Thinking

Thinking
I heard him reach into the Navajo basket that my mother brought back from New Mexico and take the keys to my extra car, the car my father gave me when I was 16.
“I’m going to the store,” he yelled. Do you need anything?” I panicked. I was sitting on the floor in the living room. I looked up at him standing in the hall by the open door. ‘Going’ was a loaded word for me. I felt threatened. Going could lead to anything. Trying to think I focused on the basket beside him which symbolized ‘a going’ that had not turned out well. Had mother shouted, “I’m going to New Mexico. Need anything?” Or, is it possible she shouted, “I’m going to the store. Need anything?”, and then she drove to New Mexico?
“Just a minute, let me think.” I shouted back. I began to feel the slow drip of the melt of my mind. With the release of frozen synapses I was now able to think.
I’m thinking I’m not happy. I looked down at the paper work in front of me. I didn’t like what I saw. It was my first year teaching having graduated from college two months earlier. Somehow I had missed the classes that explained how to teach young children reading, writing, and math. Even worse I’ve discovered I don’t like children.
I’m thinking, a moment ago I was doing some much needed paper work in my garage apartment on a Fall Sunday afternoon, but now the person I want around to make me happy, who doesn’t have a job, who doesn’t care about my job, is going in my extra car. It’s parked behind the new car I just bought probably so he could have use of my old car, but not now. Now is not a good time. To compound the issue is our lack of planning. I thought lazing around all day would be fun. It seems he doesn’t, at least not lazing around with me.
I’m thinking I have an issue with his going on a random jaunt like this because in the past he has left for indefinite amounts of time, two weeks sometimes, without explaining and I missed him so much I went and got him and brought him back. If I don’t say anything and he goes he might come back very soon, but if I protest and he gets mad I will have a bigger dilemma because then I won’t know if he’ll ever come back. If I protest I know I will have to live with the sting of his insults the rest of the day and probably the rest of my life and I know he will go anyway. He will throw the keys down and call a friend to come get him.
I remember when my sister said the funniest thing about John Connelly, a divorced high school friend who married too young. “Yeah, that John Connelly just went to the store and never came back.” I can hear her talking about my mother who came back from New Mexico but later did leave for good. “Yeah, Mama just took her pocketbook and left.”
Thank goodness John Connelly and his wife never had children. They were only about 17 or 18 years old when they got divorced. No one felt sorry for John Connelly’s wife. Everyone thought she was stupid for marrying him. Everyone knew he was an irresponsible piece of crap. His clothes were four sizes too small and he always groped his groin. 
Having thought for these past few seconds I’ve decided to throw away that damn Navajo basket, sell the extra car and find a new source of happiness.
“No,” I shouted back, “I don’t need anything. Thanks.”