I wrote this ages ago and just found it on my hard drive, it's a story inspired by the Savage Garden song 'two beds and a coffee machine'. It's all Sheppard's mothers POV.
I was just eighteen when I married my husband, Jonathan Sheppard. He was everything I ever dreamed of. He was tall, handsome, brave and loving. I knew he would be a great father to the children I had yet to bear. Our wedding was a small affair, just a few close family and friends. A few weeks after he was called into service, to fight in the war with Vietnam.
I remember standing in our doorway watching him walk away, his rucksack over his shoulder his heart heavy with his Burden. Tears ran freely down my cheeks that day, burning as they went. Not nine months later I gave birth to our first child; John, I called him my little Johnny. His chubby face alight with a small smile as I held him in my arms and dreamt of my beloved husband returning safely to us. To meet his newly born son.
The reality was quite different than my dreams though. When Jon returned he was not the same man I married, the man I had cherished. But then I suppose I wasn't the same carefree young woman he had married either. He was different somehow, almost broken. As if he'd left a part of himself in that hellhole he'd just returned from. I tried my hardest to be the woman he needed me to be, but I had a young child to think of now and my attention was elsewhere.
The first time he hit me Johnny was three years old. The bruises lasted for days, but I guess I was luck they could not be seen by most people. He drank heavily most nights, I knew he was hurting but I did not know how to help him. He was still in the marines and we moved around a lot, it was hard to fit in, but I found it got easier each time. When little Johnny was four I gave birth to our second son; Paul. He was so unlike his brother as a baby. Johnny was so loud and demanding but Paul, he seamed to know not to cry too much. They we both my good little boys; my angels.
When little Paulie was ten months old, Johnny tried to stick up for me when he saw his daddy hitting me. He was hit too. There was glass all across the floor from the smashed bottle of scotch Jon had been drinking, and I cut my hand when I fell in it after a particularly vicious blow. Jon went to bed soon after and fell into a deep drunken sleep, like he always did. I picked myself of the floor and sent Johnny to his room; he didn't need to see his mommy crying.
I cleared away the glass and bandaged my hand, all the while thinking of what I needed to do. I checked on Jon, he was still sleeping soundly. I pulled the blanket across him and kissed his cheek for the last time. I went into the boy's room and awoke Johnny from his slumber. I told him to pack some things into his rucksack and he asked me, why mommy? I told him that we were going to go on an adventure and that he needed to pack everything he'd need for a really long trip. He looked up at me his bright eyes asking questions he dare not voice. But my son was always brave, and he asked a few anyway. Is daddy coming with us? No. I told him. Daddy is staying home, but we're going to go on a great adventure to see all of America. He smiled excitedly at the thought and started to fold his cloths neatly into his bag.
I crept back into the room I shared with my husband and took some of my own cloths from the wardrobe. I ironed him some shirts for the week and went back to the boy's room to collect my sons. I loaded them into the car checking that I had everything I would need for them both. Back in the house I wrote Jon a small note. I told him that I loved him, but I would not tolerate him hitting our children. I told him that there were some frozen dinners in the freezer and left him instruction on how to use the oven. I took our saving from the jar in the kitchen and locked the front door for the last time, and I pushed the keys through the letterbox for Jon to find in the morning.
We drove east, not stopping until my tired eyes could drive no more. We stopped at a cheap motel just of the highway and I paid $12 for a room for us to stay the night. I carried my beautiful son from the car to the bed, his head resting lightly on my shoulder as he slept. He murmured in his sleep as I lay him down and pulled the covers over his small body, brushing his unruly hair from his face as I kissed him goodnight. I went back to the car and picked up my baby boy in his car seat, setting it in the middle of the other bed; he did not stir at all. I left our bags in the car, no need to bring them in; we'd be moving again in the morning. I fixed myself a coffee from the machine in the corner and slumped into the chair across from my two sleeping babes, I cried softly to myself. How was I going to get through this?