“You see all those shitheads at the bus stop? Look! Look at all the slack-jawed assholes eating their parents out of house and home. And look at that retard in the stroller. That old man will be taking care of her forever. I’m paying twenty-five percent of my paycheck for my two mistakes. And they don’t even call. Now, you’re saddling me with this?”
The silent children watched Anna and Brady.
“Stop it. Let’s go back in.” Anna tried to untangle her hair from Brady’s fingers.
“I want everyone to see how you’re trying to break me.”
“Okay, they saw. Let’s go back in.”
Anna went back cutting the crust of Brady’s sandwiches, folding the towels in thirds, and following his endless list of instructions. It didn’t help.
In her fourth month, Anna suffered a miscarriage. Molly called the ambulance. She was hoping the doctors would recognize the abuse and call the police. They were either too busy to notice or to care.
Anna woke up in her hospital bed.
“Are you okay?” asked Molly.
Anna nodded.
“I brought some brochures about women’s shelters. I convinced Brady to hand over your passport and some clothes in exchange for my silence. He swore he didn’t have any money.”
Anna looked up at the television. She watched Melania Trump smile sheepishly at her husband.
Anna pulled the blanket around her.
“Does money make it better?” she asked.
Joseph Nixon
Joseph Nixon hid behind a tall bush and watched his son, Joey, wait for the bus. His eighteen year old daughter, Liz, waited with her brother.
Joey’s mother had been Joseph’s mistress while he was married to Liz’s mother. She was the cute but inept office assistant. Liz’s mother divorced him and left the nine year old girl with the new family.
“You will see how glamorous life is as Joseph’s wife. Karma is a bitch.” The first Mrs. Nixon slapped her replacement before flying off in a private jet with her half of their money.
Wife number two was happy for a while. She had the man, status, and a baby. Liz was helpful and the two, only thirteen years apart in age, became friends.
Joseph was happy for a while as well. But what he craved was the excitement, sneaking around, thrill of getting caught, and adrenaline-fueled sex. He didn’t want PTA meetings, backyard barbeques, birthday parties, and scheduling sex around a crying baby.
He found he was getting lumpy. He had gained baby weight as well. Fifty was not a forgiving age. The love handles didn’t go away so easily. He joined the gym, changed his diet, and started feeling confident again. The other gym members suggested he try the organic smoothies at the shop right outside his subdivision. He couldn’t tell if they were the best smoothies he ever had or if he was falling for Alexa, the twenty-three year old assistant manager.
She flirted and giggled while Joseph stuffed twenty dollar bills into her tip jar. A few weeks later, she blew him behind the store while he sipped on his mango smoothie. The thought of his wife catching them made him harder. It was all great until this mistress said she was pregnant.
So wife number two became ex-wife number two and mistress number two became wife number three. Both children stopped speaking to him. Liz was of age and she chose to stay with her step-mother and brother.
Once again, Joseph had to split his assets although they were much smaller. This time, he couldn’t afford to buy the new Mrs. Nixon a house. They had to rent which made Alexa very unhappy. She wanted a house just as nice as wife number two but Joseph didn’t own his own company this time. He sold life insurance. His salary couldn’t support two families.
In exchange for giving wife number two his 401k, all of the savings, and his pledge to pay off the house, she agreed to forego the alimony.
Joseph suggested they rent a condo the next town over. Alexa stomped her feet.
“No, I want to stay close to my parents.”
“My kids hate me. Everyone I know here hates me. Why would I stay here?”
“I don’t care. I deserve something just as nice as anyone else. My baby deserves to live in a house as nice as your other kids.”
They compromised and Joseph signed a two-year lease on a house he could barely afford. Alexa maxed out two credit cards buying new furniture and baby clothes. She was ecstatic. He was unhappy again.
Liz noticed Joseph pacing. She stared straight through him. He waved but she stood silent and motionless. She then turned her back to him. He put his hand down and stepped back behind the bush.
Joseph watched his children at the bus stop for the rest of the school year. When summer vacation arrived, he walked to the edge of his ex-wife’s street and waited for Joey and Liz to appear outside. He watched them until he was spotted and left.
He didn’t think they would ever speak to him again. Even Joey turned around and went back into the house when they locked eyes for a brief moment. Holiday invitations remained unanswered and soon Liz went away to college.
Alexa tired of Joseph’s absence. She moved back in with her parents and Joseph left the subdivision. He returned to the bus stop five years later waiting to catch a glimpse of the new child.
Soon-Yi and Robert Chung
Soon-Yi Chung was livid. Her second son’s principal called to say there was an incident at the bus stop. Both parents had to meet at the school to discuss a solution.
“Does Sammy have to go to hospital?” she asked Mrs. Fuller.
“No, but this isn’t the first time these two have fought.”
“Can we discuss on phone?”
“No, we should nip this in the bud before it gets serious.”
“Nip? What nip mean?”
“We need to stop this behavior.”
“We come at 4.”
The Chungs left every morning before dawn to open their convenience store. Mrs. Chung called home every day at four to make sure everything was alright. They usually arrived after eleven, well beyond the boys’ bedtime.
The store never closed. Not for family functions. Not for school activities. Not for holidays. Their ten and twelve year old sons had been taking care of themselves for years. In their homeland, this was common although there usually was a grandparent around.
“When you get home, lock the doors and don’t open the door for anyone. The police will take you away. Understand?”
Both boys nodded.
They had worked ten years to buy a house in a good school district. They wanted to give their sons a better chance at life. Their sons would be doctors or lawyers. They would accept a CPA if they couldn’t get into medical or law school.
The other boy and his mother were there when the Chungs arrived.
“Mr. and Mrs. Chung, this is Roy’s mother, Mrs. Guthrie.”
“Miss. Call me Jane.”
“Oh, excuse me,” said Mrs. Fuller.
“I know her. Why we here?” said Mrs. Chung.
“The boys fought at the bus stop,” said Mrs. Fuller.
“We have to close the store, lose lots of money because of this small thing. They are boys. They fight.” Mrs. Chung turned to Sammy and spoke in Korean.
“English! God.” Jane folded her arms.
“What fight about?” Mrs. Chung asked Sammy.
“He hit me,” said Roy.
“You must deserve. Sammy good boy.” Mrs. Chung stared at Jane.
Mrs. Fuller smoothed out her blouse. “Mrs. Chung, we have a zero tolerance policy here.”
“What that mean?”
“No fighting,” explained Mr. Chung.
“You kick Sammy out? We work like dogs to make money to move to your school so he can graduate from here. Now, we being punished because of small fight?”
“The subdivision is better off without you.” Jane squinted her eyes at the Chungs.
“You make fun of us? How about I hit you?”
Jane put her shoes back on. “Bitch, you can try.”
Mr. Chung grabbed his wife’s arm. He shook his head.
She turned back to Sammy. “Why you hit him?”
Sammy shrunk into his chair.
“Say it or I hit you when we get home.”
“Mrs. Chung, please,” said Mrs. Fuller. “Sammy, please tell us.”
“He said I smell. He calls me Chink every day. He throws rocks at me.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “Can we go?”
“No, this behavior must stop on both ends,” said Mrs. Fuller.
“Say you’re sorry,” said Jane.
“But you said…” Roy stomped his feet.
“Shut up. I got shit to do. I got to find a job. Just say it so we can go.”
“This is not enough. This not right.” Mrs. Chung slammed her fist on Mrs. Fuller’s desk.
Mrs. Fuller pushed her chair back. “There is no need…”
“Why you hate us?” Mrs. Chung asked Jane.
“Because you come here and take our jobs. I’m gonna lose my house.”
“We have our own store. I didn’t take anything from you. Before that we clean offices for years.”
“We have to move?” Roy’s eyes welled up.
Mr. Chung whispered in his wife’s ear. She closed her eyes and meditated on what he told her.
He touched her arm. She shook her head.
He took her hand. She gritted her teeth and nodded.
Mr. Chung turned to Jane. “When we come to America, we have nothing. We know how stressful life can be. We plan to open second store by the university a few miles from the subdivision. My wife wants to spend more time at home. Maybe you can help us. Maybe you can work at the store.”
Jane’s eyes squinted again but this time it was to keep her tears from flowing.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
*Also featured in a Night Shift Radio podcast