Another New Start

         Some people hated the smell of gasoline not Kat she had always loved the smell.  The smell reminded her of Sundays in the garage with her dad working on that old Chevy Cheville.  That hot rod would eventually be turned into scrap metal in some no name junk yard.  It would be sold for parts, completely gutted by some tweaker looking to make enough to buy a bag of short lived euphoria.  That car on the other hand gave Kat and her father something to talk about other than the divorce.  They would pump gasoline into that thing once a month to see if any of the tinkering her father had done over the week would somehow bring it back to life.  Kats father every weekend would tell her, “Kitten your gonna have the hottest sports car in your senior class, the boys and girls will envy you.”  He would throw her the smile that she was sure her mother had fallen in love with.  His teeth always looked so white in contrast to his soiled hands and greasy brow.  Well before she decided it wasn’t worth the fighting anymore and left him for the doctor across town. That smile would be the only thing he left for her, other than that shell of a car that they never got to start.  Yea, gasoline.  She loved the smell.  Cardboard boxes and packing tape however, she was fucking sick of it.

Ahem.

“Mrs. Write?”

         Fuck sake could she not get a second to her damn self?  Not even to peer out the window lost in her own thoughts to escape her reality?  Her reality was that she was being ripped from her life for about the millionth time.  This was an exaggeration of course, but in all honesty this would be her twenty-sixth time moving in eleven years.  Turning to the throat clearing little shit that interrupted her flash back, he appeared to be no more than nineteen.  He was a scrawny little thing, how the hell was he going to be able to lift anything in this house.  Poor guy, he was probably denied admission to the local college here at his parents recoil, he got the first job he could.  That’s ok he had time to get his shit together.  She had seen older men with their lives less then put together.  So as far as things go, this kid was at least trying.

“Hmm?” she finally said through her moisturized chapsticked lips.

“Where would you like us to start?”

          She didn’t give a fuck. Did it matter?  It was all going to end up on the truck anyways.  What they should really say is, “I know you don’t even want to do this.  You’re about to have two teenage boys and a man who perspires profusely pack all your belongings and shove them in a box like they never meant anything to you.” That is what they should say.  Fact is, it’s just a job to them.  They don’t care if your couch makes it still upholstered.  Or if that lopsided clay ashtray your oldest made you eight years ago breaks.  Their job is to wrap as much packing paper around your shit and shove them into as many boxes as possible.  To make the most money for the move as possible. After that then they’re going to take turns behind a wheel driving like assholes, jacked up on bangs and five-hour energy drinks to get your belongings to the next house.  They will arrive reeking of truck stop hot dogs and taquitos to than ask if you want help unpacking.  Do people ever?

“Down stairs is fine.” She flashed her dads smile at the boy, even fake it was enough to make the boy avoid eye contact.

           She hated the smell of cardboard. It meant knew beginnings.  To most new beginnings meant fresh starts.  For her it was endless new admission packets at her children’s school.  New routines. New areas. No friends, again.  She didn’t always look at it this way.  The first ten times they moved she looked forward to the adventures.  Her friends made comments like, “You’re a world traveler.” 

“You’ve seen so many things.”

“I look up to you. You’re such a gypsy!”

 Friends.

She made “friends” everywhere she went.

            It wasn’t hard really. Kat was the kind of woman that stole the attention in any room.  To be honest, her beauty was more natural than most.  Her slightly unkempt brown hair hung to the small of her back, it fell in beachy waves.  She came from an Egyptian background so her skin was olive without even needing to see the sun. Her mother blessed her with clear skin and crystal blue eyes.  But, like her father.  It was her smile that really stole the show.  It was such a shame she rarely smiled anymore. 

            Her husband’s name was Robert.  Dr. Robert Wallis.  When they first met he was finishing his last year in med school.  She was working on her degree in design.  They spent every moment together after the day she spilled her coffee all over his midterm paper.  He introduced himself as Robbie, and she introduced herself as Kat.  It was a perfect love.   A fun, spontaneous love.  They spent every break traveling.  If she tried hard enough she could still feel the summer sun on her skin and taste the tequila on his lips.  They would pick up a post card from every place they went and tac it up on a cork board, along with their favorite picture from the trip.  That same cork board is hung on the wall in the kitchen next to the fridge.  They still add to it with each family trip.

           After his graduation he was offered a residency at the transplant hospital on Davis Island, in Tampa.  He told her one night as they sat at In and Out.  She was halfway through her second double-double.  He looked at her with such sadness in his eyes.  Like he had expected her to run from the car, never to be seen again.

“Wait. You’re leaving?” she swallowed hard, the burger had seem to get stuck in her throat.

“Come with me Kitty Kat.” He pleaded.

“But what about school? I still have three semesters left.” She looked down and had taken another bite of her burger to hold the tears back.

“Marry me.” He had spouted out. “Marry me. Come with me. I can’t – no I won’t do life without you.”  He had moved the burger from her hand and was now holding them in his.

“Okay.” She smiled that smile.

“Okay?” He beamed.

‘Okay! YES. A thousand times yes.  She had thrown herself into the driver’s side and was kissing him madly all over.

          That was the first of many times Kat had uplifted her life, given up on what she was working towards and blindly gave all to the man she loved.  Occasionally people who knew her well enough would ask her why she did it.  She would always just reply, “I love him. We are married and we both take our vows very seriously.  I am very supportive of my husband and his career. He saves people’s lives.”

            She of course knew it was deeper than that.  She wasn’t going to let Ray grow up being tossed back and forth between houses until she was old enough to pick what parent she wanted to live with or worse, one of them died.

She would have hands down picked her father, if he hadn’t have died.

            “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” She shouted over her shoulder. She wanted to pack her personal things.  The stuff she didn’t want scrawny thing rubbing his pizza hands all over. 

            Walking to her side table she picks up the picture her and Robbie (Robert) and her had taken in San Francisco.  She found out she was pregnant with Ray shortly after.  The note scribble across the bottom said Forever your Kitty Kat.  She tossed it in the box on the bed and sat down.  He no longer calls her Kat, she is Kathrine and he is Robert.  When was the last time she had tasted tequila on his lips?  When was the last time she had tasted his lips at all?  Did she even miss him or was it the companionship she craved?

“UGH. I can’t believe I am doing this AGAIN!” She threw herself backwards, grabbed her pillow and screamed into it.