“A Spit in the Wind” - a tainted love story.

 

“Can you talk?”

Her sensual laugh, soft and alluring, enters his ear through a mobile phone, excited, daringly sinful, and disturbed that this once potential lover has the courage to remain on the phone.

“Where are you?” he asks.

She laughs again, “I'm in the backyard watering the plants away from the crowd inside the house.” Her tone changes. “And if you ever call me again, I'll kill you.”

Thoughts of their encounter, the night before refuse to remove themselves from her memory, the images, all the pain fills her fragile soul. She cannot steel her heart from this gorgeous, drunken, and sadistic man.

Considering the time and place, the two new lovers' on their first date, managed to meet in secret, a rendezvous at a well-known train station in Melbourne. As the train ground to a stop, she did not see him at first, though turned her head around as he began to run in her direction at the end of the platform, calling her name above the chaos of a typical Friday night.

She turned her head and seeing him revealed her soul to him, softness in character, a beautiful smile, and a tinge of fear.

She looked absolutely magnificent. Feeling like a young man, he kissed her as the grinding train left the station, the young people looking their way. The kiss, as all lovers know, tells all, and only time will resolve the immensity of their current feelings.

“You actually are here!”

“Did you ever doubt me” she whispers.

Feeling slightly drunk, due to the few wines he sipped before her arrival, he lands in the Moment, total present time, and wonders why he has been so blessed.

She laughs again and kisses him on the lips, and asks, “Where are we going?”

Like many men, out of ego or lack of confidence, he acts in bravado, a man; a little boy, really, announces that a luxurious room is awaiting and a dinner that will be remembered for a life time.

What this 'has-been' adolescent has missed, is that the woman he now holds is a lady of experience and taste. She understands the young, the naive, the inexperienced in love. But somehow this particular middle-aged man, his strange ideas about life, his past, and his strange demeanor, is a mystery, something to be explored. She decides to go along with his romantic overtures, his sentimental and poetic view of life; a man from a distant past, or some deranged character from a bad novel. She finds him curious and this experience will prove or disprove her expectations about him. Thus she cautiously follows along.

Only two minutes from the station, they enter the pub/hotel, full of the regular Friday night crowd, expressing their frustrations about a meaningless existence. The pub is loud, happy and has the atmosphere of the unexpected.

They enter the room and she is delightfully surprised. High ceilings, 19^th century décor, and a comfortable bed; following his lead, he shows her to the spa, something she, as a woman of class, would never do with him at this early stage. What impresses the woman is that he made the effort to create “ambiance”, candles and low lamp lights bathe the room in a soft glow.

He offers her a glass of wine from the mini-bar that tastes like sour apples, the poor grapes having spent their short lives in the hot sun. She chooses to ignore this tiny mishap.

Her expression tells all, and they kiss, continue to kiss passionately, until she pushes the 'boy' away, stating that dinner would be a good idea.

Through dinner their conversation turns from the ideal to the absurd. She asks him about Mozart, current affairs, or politics; he looks confused and changes the subject to his “mates” at work, abusing the new apprentice on the job. He laughs embarrassingly loud, telling the cruel antics' played upon the young apprentice.

She realizes that this was not the man she thought she knew...

In a few short moments, he becomes belligerent, his new love, a forgotten side-line to his pseudo-masculine bravado, shouting, abusing the waiters, demanding service, complaining about the wine, as if his new lover, sitting across from him, would be impressed with his brutal displays.

'He's changed', she thought. He has transformed into a stereotypical vulgar male, the type of person she has had to put up with all her life; a bully, thug, and a man who has never really grown, matured, stopped mentally, somewhere in early adolescence. She feels a stab of fear as he stands up and demands that they go back to the room.

He stumbles to the register to pay the bill. Their waiter and the manager of the hotel spot the drunken lout and make a note.

He literally drags the lady to their room, fumbling with the lock as his eyesight has permanently blurred for the night.

He grabs, pushing, slapping, and demands she do his Will or, “You can get fucked whore!”

Under the circumstances, as had happened too many times before in her life, it was best forgotten, she relents, and the deed is over in a matter of moments. He turns away, instantly snoring, asleep for the remainder of the night.

As the first light from the dawn enters the windows of their hotel room, she carefully leaves the bed, finally, after a few moments, finds her shoes. She did not want to wake him, perhaps beginning the whole ugly scenario again.

It had happened too many times before...

Grabbing her bag, she opens the door like a thief in the night, leaving the drunken rapist to his convoluted dreams.

'Would my life ever change?' she thinks. Is it possible to free my self from these self-obsessed men, whose existence is shallow, a mere spit in the wind?'

'And why am I so different?'

Haggard, tired and feeling sorry for herself, she waits for the train back to the suburbs, back to her normal life.

Only a few stations from her stop, she dials a familiar number and her reliable daughter picks her up from the station.

“How was your night, mother?”

“A great night with the girls...we had a good time.”

The woman winces at the memory of the experience, her daughter oblivious to the truth.

As she enters the front door, that incredible emptiness about her long marriage stings like sunburn. Her husband greets her with his usual probing questions like she is a suspected terrorist from a third-world country. He is another bully from a long line of bullies.

She has all her bases covered and he seems to be satisfied with all her responses.

Life continues, as usual, ignoring the real issues and carrying on as though nothing has changed, and seemingly never will.

Later a good friend rings, and she finally breaks down, sobbing into the phone.