Human Nature

She looked out of the window at the storm clouds massing over the south point of the little island. What had she done? Why had she spoken to him that way? She’d rang her, soon-to-be, ex-husband and unloaded both barrels of her verminous mouth and he'd taken her verbal assault without flinching. This unnerved her, she could not read him. Perhaps that's why she did it, to get a reaction, but perhaps that was more telling of her state of mind than his. She was glad she’d come to the beach hut to cope with this latest drama in her confused life.

The beach was nothing more than a scrap of land her father had acquired off the local land owner ten years back in exchange for her father's services as a lawyer. The man's name was Wilfred Jones who'd had a problem with the IRS gentleman who claimed that he'd not paid any taxes on his unofficial pig farm. This turned out to be more down to pure ignorance on Wilfred's part, he just did not do 'figures and maths' as he put it, and so had no idea what a tax return was or even the simplest concept of tax. He believed in the purest form of a trade economy – you want a pig? $70 for a 'smallun' and $100 for a 'biggun'.
Her father had negotiated a reasonable fee of $12,000 with the IRS that, once looking at the figures, realized the paltry revenue accumulated by Wilfred Swine Farm figures was not worth the Uncle Sam's time. The beach was a piece of useless infertile land that Wilfred saw no use in, so rather than pay her father in quality meat, he offered up the beach. Donald Smith, Attorney at Law accepted and built a fine beach hut that very summer, with the help of builders and contractors of course.
She came to the beach house to get away from the craziness of her city life as a divorce lawyer – yes, daughter following in daddies footsteps. The beach house had about it a tranquility that calmed the soul. Maybe it was to do with the pace of life slowing down to a relaxed ebb that induced a sleepy, almost hypnotic effect, probably due to the sound of surf, the crow of sea gulls and at night the beam of light filtering through the windows from the nearby lighthouse. All these elements were seemingly perfect.

Settling the large Gin and Tonic on the sideboard, she looked out to sea and began to think of Henry, her two year old child, who was currently with 'Daddy' in his condo in Florida. The father in question was Jason Bryant, her husband of eight years who now was filing for divorce, although they had been separated for almost two years, the official-looking letter on her knee declaring in post script Jason's request was hard to bare. A flood of memories of joyful times, even at this very beach house consumed her and she could feel the burn of tears sting her eyes.

“Fuck you Jason. I loved you, goddamn it. I still love you!” she said preaching to the bleached boards and old family photos. Wiping her cheeks she grabbed her drink a took a large swig. “But you were impossible to live with.”

Jason had been an artist of some renown, painting elaborate architectural building of fictional and fantastical design. He had an almost bipolar disorder, that is apparently common in artists according to some magazine she’d read, where he would be loving and attentive one moment and then he’d have a shouting match about her stifling his creativity.

“Well you've all the space you need now Jason and I hope you find love with that 'child' you're playing around with.”

The 'Child' was in fact a twenty eight year old art student, who is still a student at 28? She'd met her briefly in an uncomfortable encounter when dropping Henry off. Jason had been out getting some groceries from down the local store and so she was invited in to wait. She could not say no as she had to discuss pick up times with Jason.
The conversation with Tamie (which was her real name) had been awkward, despite Tamie making a real effort to put her at ease. This adult behavior from Tamie brought out the child in her as she acted like a sullen child only answering in monosyllabic terms and constantly looking at the door willing for Jason's return and her escape from this nightmare scenario. Eventually Jason did return and she got out of there as quickly as she could. She remembered driving half way down the road, stopping the car and crying into a dirty tissue for ten minutes before she started the SUV and heading home.

The effect of the alcohol covered her like a warm blanket and she picked up her pen and scribbled her signature on the divorce agreement with a sense of remote detachment. She sealed the envelope and pondered on how many life-changing events happen via mail.
Getting up off the sun lounge chair she went to fill her glass in an effort to evaporate some of her melancholy, and a short time later with the alcohol causing a nice burning sensation in her stomach and some good episodes of Friend’s playing on the television she started to feel better.

That same night, but under a sun red dappled Florida sky, a man lay awake with his girlfriend Tamie sleeping soundly beside him. Memories of a previous life played like a slide show through his mind, and with a sudden upwelling of emotion he hastened a tear away from his eyes, turned over and tried to grasp the last bit of sleep before dawn.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 06.07.2011

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