A Sunday Essay Research Paper The leaving

A Sunday Essay, Research Paper

The leaving was easier than she thought.

All those nights practising it in her head. Just wanted to look at the gardens,

so pretty in the spring. Just wanted to see the gardens. Except in the end

nobody asked. She simply put on the good blue dress, combed her hair and walked

down the corridors, taking care over those polished tiles, and pushed out

through the heavy double doors.

Outside. Out through the garden. Trying not to run but wanting to. Outside. Out

through the gates and here she is walking along the footpath looking at the

daffodils. Just like anybody else.

She breathes in the air. Sniffs it. Sucks it up and rolls it around in her mouth.

So different out here. Different even than in the garden. Sitting on those seats.

Sometimes she takes off her shoes. Rolls down her rights so that she can feel

good rough ground under her feet. She digs her toes in, and rubs her soles into

the earth. They say, look at that Jessy getting herself all dirty, Jessy you

naughty girl you’ll get a chill. Time to go inside, girls.

.Funny that. Being called girl. Naughty naughty girls wetting themselves and

pinching. Quiet good girls slumped in the seats in the garden with their mouths

open. Waiting for it. Drinking in death.

Her voice shakes when she asks for two sections. She wants it far too much.

Practised that too in her head over and over in the nights. Listening to them in

the corridors. If Mary *censored*s herself again tonight she can sleep in it.

Listening to the cries and the calling, I have to get home. I have to, the

children want their dinner. She sits in the bus away from the window. Afraid to

look out. Cars and people on the footpath. People watching. For her. Tom says

it’s a nice place, Mum. Warm and clean and friendly and plenty to do. Except

that everything to do there ends up with dying and there are better places to do

that and better people to do it with.

She grips the sides of the seat with her hands and they are hot and sweating.

Jack said I don’t want to leave you, Jess. Jess. And she took his head in her

hands and cradled him against her body. Rocked and rocked him, tender and gentle

for the last time and whispered to him and held him strong and tight while he

needed it and then let her tears wash down over her face and down over his. She

kissed his mouth and it was still warm and it tasted of salt.

She manages the steps and the post office is there down the road. She has her

book ready in her bag but how much.; she has to think, too, about the withdrawal

slip. All thats done for her now. Tom said it’d be easier. Tom doesn’t know

sometimes easier is harder. In the end she stands still and quiet and breathes

in deeply. Makes herself think to write the name and the numbers. She has to

stop and hold her hand to stop the shaking and rub in some warmth. Her hands are

always a surprise. She can never believe they belong to her. Greyish with the

brown patches and the thin fragile fingers; skin haphazardly stretched on bone.

Jack loved her hands, traced over supple smooth flesh with his fingers. In the

end its only bones that are left. In the end your bones get cold and they ache.

The young man behind the counter has Jack’s blue eyes that she smiles into and

he takes her book and slides it back to her with money. He says have a nice day

and she echoes it back at him, a nice day, have a nice day. Her heart is

pounding.

Out in the streets she panics a little. All these people and talking and music

and the cars slowly nosing. There is a red-capped boy swooping in and out of the

crowd on his skate-board. It is how Jean Legget broke her hip and she steps

quickly back and a woman drives an elbow into her shoulder. Sorry, sorry,

Frightened now. There is a man playing a guitar and singing loudly. She closes

her eyes. Back. Still get back for lunch. Not even missed. Tomato soup and

scrambled eggs and little triangles of dry toast. Tuesday. Eat up girls. Lovely

lunch. Easy to go back, (just in the garden, lovely day). Except she promised.

She opened her eyes. Think. Think hard. stay still and slow and think. She

looked every day at the timetables. Tuesday. Eleven-fifteen departure. She folds

her arms around her body and squeezes. Stop. Stop the shaking. Jack strokes her

arms and her thighs and back and breasts. Breathes into her ear and her mouth.

Warm and sweet. So sweet. (I can’t do it Jack.)

Walk slowly. Move your body carefully out of the way of the people cars

skateboards bikes. Plenty of time. Eleven-fifteen departure. She asks the woman

with the red puffed up hair for the ticked. I-am-visiting-my-son. She practised

that too and her voice comes out with hardly a quiver and she smiles her triumph

over the counter. The woman smiles back. She doesn’t understand she is dealing

with an escaped convict.

She has the

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