Title: The First Time
Author: Tinkerbell99
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.
Spoiler: 17 People
Summary: The first time she did this, she was twenty-three years old and unsure. She didn't leave a note. (Donna Angst)
The first time she did this she was twenty-three years old and unsure. Heading vaguely east with her car, her radio, and her most necessary belongings stuffed into three scuffed totes in the back seat. Her former life left behind as the miles trailed on. She counted the mile markers in the rearview mirror.
She didn't leave a note.
To her parents, her friends, and her now former boyfriend, her absence came as a sudden surprise, although to the latter it no doubt came as a welcome disappearance. To Donna it was the culmination of a single thought magnified throughout time. What began as nagging doubt expanded into an overwhelming desperation for change.
The first time she remembers feeling unsure she was twenty years old. It wasn't as if changing her mind was unusual. The registrar could certainly confirm that fact. But this uncertainty was disquieting if only for the fact that this doubt was not calmed and reasoned with through a backup plan or change of plans. This doubt was different.
"Only for a little while. Then you can go back to school and finish up with whatever you want to do."
Her forced smiling agreement to this plan concealed more than the resentment she fought against. It concealed more than the disappoint felt at being regarded as "less than." Her smile concealed the expansion of her doubt and the worry over her mother's concern that she was giving up too much, too fast. Still, she smiled. Explained to her parents that it was for her benefit as well. Pretended that it had been a joint decision. Avoided her own frustration.
The first time she spoke a word in dissent was, ironically, to her grandmother. The tiny woman who had done it all right. Married the man who would work so that she could keep the home. Given birth to five children and seen four of them into adulthood. Mourned silently for the one lost as she washed, cooked, and minded the others. Devoted her life to her husband's success and her own self deprivation. Surprised Donna as she looked at her through eyes saddened with age and asked her if she was truly happy.
"I…No, but…" Donna swallowed the bitterness in her throat and blinked back the tears in her eyes. The truth had been spoken with her own tongue, and she wasn't surprised to hear it. Still, she smiled.
"It's only for a couple years. Just until he finishes and then I'll go back." Her head bobbed in determined affirmation. Her grandmother looked sadly on.
The first time he cheated on her she arrived home early to find candles flickering softly on the table, music in the air, and another woman in their bed. She doesn't remember much about the frantic apologies or the insufficient explanations. She doesn't remember walking out without a coat in the middle of winter. She doesn't remember the four days spent on a friend's couch, lying to her parents in an effort to spare them her humiliation. She doesn't remember which bouquet of flowers or eloquent apology finally convinced her to return to his apartment. What she does remember is that the candles burning to celebrate her arrival home were the same ones that heralded her departure.
The first time she considered packing her car and leaving for good, she cried. She cried for her own inability to leave a note of explanation. She cried for her inability to move her car from the lot. Later, she cried as she unpacked her suitcases and started making him dinner. She smiled as he came through the door and sobbed as he left for the bar fifteen minutes later.
The day she finally left came months later, when the burden of carrying on with the weight of disappointment became too great. Doubt had grown into a discontent that beget a need to get out. Get out of Wisconsin, get out of his apartment, and get out of her own skin. And so, one day, she left.
Instead of going to work, she packed her bags. Three scuffed brown totes, all filled, zipped, and loaded into the back seat of her car. Paused over the blank pad of paper before grabbing her keys and heading out the door. He would find out sooner or later anyway. Her closest friends were now also his closest friends. Swearing them to secrecy would only serve as an invitation to spread the word. She had made one phone call. Trish would explain to him what she couldn't. It's wasn't like him to worry about her anyway.
The first time she considered going back to him was when he called her sobbing at 2am.
"Donna, I'm so sorry. I miss you…please come back. It'll be better this time. You can go to school, whatever you want."
Slamming the phone down, she moved on with her new life, but the thought festered in the back of her mind. The calls continued, followed by the letters. Damn her parents for giving him the address.
Unfinished business. Maybe that was why she chose to go back. Maybe she resigned herself to the fact that the calls and letters wouldn't stop. Maybe, she thought in later years, she was scared that one day they would stop, that she wasn't ready to be on her own. Whatever the reason, she drove back to Wisconsin.
It was cold the night she returned. He welcomed her with open arms. She should known it wasn't a good idea. She should have known that nothing really changed. She should have known from the confusion she saw in Josh's face when she handed him her letter of resignation. She should have known from the tears that fell as she left New Hampshire. Tears hadn't fallen when she first left Wisconsin.
She should have known it was all wrong when she saw the candles burning on the table.
The wax fell into slow puddles that mirrored the tears on her cheeks.
Still, she smiled bravely. She got a job and registered for classes. And as she drove home one night, a driver didn't see her car.
The hospital was a nightmare. Her ankle hurt and her back hurt, but the greatest pain came with the realization of her mistake.
He stopped for a beer.
She packed her bags.
This time, she left a note.
This time, she wasn't coming back.
The first time she did this she was twenty-three years old and unsure. Heading vaguely east with her car, her radio, and her most necessary belongings stuffed into three scuffed totes in the back seat. Her former life left behind as the miles trailed on. She counted the mile markers in the rearview mirror.
The second time she does this, she is older. The second time she does this, she is sure. She heads east, back to the life she has started. Back to the life that lets her break free. Back to Josh, back to herself. Her former life is left behind for good. She is focused on the road ahead.
This time, she leaves a note. It is illuminated by candles burning in an empty apartment.