Salad Days

Written 11/8/2024

Takes place around July of 1970, a year after the birth of Oswin.

Summer night had long since fallen over the warm, scenic old neighborhood. Inside the living room, floral lamps casted a dull yellow light across the wood panel walls. The only sound upon the still air was the soft ticking of an antique clock and quiet hum of the AC. But as much as Emile strained his ears for a sign of life, nothing ever came. Another hour gone, and still he was alone.

With a downcast sigh, he lowered his arms to his sides. The flooring creaked with each step as he slowly paced the living room again. All around were beautiful, quaint things: an intricate glass coffee table over a patterned rug, only the softest tan corduroy recliners, and a vast tundra landscape adorning the wall. He and Ruslana had worked long and hard to make the cottage a home and fill it with things that they both loved. Mostly Ruslana, though, he admitted. While she had kept her job as a waitress, he grew used to staying home with their baby boy. It was just the old roles they had fallen into unplanned. The arrangement had been otherwise pleasant. He preferred not to go out often and Oswin kept him occupied. But on nights like these, ones so quiet no less, his thoughts were left to wander to painful places.

Two days had Ruslana been gone. Although it wasn't the first time he had slept alone, her promise to return before dinner kept replaying in his head. All the while, he had not the slightest idea where she was. There was no number to call, no friend to reach out to. What could be keeping her for so long? Did she finally decide that he wasn't any good for her? Or could it be that she was in danger? Maybe she had suddenly gotten ill or her car was trapped in a storm or...

He forced himself to sit down, crashing heavily onto their green leather sofa. Suddenly, he was aware that his heart was beginning to race. It wasn't doing him good, worrying like this. But he couldn't help it.

Scooting closer to the armrest, he reached desperately for the side table. Aside from the softly glowing lamp, there was some trash on top that he had to sift through. I'll clean that later, he told himself just before the whole idea was forgotten at the touch of what he was looking for. It was a small, red plastic wrapper containing a sort of jelly-filled biscuit. Briefly, he could hear his mother's voice- didn't you already just eat?- but too late, the wrapper was opened and her voice was gone.

For good measure, he started to lay down, the tiny, firm pillow cushioning his head. As soon as he brought the biscuit to his mouth, his breathing began to slow. The subtle sweetness and soft texture helped him think a little clearer, as he expected. Ruslana couldn't be in danger, he told himself to some relief. She was a grown woman, older and wiser than he was. She knew the town better than anyone. So what else could it be?

He pictured her beautifully stoic face in his head, attempting to piece together some sort of background to it. It was easy, almost reassuring to imagine her in a similar position to himself. Her lean body laid sadly over a bench, eyes transfixed on the same moon, and his name on her wistful lips. Emile, I need you. But it was just like him to hope himself into her thoughts, wasn't it? For all he knew, she could barely remember her husband. She could even be having fun right now...

The very idea made his heart sink. What a strange thing it was, to wish that his wife were sad. Upon picking up on it, he chastised himself. She deserved to be having a good time if that was the way he felt about it. Nevertheless, the thought lingered, and he took another bite of the biscuit, vaguely aware that it wasn't helping at all.

What if she left me? He suddenly thought, stifling tears. She wouldn't tell him a lie, surely. She said she loved him and he had the marriage to prove it. But what if that wasn't enough? What if he wasn't enough?

Just then, he felt something tug at his leg. By the time he looked up, Oswin had already climbed onto the couch and was scaling the rise of Emile's stomach. At the sight of the baby's excited, almost mischievous little face, Emile couldn't help but smile back, Ruslana momentarily forgotten.

"What are you doing, Ozzy?" He laughed as Oswin only babbled in response. He was coming closer, and Emile finally realized it was the biscuit he was fascinated by. With a sigh, he lifted it away.

"Now, this snack is for daddy. Not you." But eventually he couldn't help himself and tore off a small piece, letting Oswin stick it in his mouth along with several tiny fingers. His son had grown rapidly day by day and he didn't think he could've been a happier father if he tried. Ozzy was a living ray of sunshine, so infectiously innocent, and Emile could spend all hours of every day with him and still never get enough. Even so, his golden hair and bright blue eyes reminded him so much of Ruslana...

He finished the last piece of biscuit and let the wrapper fall to the floor. Then he slowly pulled the baby close to his chest, gently stroking his head. Nothing else was spoken, and even Oswin's little noises ceased as he quickly dozed off in the comfort of his father's arms. But Emile remained wide awake, his mind fixated on his wife once more. He didn't know how much time had passed until finally the front door clicked open.

~~~

2:15 AM was the time that showed on Ruslana's watch as she turned the key into her house. She repeatedly cursed at herself all the while, the crickets all around seeming to taunt her.

Why can't I ever say no? She wondered, Why do I keep letting this happen? Emile would've been waiting for her, she knew. On any other night, she almost looked forward to his simplicity and polite affection. Ever since the birth of her child a year ago, he had grown on her slightly. Oswin clearly adored him, and likewise, Emile happily did all of the parenting. It was enough for her to not mind his increasing laziness in every other trade. She was more comfortable than she had ever been, after all.

That night, however, she wanted nothing more than to sleep. She was hoping that Emile was already in bed, too. When she poked her head inside, some of the lights were still on, giving the house a mild glow. Silence, however, filled the air. With a relieved sigh, she gently closed the door behind her. But as she began to head for her bedroom, she noticed a large heap on the couch from the corner of her eye.

Wary not to make a noise, she stepped closer to the living area. Peering from behind one of the lamps, she saw none other than Emile with Oswin in his arms. They were both sound asleep, and Ruslana smiled softly to herself, the rest of her chaotic night briefly forgotten. Her husband's soft face had that typical, lazily peaceful look, and her eyes soon trailed down to Oswin, his little body curled up in the nook of Emile's neck. What games they must've had that day, both too exhausted to go to their beds. But without warning, the guilt returned. She could no longer bear to look at Emile, let alone Oswin. It tore her heart just thinking about that family who deserved a better mother than her.

I just need to sleep it off, she told herself, stepping quietly away from the living area. In the morning, they could all forget what had happened those two nights. Emile might not even mention it. Life could just go on as normal. As she trudged down the hallway to the master bedroom, however, she suddenly heard a second pair of footsteps, far heavier ones. Stopping in her tracks, she turned and saw Emile approaching her. Panic squeezed her chest. Yet in the face that she could barely make out from the dim backlight, there was only sadness.

"Ruslana, wait," He began, although she didn't move. For a moment the two merely stared at each other, her own mouth completely dry for once. She didn't prepare for him to still be awake, let alone for him to confront her.

"Emile, I can't talk now," was all she could think of, her voice barely above a whisper. Unsatisfied, her husband moved closer. It was only then that she noticed that Oswin was still in his arms, pressed against his chest.

"Please, Ruslana," He pushed, "Just tell me what's goin' on. I was so worried..."

"Nothing is going on," She hastily said, "Let's just go to bed, alright?" She desperately wanted to drop the topic. This conversation was the last thing she needed at this hour, no matter how overdue it was. She was painfully aware that, even for Emile, her masquerade was poor, however. His next words only confirmed it.

"I-I can't sleep, thinkin' you could be in danger someplace or that you left me. Whatever it is, I won't be upset. I promise."

By then, his lack of control in his volume began to frustrate her. Sure enough, Oswin began to stir as he spoke, letting out a distressed whine. It was all becoming too much for her and she shut her eyes tight.

"Emile, please," She told him more forcefully, "Just put the poor kid in his bed."

Finally taking notice of his child, he rushed to stroke Oswin and make soothing noises. Oswin calmed down in a matter of seconds, and to her further relief, Emile slowly made for the nursery. It was not, however, without one last look of hurt towards his wife.

As soon as he had vanished around the doorway, Ruslana bolted for their room. Her whole body burned with shame and fear. It was only Emile. Simple, gullible Emile. But he seemed to look right through her in that moment. He had come so close- too close- to knowing her secret. And something told her that there was no going back this time. She would have to tell him.

But I can't. She thought, her heart aching as she threw off her clothes. I can't do it. His last sad look had hurt her enough. She didn't even want to imagine how he'd react if he knew the truth. He might not even understand.

And before she could change her mind again, Emile walked in to her already tucked beneath the floral quilt. Her back turned, she could only listen as he inched towards his side, seeming to hesitate. At long last, he pulled up the quilt to join her. It wasn't long after his larger body brushed against hers that he asked the question that she dreaded.

"Can we talk now, Ruslana?"

Just the sound of his voice made her freeze, and staring into the darkness, she didn't respond. After a few seconds, he touched her shoulder with a small "Hello?" but still nothing. Finally, she heard him sigh as he pulled away, curling away from her.

Two can play that game, she thought, thinking back to when she had seen him on the couch. He had been awake that whole time. It was so obvious now. But the knowledge didn't make it any better. She was acting more and more like a stranger to him all because of some poor gambling junkie from Vegas. And likewise, he had his own back turned towards her now. This was only the beginning if she didn't do something soon.

The sinking dread kept her awake for a long time. She wasn't sure if she could fall asleep at all, but soon she began to slip into an uneasy darkness, Emile's desperate pleas replaying in her mind over and over.