Mandys Letter

The trembling just wouldn't stop.

"Mandy, honey, I know it's hell out there, but you're shaking so bad--damn, drink your coffee."

(the fuck are you looking at) She turned back to Joyce Callahan, a dear friend. Every time this happened, she knew right away and did her best to calm the nerves. Every couple of years, history repeated itself with anger, tears, and a broken heart.

"Thanks. I'm trying." Mandy sniffled, wiping snot across her thumb. "This mother fucker,"--tears fell, her face scrunched with thunder roaring between the ears--"took what savings I had and drove out of state to meet her; some fucking--god damnit, maybe nineteen? That's pushing it."

Joyce grabbed her sweaty palms. "You can't keep doing this. Just leave. You can stay at my place. I can help with the incoming chemo stuff."

(there is no chemo)

"He had the fucking nerve to bring her down here. Yeah. In my bed; in my clothes. Are you kidding me?" The cup and saucer jumped from her fist hitting the table.

"I'll drop the second half of my shift. C'mon. I'll drive you."

Mandy pushed her matted hair to the side, collapsing into the pit of her arm. "I can't do that to you--I'm taking off, anyway." She tossed a ten dollar bill and pushed away.

"Don't go back. Please."

"We will see."

Mandy stepped out into the snow, crunching away from the cafe. After a few paces, her tears were frozen to her cheeks. The sadness crippled her, knees nearly refusing to keep her upright.

(stupid dumb mother fucker i knew you would do it again i fucking knew it)

She screamed at the ground, pressure building behind the eyes until she heaved, bits of blood hitting the undisturbed white sidewalk.

(i loved you why would you keep doing this to me why now)

Two men from across the quiet street stood in silence, staring. She shoved her burning hands into her pockets, ignoring them. Up the running boards, she climbed into the truck and leaned back, the heater blowing on her tingly face. Her phone buzzed.

(who the fu-don't fucking text me right now damnit shit i'm tired)

She hit send: I'll text you back later. Of course, that wasn't good enough and he persisted. Into the cup holder it went.

(fuck you)

It was only a few miles to the homestead. Drifts had started to form along the road but nothing the four-by-four dually couldn't handle. Trees swayed in and out and the wind had an eerie whistle. Darkness shrouded the two-story Queen Anne home, nothing visible in any direction.

Same lights were still on from when she left. She dropped her coat to the couch. Nothing had been messed with. After a quick strip down and a shower, she parted her hair to mimic the woman she found him with. (like this except im not a fat fucking brunette whatever id like to see her work sixty hours for years to pay for your shit okay ass wasting my years my fucking

time!

) She hit the mirror, spider-web cracking it top to bottom.

Bzzt.

"Really, mother fucker!"

She smacked the phone. "What, Brandon? What! I'm trying to clean myself up and you're blowing me up." A smile in anger formed. "I've been separated for like ten hours and--hey, dude--hey, you think that's what I need right now?" (I need something to eat pop tarts i think i have in the cabinet)

"Hey. Be butthurt. I don't care. I was drunk. I flirted a little in the garage. You're young; I'm older than your mom. It's just, not now. Trust me, I want it--still--but I'm busy. Really busy." She sighed. "I'll call you when I'm not puking my guts out thanks to my husband. You good with that? Put your dick away and go do something."

A picture message came through: his cock. Her nostrils flared and she stormed off to throw clothes into a bag. More belongings were shoved in and she slammed the door behind her.

Mandy drove her fist into the steering wheel with a quick honk. There was a pause of regret and she grabbed it, shouting until her vocals broke from the strain. Blood tickled her lips, dripping from her nose. Joyce wanted to call the police for what he did to her face, but she refused to get them involved. One black eye and a bruised nose didn't warrant her going in cuffs with him; domestic, both parties with visible wounds? Consider that a week lost behind bars.

(where the fuck am I going oh you stupid bitch keys phone bags cabin keys fucking gas ok good)

Sitting still was hard to do with the hate flowing through the veins. Heat blared towards her face and her eyelids started to droop. Lazily, she picked up the phone.

"Did you get the brakes fixed on that piece of shit Chevy?"--the irritation started to build the more he talked--"You wanna give me a ride or not? I'm too tired to drive." She dropped the phone and put her head to the glass...

Knock. Knock.

She shuddered, reaching for the glock between the seat and center console. Brandon looked at her dumbly, brown hair flying around and freezing his tail off.

******

It seemed like every bump in the road woke her up. Still, drifting in and out laid out across Brandon's old torn up seat was what she needed. His lap was warm; the crotch also comfortable for her head. She wasn't the only one falling in and out, either, with a random hardness pushing on her cheek every now and then. Another Laramie boy trying to hook up with the new and fun hot mom out of Texas, that's all.

Should he be ashamed of trying? Down at the mechanic shop, he could barely hold it together when she picked up her Ford F-350; very nervous he was, but that's what high blond ponytails and low cut tank-tops do to young men. There's no mystery to their drive.

(remember being drunk is that your reason cause i was hitting on him i barely remember what i said or did why would you invite guys over if you were that jealous)

Earlier, she had mumbled for him to find a rest area. Finally, they had stopped, a lone street light trying to do it all under the horizontal snow. She curled up into her coat and stomped through. After a few, Brandon spotted her and he hopped out for the door.

"Oh, shit,"--she waved quickly--"we don't both need to be out here. Hurry up."

"Alright. Alright," he said, tossing the door.

Head to toe, she shivered uncontrollably.

"You want my coat?"

She stared off into the black before her eyes found him. He knew that look. "I have like five layers--boy, just make sure this hoopty's heat keeps working."

"Yes, ma'am."

She sighed. "I have a name."

"Alright, Mandy. You got it," he said with a huff, jerking the wheel around. That struck a nerve.

(there you go you got some man in you)

Another one hundred miles of wilderness and she sat up while he pumped gas. Gently, she stroked along her aching forehead. That punch would be felt for a month. He stepped to the window.

"Did Jeremy give you that black eye?"

It barely registered. "Advil and chapstick. Get us drinks--and no, we're not talking about my face." A few twenty dollar bills were waiting for him on his side of the seat. After he moseyed off, she pulled the visor and slammed it after not finding a mirror. She yanked on the rear view mirror and wanted to rip it from the windshield.

(that's the last time you'll put your fucking hands on me)

Bzzt.

Quickly, she glanced around and found the phone. She grabbed it, looked at the station and hurled it into the field next to them. He walked out, hopped in and she downed the pills with the Coke. He handed over a hot container before turning the truck over. "Thought you might be hungry."

"You were right."--she ripped a huge chunk of the bacon pizza slice--"Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem."

(remember there is no service don't look for it)

******

The Advil had helped ward off some of the new ache in her back. Sleep was hard to come by after downing so much sugar. Intrusive thoughts ran rampant, constantly reminding her of what happened; though, now was the time to start accepting the truth, because it's done and over with. Nothing can change it. Brandon's downshift grabbed her attention.

"Montana, already?"

"No, not quite," he said with a short sigh, nervously maneuvering to the shoulder. "The fuck does he want?"

Anxiety riddled her the moment she opened her eyes; the red and blue filled the cab with the blinding spotlight. "Were you going the speed limit?"

"Under," he told her. "Can't see shit out here to drive fast."

(yep this is it)

Cold blasted across her face, snow starting to roll in.

"Officer."

"I turned around because it's dangerous enough and you have a tail light out, son."

Brandon shook his head. "Shit. I just had that fixed."

"Well, you know how these ol' Cheyenne's are--lemme see license and registration real quick and you'll be on your way. Get it fixed properly, you hear?"

"Yes, sir,"--he leaned over to the glovebox, handing it over--"just a second. Wallet is somewhere."

Mandy lifted so that he could grab it.

"Oh. Didn't see you there, ma'am."

Not a word was said in return. Clearly, he didn't like that she didn't respond after she laid back down.

"Who's that--uh, let's see--Mr. Whitten?"

The slight hesitation made her blood pressure ramp up.

"Oh, that's my girlfriend. She's just tired; very cranky, too. This weather is total dog-shit, you know."

(brandon you little shit stop fucking talking)

The officer nodded, not wanting to be out in the storm any longer. "What's her name, son?"

"Janessa, sir."

(smooth)

"Hang tight." Finally, he shuffled off.

"Janessa?" she said sarcastically. "Where'd that come from?"

'I don't know. I figured you didn't want Jeremy knowing where you were."

"Smart man."

******

Tired eyes lazily blinked at the clock on the out-of-place aftermarket stereo. Nearly three in the morning. He had mentioned they had passed through into Montana. At some point, the heat from her layers had become too much and she lay out with everything unzipped. Brandon's hand was clutched with one of hers, nestled underneath a clammy, heavy breast.

"Shit, I'm dying in this," she whispered loudly, lifting to tear it all off. A coat, two hooded sweatshirts and a t-shirt went into the floorboard. Back down in his lap, she found the arm and draped it over her midsection. The good side of her face was full of bulging denim. She cupped the underside. "What are we going to do about this here? I'm trying to sleep."

There was a monstrous sigh. "I don't want to crash this truck."

She palmed around it, tightly squeezing until it slipped into the pant leg. "I think it wants out of there." Up on an elbow, she popped his belt buckle, yanking the zipper as he slouched. "Eyes on the road,"--the jeans were spread apart and she wrapped around damp hardness--"don't make us regret this."

The musty scent of hours of driving with it all tightly packed between his legs didn't bother her. She hauled it out into the open, dragging her lips onto a big vein until sweaty pubes pressed into her face. After a tug on the briefs, the rest spilled out to sag towards the leather. Lips pursed into the base and she breathed deep, followed by a long sigh of approval from up top. He felt around the sticky cleavage and gathered up a hefty tit, pulling it from the tight cardigan to fondle.

Usually, he had to talk his way through a blowjob or it would never happen. Within a minute of being up against Mandy's throat, he tried to distract himself, but the opposite was happening; he couldn't get over the wetness, the squelching and the tension they built over the course of the night. "I'm gonna cum, Mandy," he whispered. His eyes fluttered, his mouth started to drop and he filled his hand with her hair. The tip stung the moment he unloaded into the back of her neck. She didn't protest, keeping her lips tight at the base. After the eight or ninth pulse, a gulp sent it down.

"Holy shit," he said with a sigh. "Oh, shit..."

(at least somebody appreciates that)

"Better?"

"Oh my god, Mandy."

"Wake me up when we get there," she told him, nuzzled into it and closing her eyes.

******

The climb to her cabin was treacherous. Ten miles northwest of Fallon had him wondering if she knew where she wanted to go. Wasn't the way he wanted to break in the new transfer case, but the four-by-four held up on the inclines. Thankfully, giant pines caught some of the blizzard, otherwise it would have been impossible. Finally, her cabin was in sight and he gently shook her.

Located deep within the forest, he imagined the sun would struggle to penetrate the tall trees. With the blanket of snow covering two states, it was just somber, gray and depressing. He had never been in a place so quiet. The crunch of Mandy's boots traveled far and felt endless.

"We'll get this fire going and we can snuggle up for a nap before you head back," she rambled off, finding her keys under the mat. "Said you have classes tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah, I do--hey, have you seen my phone?"

"Sorry, I haven't."

He shrugged. "Can you text it?"

(jesus)

"I left mine in Wyoming. Just come inside."

After an hour or so, the inside of the cabin was perfect. Mandy had slid the black-out curtains in place, leaving only the rich glow of the fire. She left Brandon in the back room so that he could wash up after the impromptu trip. In her rocking chair, clad in nothing but a pair of black lace panties, she sipped from a bottle of Crown, apple flavored. A few minutes passed and he stepped in with a look of awe.

Mandy didn't say a word, but took another sip. The hamster wheel was starting to catch fire in that head of his. He didn't know what to say either and took a seat on the bed. She was within reaching distance and slid a foot to his knee, glancing over to the bright burn of the wood.

"Are you okay?" Genuine concern quietly left his lips. His sincerity made her twitch with a smile. He watched the flames through her eyes, unsure of his place in this whole scenario.

"I'm far from okay," she whispered, catching her quivering lip. "My life is over."

He cleared his throat a little bit. "Jeremy is always talking about what he does at work. You don't need him."

Mandy's eyes drifted in their sockets to find him. "So, when you're at my house trying to put your dick in me, it didn't occur to you that I should know that he's going behind my back?" (none of this matters) "You're a kid. Twenty? I don't hold it against you. I should, but whatever."

"I'm sorry. I just--"

She shook her head. "I get it. It's shitty, but you'll learn from it."

Brandon sat with his guilt, trying to divert away from it. "Are you going to need a ride back to Laramie?" He felt a quick rush of regret watching her choke up, a tear gliding down her bright cheek.

"No. I won't be leaving."

"Can't just stay here. You have work and stuff," he said, confused.

Fingers locked together against her stomach. "Bone cancer. Maybe a month. If I'm lucky."

Brandon's demeanor melted away, his gaze fixated on her naked breasts. Though, not for the visual pleasure: he simply couldn't look her in the eyes any longer. The whole situation did feel off, but he couldn't figure out why.

"Hey,"--she motioned him to look at her--"I'm sorry for using you to get here."

His palm stroked her ankle. "I'm sorry for trying to make you cheat on your husband in your own home. I'm fucking stupid."

She waved it off. "None of that matters." Then she pushed between her breasts. "There's nothing here anymore. Despite that, you're going to live with this until you're dead and gone. I'm sorry for that."

"Right now, I would just like to make you feel better," he said gently.

Mandy didn't bother to wipe the tears. "I don't think you can,"--she stood up, stepping between his legs and holding out the bottle of Crown--"but when this is empty, I won't be able to resist you."

He tipped it back, the burn hitting his chest. His head pushed into her belly and he sighed.

"Come on," she whispered. "The clock is ticking."

******

To whom it may concern,

For most of my life, I've questioned the idea of monogamy. My parents, the Church, the stigma of it all was so ingrained that I've never acted on my desires. I wanted to. Badly. I just couldn't live with the guilt, even if the possibility of liberation were there. To be honest, I think I was afraid of it unraveling my marriage, my life. Something in me couldn't take that chance.

But now, I wish I would have.

The universe doesn't care who you are, what you do, what you wear or adhere to any social construct we've come up with. The conditioning, the abuse, the infidelity, the idea that a marriage cannot be broken put a veil over my eyes, condensing my own universe to twenty years of wasted life. So, when the powers that be decided that it was my time, I realized I had been given a shove to stop ignoring the pleasures of the flesh, pleasures of the mind. I was free.

I shared that with my husband.

He shut me off. Stopped touching me completely. I wanted to tackle the bucket list with him. I had never felt so alone. Somehow I was a burden now. I'm supposed to prepare for his life when I'm gone, but he refused to help. I didn't want to die, but no matter how much he didn't deserve me, I needed him by my side when it was my time to go. Was this his way of dealing with the news or was he free to live without me now?

My rage became uncontrollable. The universe had given me a super power: truly not giving a fuck.

If you're reading this letter, then I imagine Jeremy and the young girl have been found. I left them as they wanted to be: together. Had I not been knocking on death's door, I would like to think I wouldn't have pulled the trigger. I almost didn't, but the pain was too much and it happened. One, two, not three, but all of them. I didn't stop until the gun clicked.

Was I the perfect wife? I doubt it. I never would have abandoned him like he did me.

But as I sit here, withering away, my ego slowly fading before I become one with the dirt:

Fuck him.

Sincerely,

Amanda Garrett