Small Ray of Hope

Katie decides to move in with her fiancee soon after graduating from high school, leaving Madeline a lot of free time. She finds most of her day is spent wandering around their house, trying to find something to do. The only thing on TV seems to be soaps, and she's not into them. Who needs someone else's drama when I have so much in my own life, she thinks, turning off the set.

Her friend Marge says she's suffering from empty nest syndrome and that she should find a hobby. Something to occupy her time, take her mind off things. She suggests finding something she's always dreamed of doing but didn't have time for. Madeline still hasn't figured out what that might be. She did adopt a few strays hoping that'd help fill the nurturing she missed so badly. It did help a little, but she still wishes her daughters were home.

I know, I'll clean our basement. God knows it needs tending to, she concludes. Happy she's found a project, she rushes down the steps. "Oh, look, Katie's schoolwork." She soon discovers they're all marked A's. You've always been a bright one, she thinks, recalling all the academic awards she's received through the years. Her mind wanders back to when Katie was a toddler.

She was a short chunky baby, with big blue eyes and bright red hair. She had a pale complexion and a trail of freckles running from the bridge of her nose across her chubby cheeks. She suddenly recalls the hefty toddler waddling across the yard, trying to keep up with her tall, thin sister.

'~~~

"Wait me, sissy," Katie would yell, chasing her around the yard. Katelyn would pretend to trip and fall. The toddler would run over and plop down on top of her.

"Giddy up horsey," Katie would say, hopping up and down on top of her sister.

"Hang on." Getting on all fours, Katelyn would trot her sibling around their yard.

~~~

I miss those happier days, Madeline concludes as she shuffles through the box. The more she searched, the tearier she became. Maybe this isn't a good idea after all. Sniffling, she puts the container away. She sees a stack of paintings by the stairs when she turns around. Rushing to them, she scans through the colorful assortment.

Katelyn's psychiatrist suggested she try art therapy, hoping it'd help her express herself, give her an outlet for her emotions. Katelyn was all for the idea at first but tired of their project after a few months.

I really enjoyed making these with her. A few of these aren't half bad if I say so myself.

She remembers selling her art to a few of her professors. The money she made wasn't enough to pay for her tuition, but it helped cover some of her smaller expenses and a portion of her college books.

Maybe that's what I should do. Happy she's found a hobby, she bolts up the steps.

***

Stan is sitting on the couch when Madeline walks through their front door. Her arms are loaded with shopping bags from several stores.

He scans the large variety and asks, "What in all those sacks?"

Glancing at the large load, she smiles and says, "They're art supplies, Stan."

"Why did you buy that for?"

"I'm going to take up painting again."

"When did you ever paint?"

"When I was in college."

"That was back in the caveman days." Stan laughs.

"It wasn't that far back." Laying her packages on the table, she continues. "I enjoyed it so much I thought I'd get back into it again. I figure it'll give me something to do now the girls are gone."

"If you want to do something productive, why don't you get a job, earn your keep around here?"

"I do earn my keep, Stan! I cook, clean, do the shopping, laundry, and..."

"Speaking of cooking, where's my dinner?"

"I have it right here." She holds up a plastic bag. "It came from your favorite restaurant."

"Well, this better not become a habit with you. I work hard and expect my supper on the table when I get home."

In their first year of marriage, Madeline discovers that if she keeps the house the way he likes, has supper on the table, and does as she's told, he's less likely to hit her, but it still wasn't a guarantee. "I know you work hard, dear, and it'll never happen again." Since Marge threatened his life, he hasn't struck her, but she doesn't want to push her luck.

"It better not," he yells, slamming his fist on the table.

She jumps backward, tears swell in her eyes. "It...It won't, I promise."

Seeing she's intimidated, he smiles. "So, how much did all of this cost me?"

"Not a cent."

"What did you do, pimp yourself out or something? No, that wouldn't work. No one would be desperate or dumb enough to pay you." He laughs again.

Madeline sneers. "I used my allowance for all of it, including your supper."

"I'd like to eat it before it gets cold. Bring me a scotch too," he orders, kicking back in his chair.

***

With Stan sleeping in his recliner and housework complete, Madeline tiptoes to their back porch. She's hoping to organize her art supplies, so she can start painting first thing in the morning once she gets the beast off to work, of course.

How dare he say I haven't earned my keep around here. I've worked my butt off cooking and cleaning for this family, keeping it organized the way he likes. I even gave up my hopes and dreams for him. I quit a high-paying job to stay home and be the wife and mother he expects me to be. I've done a lot for him over the years, put up with a lot too. Now the kids are grown, I deserve a chance at my dreams. Glancing into their front room, she sees the big tub-of-lard snoring peacefully in his recliner. This angers her even more. "I know you think this is all a waste of time, but you wait, Stan. One day my paintings will make it across the globe."

***

It's been nearly two weeks since Katelyn's release. When she isn't looking for a job, she's in his dungeon pleasuring him. She hates the idea of being his sex slave, but it has perks too. Besides giving her a roof over her head and food in her stomach, he gives her a little spending money for necessities. She's even managed to buy some nice clothes at a local thrift store.

I only have a few days left, so I better make every interview count, she thinks as she nervously steps into a convenience store.

"Hi, can I help you?" the manager asks.

"Yes, my name is Katelyn Howard, and I'd like to apply for a job, please."

"Fill out an application and bring it back," he informs her.

"Can I fill it out here?"

"I suppose," he says, turning to his next customer. Within a few minutes, she's in front of him again. "That was fast," he says, grabbing the piece of paper from her hand.

"I couldn't tell you how many of these I've filled out these past two weeks." She smiles.

He continues to scan her application. He points to the second page. looks up and says, You didn't put down anything in the work history section."

"I've never been employed before."

A curious expression crosses his face. "You've never had a job, and you're twenty-six?" he asks.

"My fiancee wouldn't allow me to work outside the home." She knew it was a lame excuse, but it's the only plausible lie she can think of.

"Well, I'm sorry, honey, but I need to hire someone with experience."

"I'm a hard worker, and I learn fast," she quickly blurts out.

"I wish I could hire you, I really do, but I don't have time to train someone new. See, our night cashier walked out in the middle of her shift, so everyone is pulling doubles until I can replace her."

"Thank you, anyhow," she solemnly replies. She thinks about all of the others who've turned her down as she trudges across the store. She then recalls all the things she's forced to do with that horrid man. Rage builds inside her the closer she gets to the door. I'm not leaving without a fight. Turning towards the manager, she yells, "For two damn weeks, I've been looking for work, but was refused because I don't have experience. How in the hell is someone supposed to get experience if no one is willing to give them a chance? I bet you didn't have experience when you first started," she glances around to find several of his customers are watching. This is your chance, Katelyn, don't blow it now. With every bit of courage she can muster, she points towards her audience as she continues, "I bet none of you did, but your boss gave you an opportunity to prove yourself." Throwing her fists down by her side, she continues. That's all I'm asking for, one damn chance to show you that I can do it." The crowd claps.

"You tell'em, sister," an older gentleman states.

Seeing the situation is getting out of control, the manager picks up his phone. "You better leave before I call the cops."

"I'm going. I'm going." Shoving the door open, Katelyn storms outside. Her hostility turns to grief as she steps into the hot afternoon sun. "Why won't anyone give me a chance? Why?" she bawls, plopping down on the bench.