My Writing
Through His Eyes
“I don’t want to do this,” Daniel said.
“I know,” his wife replied from next to him.
They were in the car heading to his mother’s house for a Fourth of July dinner, their son asleep in the back seat.
“I hate that fucking house, Marie.”
“I know,” she said again, her hand finding its way to his on the shifter knob.
The trees draping over the road formed a dark tunnel through which they drove, all but tiny shafts of dazzling light muted and despondent, as if reflecting the pressure of dread building up in his chest. They had not had to visit that house for many years, and Daniel would not have wanted it any other way. The thought of having to see it again had left him awake for nights, too afraid to close his eyes for fear of what he might see in his dreams.
Daniel slammed on the brakes, his heart stuck in his throat. His father’s body was swinging from a branch hanging over the road directly in front of their car. A rope tied around his neck, his eyes still open and staring.
Marie braced her hands on the dashboard to keep from pitching forward, her own eyes bulging, hair cascading forward through the air. A cry arose from the back as Ben rolled off his seat. But Daniel noticed none of these things, his eyes seeing only his father hanging, the body twisting slowly in the air before him.
Glaring headlights coming from the other lane grabbed his attention, and when Daniel looked back at his father he gasped. The body had been replaced by a black trash bag, its yellow strap caught in amongst the fingers of the branch.
Daniel felt his stomach clench and put his forehead against the cool glass of his window, breathing slowly.
Marie gripped his arm. “Babe, it’s okay.”
“What happened?” squeaked Ben from the back seat, having managed to un-wedge himself from the foot space behind their seats.
“Nothing, honey,” Marie said to her son. “Daddy just saw a deer and had to brake. Are you okay?”
Ben nodded vigorously and flopped back down on the seat, looking out his own window for the cause of their sudden braking.
“Seatbelt, mister,” Marie said, waiting to hear the click before turning back to her husband. “Daniel.”
He just shook his head and wiped his eyes roughly with his hand.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“I know.” She always knew. Sometimes it scared Daniel how she always knew.
Daniel restarted the engine, it having stalled when he slammed on the brakes.
“Do you want me to drive?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Marie ran her fingers through his hair once and down the side of his face, a warm smile on her own, before once again facing forward in her seat. More than the way she always seemed to know, it scared Daniel with how much faith she had in him.
When Daniel next looked up from the road the canopy of trees was gone. A quick glance to his right showed that Marie was asleep, her head tucked into the nook between her headrest and the door. Through the rearview mirror he could see that Ben had fallen back asleep as well. Where were they? Daniel looked at the clock and noticed that more than a half an hour had passed since he had seen his father hanging in the tree tunnel. No, not his father, a garbage bag. That was all it was.
He looked around and quickly got his bearings. They were on the right road, but Daniel had no memory of how they had gotten there. His mind had been full of the image of the swinging body. How clearly he could still see it after so many years had passed.