Cape Canaveral, FL
May 06, 1978

Stan walks into the bedroom to find his wife hastily throwing together a suitcase and his brain short-circuits because the sight in front of him just doesn't make sense. "Carla? What's going on, Baby?"

The woman startles and looks up from her task. "Stanley. I didn't hear you come in." She pushes her hair back from her face in a distracted manner and glances at the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand with a vague frown. "You're back early. Did something happen at work?"

"Lunch break," he answers, "I thought we could go grab a bite together. What's with the suitcase?"

Carla blinks down at the piece of luggage like she'd forgotten it was there. "Oh, right, I haven't told you yet," she says and begins to stuff more clothes into the suitcase, "Thistle's taking me to Oregon with him. - You remember Thistle, right? The new musician at the Juke Joint? - Anyway, apparently there's some festival they hold out there every year that he wants to go to. I think he called it 'Woodstick?' It was something ridiculous like that, I'm pretty sure. It isn't for another month or two, but he said he wouldn't mind leaving early, so we'll be heading out soon. A few hours, probably."

"You're leaving?!" Stan bursts. He pushes the words past his tightening throat, "With, with some dumb hippie?!" This can't be happening.

She looks up long enough to frown at him in disapproval. "Stanley, I know you don't care for his music, but Thistle is hardly dumb. Actually, I think you two might have been friends if you'd ever spoken to each other. I suppose it will never happen now." Carla snaps her fingers suddenly. "Toothbrush!" she exclaims and then disappears into the bathroom for a few seconds before returning with several small items, including the aforementioned toothbrush. She spends a brief moment reorganizing the packed items before regarding him with an impatient sigh and asks, "Would you stop looking at me like that? This has been a while coming. It can't be that big of a shock."

Stan snaps his hanging jaw shut only to reopen his mouth and demand, "Not a shock? Carla, I had no idea this was coming! I, I know that something's been eating at ya, but I didn't think it was serious enough to make you want to leave!"

The woman rolls her eyes. "Well, 'something' is, and it's only growing more serious by the day. I thought that much was pretty obvious, but I guess that was another mistake I made," Carla says and pushes a hand through her bangs again, "Honestly, I probably should have left months ago, but I kept hoping everything would work itself out. I should have known situations like this don't just fix themselves. At any rate, I can't stay here and continue waiting for things to change on their own."

"So that's it? You're just, you're just gonna go?" his voice breaks as he says the last word. It feels like his heart is being torn from his chest.

"Yes." She glances at him with regret in her eyes. "Listen, Ley, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spring the whole thing on you like this, but I have to go. Please don't make this more difficult for me than it already is by acting like I'm the bad guy here."

Hurt causes the words to slip past his lips before he can reconsider them, "And how am I supposed to act when I come home to, to this?"

"I don't know, Ley!" she throws both of her arms into the air in exasperation before waving one at him, "I figured you might not like the idea, but I thought you'd at least be a bit more understanding of the circumstances! Honestly, you don't need to make this into some horrible act of betrayal."

"Well, I don't know how you can expect me to feel like it's not!" Stan cries, throwing his own arms out carelessly.

"Really, Ley?" Carla stares at him with her hands planted on her hips, drawing his attention for the first time to the fact that she's wearing bellbottoms. Any other time, he might have liked the way they looked on her; right now, they're just another piece that doesn't fit. "I don't even have the words for how juvenile you're being right now. Grow up."

He forces himself to take a deep breath. None of this makes sense. This isn't the Carla he knows. Something else has to be going on. He just needs to calm down and figure out what it is.

Stan edges around the bed cautiously and reaches out to wrap an arm around her waist. Carla looks rather unimpressed with him but she doesn't fight as he pulls her in. Being this close, he finally catches the scent of weed clinging to her. (And, really, he's surprised he didn't notice it before, the smell is so strong.) Doing drugs definitely isn't like his Carla. Just what has that damn hippie done to her? "Baby, let's talk about this," he begs, "We've been happy, haven't we?"

She favors him with a confused frown but she relaxes some and Stan's willing to call that progress. "Of course we have."

"We moved here, what, four years ago? Stable jobs for both of us, decent apartment, I've kept my nose clean. No scams, no get-rich-quick schemes, I haven't so much as hustled a game of pool since we've been here. I've been good."

"Stanley, don't make this about you," the woman huffs and crosses her arms as she leans back to regard him with an irritated expression.

"I'm trying to make this about us!" he corrects. Stan swallows his growing nerves back down and tries again, "Please, Carla-Baby, we got a good thing going, you and me, right here. Don't leave?"

Carla releases a frustrated sigh. "Ley, I'm going. I'm sorry that it hurts you, but I'm not going to change my mind about this." She pulls herself from his embrace and snaps the suitcase closed. "There's a casserole in the fridge that ought to last you a while. Try not to burn the place down if you decide to attempt cooking for yourself, okay?" Carla presses a kiss to his cheek and hugs him tight. "Goodbye, Knucklehead," the woman whispers, "Keep yourself out of trouble for me."

She releases him then, plucks the suitcase off the bed, and slips out of the room.

It's funny, Stan thinks as the first tears begin to fall, how much a heart shattering sounds like a front door closing.

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