Part Two: The Escalator

Sooner

When I hear you say
You’re beautiful
I tell my self
You mean
I’m ugly
I’m stupid
I'm fat

What I hear
When you tell me
You need me
Is that you just
Can't wait
To get away

And sometimes
When you tell me
How much
You love me
I wonder
How could you?

If you slapped me
Around
And yelled at me
You're such a stupid bitch!
I'd wonder
Why
You didn't
Say so
Sooner.



Your Slippers are Burning!


When we got home from court the house was cold. Granny was sleeping sitting upright in her chair by the wood stove. Her doctor had often told her it wasn’t good for her legs to sit that way, but she sometimes still did it anyway. She was supposed to prop her legs up on some cushions or a stool to keep the blood flowing to her feet. When her kidneys weren’t functioning properly as they often didn’t Granny’s legs got very swollen and she had trouble getting around. Sometimes, she couldn’t even walk by herself.

She must have been asleep for quite some time because the fire was out and the wood stove was not even warm anymore. She had a blanket on her lap and was wearing her winter coat. That wasn’t unusual for her. She often fell asleep that way. Even though it was winter there was still a lot of work to be done on the farm. At 84 years old, Granny did a good job of keeping up with the work, but some days it was just too much for her. I couldn’t help but feel some pity for the old lady, seeing her sleeping there like that.

Eyes closed, head tilted, hands clasped over the magazine on her lap, fingers tightly holding her crumpled up Kleenex. From the fuzzy hood of her parka all the way down to her furry rabbit hair slippers, Granny reminded me of a small child as she dozed bundled up in her chair. Just as peaceful and helpless as could be.

There was no wood in the house for a fire, so Myron went outside to gather some.
“Wake her up, Lor” he barked at me on his way out. “Wake her up!” I shot him a confused glance so he repeated the order and added “Tell her to start the fire!”

I could not believe what he was saying. Granny was sick. She had just gotten released from the hospital yesterday after yet another blood transfusion. This time they had given her seven pints of blood. No wonder she was tired. Why would I want to wake her?

Surely Myron or I could start the fire I thought to myself. “We should let her sleep” I protested. Myron slammed the door and stormed outside angry at my disobedience.


The slamming door woke Granny who roused gradually. She looked around slowly and managed a faint smile at me. She started to sit up, but was unusually weak so she slumped back down in her chair. Granny and I talked a little bit about the happenings earlier in the day at the Courthouse and I told her what had happened. We had suspected that Myron might have been sent away to jail that day, but alas court was remanded for two weeks.

“Oh, well that’s good.” Granny said “there’s still a lot of pruning to be done ya know?” I agreed it was good for Granny if Myron could stay home to prune the apple trees. It saved her from having to find some other hired help. At least for now.

I admitted to myself that I secretly wished that the sentencing was today and that the judge would have sent Myron to jail for a while. It would have been nice for me and for Granny to have some time away from Myron. He seemed to get especially ornery in the winter. And lately both Granny and I were walking on eggshells around the house much of the time. True, Myron spent most of his free time away from the house drinking at the bar, but when he eventually returned his mood was always sour.

When Myron came back in with an armload of wood; he dropped it down on the living room floor. Wood scattered all over eventually tumbling down the stairs. Bark chips and snow dotted the carpet. “There ya go Granny, you bitch.” He growled “Now you can start your fire.”

Myron was mad that Granny had let the house get cold while we were out. He wasted no time telling her just what he thought about that. “What? You couldn’t have kept the fire going while we were gone so it would be warm when we got home? Do I have to do fucking everything around here?”

Granny knew better than to argue with Myron when he already had his mind made up over something. Years of living with him had taught her that it was better for everyone to just agree with him. Placating was often the only way. Things could escalate quickly when he was in this state and just about anything could set him off. Sometimes even agreeing with him could send Myron into a tailspin of fury. Often he would retaliate aggressively to a perceived hint of sarcasm or taunting in the other’s voice. Quietly granny retorted “oh, Myron…” and let out a small near silent sigh.


Of course granny didn’t get up to start the fire. This didn’t surprise me in the least as she couldn’t walk due to her swollen legs and feet. Myron however was not only surprised by this, but was terribly displeased. “Get the fuck up Granny! Light the fuckin’ fire!” He continued. Granny didn’t say a word and Myron continued the badgering so I interrupted “Oh Myron, Granny can’t walk, I’ll start the fire. I just need a light”
“Fuck that Lor, she’s fakin’ it. The bitch can walk” he snarled.

I had never heard anything more absurd in my life. Myron knew how sick granny had been lately. The doctors suspected her kidney problems were from living in the orchard for more than 40 years. Long term exposure to pesticides and sprays has been known to cause, among other things, sever kidney damage. When granny’s kidneys stopped functioning properly, the poisons built up in her blood and she would get very sick. The fluids would build up in her body, particularly her legs and feet, making it nearly impossible for granny to walk. Doctor’s orders said granny was to stay off her feet, legs elevated for most of the day, but granny was for too stubborn for that. In the orchard, there was always work to be done.


Eventually it was necessary for her to go to the hospital for a blood transfusion. This time she got almost twice the amount of blood she usually got and somehow it didn’t seem to help half as much. Granny couldn’t walk when we brought her home from the hospital the day before and Myron knew that. He pushed the wheelchair out to the truck and helped her get in for god’s sake! What was he thinking?

“Get up Granny! Get up! I know you can walk ya dumb bitch!” Myron growled at his aging sickly grandmother. “GET THE FUCK UP!” Still Granny did not budge. She could not. I felt I had to protect Granny from his abuse so I insisted once more “Myron if you just give me your lighter, I’ll start the fire.”

“Fuck you, Lor! The bitch is fakin it. You’ll see. I’ll make her walk”
Granny and I shared a confused and somewhat frightened glance “make her walk?” What did that mean?


“Watch this Lor. I’ll make the bitch walk.”
“Huh Granny? I bet you could walk if your legs were on fire couldn’t ya granny?”
I was disgusted. And confused. Why in the world was Myron making such a big deal about lighting the fire? And why was he treating his Granny this way?

“Hey, Lor? I bet she could walk if I lit her on fire!” and with that he reached in to his coat pocket and pulled out his lighter. Bending down in front of his elderly grandmother, Myron flicked the blue lighter in his hand. With a grin and a growl he held the flame to granny’s feet. Before I had time to stop him Myron had set granny’s rabbit hair moccasins on fire. They were burning. They were burning. And burning.

Granny tried to move her legs but she could not. All she could manage was try to bat at the flames with the magazine she had in her lap. That did nothing to stop the fire, but actually fanned the flames somewhat. Screaming in disbelief at Myron “what the hell are you doing?” I grabbed a pillow from the sofa and batted out the flames. When the fire was out I pulled off Granny’s slippers and ran out the kitchen door. Without even thinking about it I threw the charred slippers off the balcony. They landed, still smoldering in the snow bank below.

I cautiously walked back in the house sickened by what I had just witnessed. To my surprise and utter relief, Myron had gone. Just where he had gone off to I did not know. Nor did I care. I was just relieved that his fit of anger was over, at least for the time being. Granny, still sitting in her chair was trembling slightly, but I could tell she was just as relieved as I was that Myron had left. Probably even more so.
As I tried to comfort granny and clean up Myron’s woody mess his deranged words were still running through my mind “I bet you could walk if your legs were on fire couldn’t ya Granny?”

Well, she didn’t.











If you back me into a corner
Push with all your might
Scream at me
Spit on me
Tell me that you're right
Does it make you feel
Better
Superior
Big?
Or do you feel
Now
As small as you look?


I’ve Fallen, but I’ve got to get up


It was late at night; Myron had been drinking as per usual at this time in our lives. On this particular night he had also done some LSD. I had been around him before when he had been doing hallucinogenic and he didn’t usually become violent. Usually I could breathe a sigh of relief if he was doing mind expanding drugs because I knew I’d bee safe. For whatever reason these types of drugs took the pressure off Myron and the fear out of me, for I knew he wasn’t going to get angry, he wasn’t going to explode and above all else, he wasn’t likely to hurt me.

At this time we were living in a double-wide trailer just outside of town. It was less than a ten minute drive, so close enough if we needed anything but also nice and private. Oh how Myron loved to have his privacy.




In the Rialto, Burning


After work, late one Summer day I had agreed to meet Myron and some friends at the local bar and everyday hang-out The Rialto hotel. Just about any day of the week, you could go to the Rialto and find friends and family there, mingling, drinking, letting off some steam after a hard days work.


Alone on the Farm


It was a chilly Saturday in February 1996 and I was at the farm alone. The house was quiet. Cold. The fruit wood was green and wet from snow. No matter what I did, the fire in the woodstove just wouldn’t throw any heat. A slow smolder was about all I could manage. I was still wearing my winter coat and boots, even though I’d been home for more than 2 hours. I went to the hospital to visit granny, but she had been asleep, so I left her the items she had asked for and drove straight back home. In retrospect, I probably should have woken her up, but she looked so peaceful and free from pain, that I just couldn‘t bear to disturb her slumber.

Despite having 13 cats with kittens, 3 adult dogs with seven puppies, numerous chickens and ducks and a few bunnies, things were surprisingly quiet on the farm that afternoon. With Granny in the hospital and Myron in jail for the weekend I was by myself for a while. So I decided I‘d clean the house up a bit. With Granny being so sick lately and me working two jobs plus the farm work all summer, the house really needed some attention. This was the perfect time to get some heavy duty cleaning done. Granny was due home from the hospital on Monday and Myron would be home from jail tomorrow, so I had plenty of time to get everything ship shape.

I was just finishing up in the kitchen when I heard someone pulling in to the driveway down below. It sounded almost like Granny’s truck, but that was impossible, because I had the truck. I ran outside on to the deck where I had a good view of the driveway below. I got there just in time to see Frank tottering out of his truck. I could tell by the look on his weathered 86 yr old face exactly what he was about to tell me.

”Granny‘s gone” he said solemnly. I gulped back my tears as Frank slowly continued. ”I was there with her when she went” Frank explained. “I just came from the hospital. She went in her sleep, ya know.”

Frank could see I was very upset by the news, although I wasn’t terribly surprised. He reassured “its okay. It’s better this way. She’s better off now.”

“I know, Frank.” I nodded awkwardly.

“I wanted to come tell you first” he said “because granny loved you. You took good care of the old woman, Lori” Frank complimented.

That unusually compassionate comment from Frank did it for me. It opened up a flood of emotion I had been bottling for some time. I was bawling.

Frank, visibly disturbed by my sudden intense display of emotion took that as a cue to leave.

“Now I gotta go call that cunt Francis. That woman’s a cunt ya know.” Frank stated in his gravelly old voice.
“I can’t stand her, but I’ve got to call her and let her know the old woman’s gone. That fucking bitch will probably come down here just to see what she can steal.”

Frank’s attitude toward Francis lightened my mood some. I found I was chuckling out loud.

“You take care of your self, Lori. Don’t let that Myron push you around. Ok? “
And with that, he got in his truck and drove off just as quickly a he pulled in to the driveway.



Spewing forth
Spitting out
Filth, nastiness
Angry hurtful words
They cut me to the quick
Like a knife
So sharp and jagged
Slice me into
Irrelevant pieces
Shards of my self
Now lay scattered
about the floor
your tongue slashes away
though I’m already
mortally wounded
your cruel and spiteful
Merciless chatter
Hits me again and again
Like heavy blows
From a leaden fist
Carrying gusts
Of hard hearted invective
To take away my pride
And bury my self confidence
Deep in the bottomless pit
Where your inner self
Does dwell



A Valentine’s Day Funeral


On the way to the funeral on Monday morning, Myron was unusually quiet. He had been to the doctor earlier that morning to get some Ativan for his anxiety. Whatever the doctor gave him sure seemed to be working because his mood had drastically changed from the anger and hostility he had been displaying earlier. In fact, he had been in quite an antagonistic mood since he got home from jail on Sunday evening so the change was more than welcome.

We arrived at the church a bit late even though we just lived down the road. As usual, Myron had to take a detour to the liquor store and get a drink. I didn‘t think he should be drinking while he was on tranquilizers so I told him that, but my concern was irrelevant. Myron got a bottle of rum anyway. I was relieved that he had only had time to have one drink by the time we got tot the church.

Mike was already there waiting for us when we pulled into the parking lot. On the way in to the church we ran in to Cam. Aside from the two of them, I don‘t recall seeing anyone else I knew at the funeral. I think I might have been in a state of shock though, because the rest of the funeral was a bit of a blur to me.

I'm sure there must have been quite a few of our friends at the church. The entire cathedral was full. Granny had lived in Osoyoos since the 1940s so she knew a lot of people. Her days as a traveling fruit peddler led her to meet numerous people from Osoyoos to Merritt and back. Many of these customers had come to the service to pay their respects to their traveling fruit peddler and friend. As well, there was family from Kelowna, and the United States as well as her fellow church goers.

Although the church was full, one person kept my attention for most of the service. Frank was sitting ahead and slightly to the right of me. Every time he sobbed or pulled out his hanky to wipe away a tear, I was taken out of my fog and back to the present situation.

The two hour funeral seemed to have only lasted a few moments. After it was over, we headed straight to Granny’s house to rest. When we arrived we quickly realized we wouldn’t be staying long as Francis, Granny’s eldest daughter and Myron’s mother was in the house.


Francis swiftly informed us that we were going to have to move out of the house as soon as possible. Francis planned to sell the house as well as the property that it sat on ASAP. That news was enough to send Myron over the edge. Up until then, we thought that we would be getting at least part of the house or orchard when Granny died. Granny had told us that we could have a lot to build a house on in return for all the years of work the two of us had put in to the Farm.

Myron’s once calm mood quickly changed to one of anger, hostility and violence. Francis warned that if I did not get him out of the house, she was going to call the police.

“Come on Lor. We’re fuckin’ leaving!" Myron shouted as he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out of the house. We didn’t even get a chance to change out of our funeral clothes. We just hopped in the car and sped out of the driveway. Our first stop on our way to Doung,The Birdman’s house to see Dave was, of course, the liquor store. Dave, in his earlier days had worked for grany on the farm as well, and was also sad to see her go. We stayed at Dave’s house, reminiscing about good old times with granny until all the booze was gone, then went to refill the supply. The next stop after returning to the liquor store was Harfman‘s farm in Oliver.

Mike wasn’t there when we arrived, but his Mom Lynne knew exactly where to find him. She was certain he’d be at the local hotel having a beer. She was right. That was precisely where we found him.

We had one beer with Mike and it seemed as though Myron was starting to relax some. Mike, being the easy going, clown that he usually was seemed to be able to lighten Myron‘s mood, no matter what the trouble was. I was eternally grateful for that.

Since it was Valentine’s Day, Mike had planned on buying Nikki, his girlfriend at the time, a bouquet of roses. He asked me to go with him “Come on kiddo, you look like you could use some air”. I hadn’t realized it until Mike pointed it out, but I didn’t really feel very well.

“Yeah, sure.” I replied and we promptly left the bar to go to the flower shop just down the block. I knew that because I was with Mike I didn’t have to ask Myron for permission to go anywhere. One thing I liked about hanging around with Mike, besides the fact that he was fun to be around, was that Myron was always nice to me when Mike was there.

Although I had only known Mike for a few years, we were pretty good friends and it felt like I had known him my whole life. We had always had a sort of connection and we could talk about anything. Mike was one of the few friends of ours who actually knew what our relationship was really like. I always felt safe when Mike was around. I knew he’d never let Myron do anything to hurt me.

When Mike and I got back to the hotel with the flowers, Myron was pretty drunk. I hadn’t seen him this way in quite some time. I made excuses for Myron as usual, telling myself that his state was normal considering everything he’d been through the last few weeks. First, there was Granny dying and the funeral this morning, then there was the news from his Mom that we’d have to leave the farm with nowhere to go, and on top of that there were the weekends that Myron was spending in Jail. All of this stress had to be piling up on him.

Mike and I had just ordered our drinks when out of the blue Myron blurted out that we were leaving. We were going to the Indian reservation to buy some coke. Mike better come now if he wanted a ride home. Mike was trying to quit doing cocaine so wanted no part of that, but wanted a ride home so he could deliver the roses to Nikki. I was pretty sure that I was pregnant, although I hadn’t told anyone except Mike so not only did I not feel like drinking, but I certainly didn’t want anything to do with drugs. Especially cocaine! As usual there was no arguing with Myron once he had his mind made up on something. So off I drove, the three of us and Mike with his flowers to the res to buy cocaine.

Perhaps because it was early afternoon on Valentine‘s Day or maybe because Myron was already in a foul mood, he was having a hard time getting any coke. After trying three different dealers on the res and two in Oliver, Mike and I decided to give it up and just go back to the bar.

We were both getting tired and hungry. Of course Myron had a bottle of rum with him so he didn’t need to go anywhere. He would have been content to drive around all day until he found his dope. Mike somehow convinced Myron that we should all go back to the bar for some food.

Apparently Mike had gotten a hold of his old dealer who had agreed to meet us at the bar at 7pm. It was nearly 4 now, so we didn't have that long to wait. Mike thought we could sit down relax and maybe Myron could sober up some. It was a good plan, but unfortunately things didn’t exactly go according to plans.

Shortly after we sat down, Myron excused himself “gotta piss" he informed us. When he still hadn’t returned to our table 20 minutes later, Mike decided he’d better go see what was taking so long. By this time I was starting to feel a bit woozy. The early pregnancy, no food all day, the stress of the day and two beers at noon had starting to take their toll on me. I was tired and nauseous. Now, more than ever, I was sure I was pregnant.

"Hey kiddo, the car‘s gone." Mike informed me on his return. "Shit!" I exclaimed. "He‘s way to drunk to drive. How the hell did he get the keys from my purse?" Mike and I were pondering our next course of action when the food arrived. Although I was feeling queasy I tried to eat a little.

I had eaten a couple of French fries and some zucchini sticks and my stomach had settled some when Myron showed up at about 5:30. He’d been gone for over an hour. He had obviously found what he was looking for. Unfortunately, cocaine, or crack as I suspected did nothing to lighten his already dark mood. Mike and I exchanged a cautious glance. I think he could tell I was a little afraid.

"Gimme the keys Myron" Mike demanded
"Fuck you!" Myron responded.
Just then, Rhonda, the bartender, and an old friend and drinking buddy of Myron’s came over. "Give Mike the keys Myron. You shouldn’t be driving". Rhonda and Myron had always been pretty close, so he listened to her and gave the car keys to Mike.

As usual, Myron was discontent to sit around and wait, even though Mike‘s buddy would be there in less than half an hour. So we got back in the car and continued the hunt this time with Mike at the wheel. Myron was out of money by now, but he was convinced we wouldn’t need any. When I asked him how he planned to pay for the cocaine he snarled “we’ll just cuff it, Lor. We’ll cuff it. Ha ha ha!”

Even though we’d already been there once that day, Mike drove us back to his buddy’s house on the reservation. Shortly after he went in, Mike came out with exactly the news we had anticipated. No dope. Since it was getting dangerously close to 7pm now, our next stop on the mission was back to the bar, yet again. Hopefully Mike’s buddy would meet us there, we could pick up the goods and then I could go back home to Osoyoos.

When we got to the bar, Mike left the car running with the keys in the ignition and Valentine’s Day roses for his girlfriend Nikki in the back seat beside me. He quickly ran inside the bar to look for his buddy while Myron and I waited in the car. Just as quickly as Mike got out, Myron hopped in the driver’s seat and sped off. I protested "Myron you can’t just leave him here" "Fuck you cunt" he coldly replied. "But Myron, we've got his flowers for Nikki, they cost him a hundred bucks" I reasoned. To that Myron replied in disgust and anger "Shut the fuck up before I drive you, Lor!"

Whack! It was too late. Before I could think about closing my mouth, Myron had punched me right in the nose. The blood started to pour down my face and all over my sweater. The sight of my own blood all over me made my already upset stomach even more nauseous.

Then suddenly, before I knew what was happening we hit a patch of ice and the Hyundai started sliding across the road.
Over...
And over...
And over...
Then down...
down...
down...

When we finally finished rolling and sliding down the embankment we came to a stop at the bottom of a frozen pond. I was still very upset and in pain from Myron’s large fist in the face only moments earlier, but I tried to stop the tears and wipe the blood from my face.

I regained my composure just in time to watch Myron silently get out of the car. Relieved, I sighed and just let him go. Hopefully he‘ll leave me alone for a minute or two now, so that I could pull myself together. It was always so hard to stop crying or being upset when all he was doing was yelling and cursing at me.

I foolishly assumed that the reason Myron had gotten out of the car was so that he could get us out of this situation. I thought he would try to find a way to get the car out of the frozen pond. We were stuck in an iced over pond at the bottom of a steep embankment and I wasn‘t sure if we’d ever get out of there, but one thing about Myron was that he was as determined as he was strong.

After waiting in the cold darkness of the Hyundai for about 15 minutes my nose had finally stopped bleeding. The blood however was replaced by a pounding headache. Myron had broken my nose twice before so I was accustomed to the pain that accompanied it.

However, once the throbbing in my head had begun to dull, I realized that Myron wasn‘t going to get us out of there. In fact, it seemed that he wasn‘t even there anymore. I looked around outside in time to catch a faint glimpse of Myron’s boots as he crawled up the hill. Although the feeling in my gut told me I was fooling myself, I hoped against hope that Myron was leaving to go get help.

After what seems like an eternity, but was probably only about 20 minutes I was freezing, tired, scared, and in pain. It was obvious that Myron had not gone to get help. I made up my mind then to go get some help myself. Somehow, despite my pounding headache and my stiff sore body I managed to drag my self up the hill in the dark and make my way to the mall nearly three miles away.

I scrounged in the bottom of my purse and prayed I would find a quarter so I wouldn‘t have to go inside a store looking the way I did. Eyes puffy, face bloody, nose swollen and hair matted with blood. Luckily, I had one quarter so I plugged it in the phone and called my little brother, Shawn.

I left out most of the details, as was usually when something had happened with Myron, but told Shawn what he needed to know. As far as he knew, I was in a car accident and had broken my nose because of it. He said he’d find a ride and come and get me right away. So I slumped down on the cold asphalt beside the payphone and shivered as I cried to myself quietly and waited for help to arrive.

Shawn and Doug or “The Bird Man” as he was known to most of us because of his love of birds, arrived much sooner than I had expected them too. I was so relieved; freezing cold and in pain, all I wanted to go was lie down and go to sleep. The ride home was pretty quiet. I could tell that Doug wanted to ask what had happened to me, how my nose got broken and where Myron was, but for some reason he didn‘t say a word. He just drove me quietly back to granny’s farm. I was hoping against hope that when I arrived, Francis would still be there and that Myron wouldn’t be. At that point the sight of Myron’s Mom or anyone for that matter including the devil himself would have been comforting to me.

Nobody was there, though and that was a relief too. That last person I wanted to see that night was Myron. I had never seen him this angry before and I was afraid of what he might do to me if we were at home alone. Once Shawn realized I had the house to myself, he said goodbye and went back home. Immediately after he left, I went to bed.

I must have only been asleep for a couple of hours when I was awakened by the sound of someone pounding profusely on the front door. As soon as I realized that it was Myron and that he was very angry at being locked out, I got up to go let him in. I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror on my way to the door and was taken aback by my own reflection. That black, blue, and yellow, puffy face couldn’t have been me, could it?


I scarcely had time to realize what was happening when Myron had broken down the door and come at me. If he was mad at me before, he was ten times more so now. He grabbed me by the back of the hair dragged me down the hall and threw me on to the bed. One hard blow to my already broken nose made the blood start pouring again.


The rage in his eyes was like nothing Id ever seen before. Myron was cursing and ranting at me all the while striking and beating me. He got off me for a moment and I thought that it was over. When I saw him getting the neck ties out of the dresser drawer I had no idea what to expect.





Amnesty?

The silk ties
Feel like sandpaper
On the tender skin
Of my wrists
Ankles, neck
The satin sheets
Feel like razor blades
Under my bruised, injured flesh
The mattress
Beneath my broken bones
Reminiscent of a granite slab
The carpeting like a sponge
Sodden with my blood
The air around me
Heavy like a stone
The room threatening
Aggressive
Yet forewarning
Go away
Turn and run
Too late now
To heed the advice
Now the glint
of the knife
Gives me hope
Of reprieve
Amnesty?
a pardon?
or perhaps
The execution


Assassin

Thoughts of death
Flood my mind
But seem comforting, now
The terror and confusion
Have been replaced by a steely calm
I am numb now
I feel no pain
And I watch
From a distance
Above outside my body
Detached emotionless
The words I hear
Are not my own
But the muffled sounds
Of some other woman
Petitioning for her life
I love you
She says
I’m your wife
She explains
You don’t want to hurt me
I love you
The severity
Of the situation
Hidden
By the look in her eyes
The gravity veiled
By loving words
Softly spoken
To the would be Assassin


Creosote Doesn't Wash off Puppies


Things were pretty quiet from the time Granny died, until Jakob was born. I don’t know if it was because I was pregnant that Myron didn’t explode as much or because we didn’t see each other often. I was working still and Myron was often out doing other things, I usually didn’t want to go, preferred to stay home and sleep while Myron was off drinking and doing who-knows-what. Often we only saw each other briefly in passing and that was fine with me. There had been a noticeable change in Myron after Granny’s passing and I for one, was in no rush to get in his way, and had no desire to come to blows over anything. Fear for my unborn son, fear for our future and a general uneasiness about our situation made me just want to be alone in our little trailer, most of the time.


It was mid July the year Jakob was born, 1996. That particular
summer was especially hot mainly since I spent the majority of it
very pregnant and camping out in a fourteen foot travel trailer.

Packed into the tin can we called home for a season was my pregnant
self, Myron and our 2 large dogs Sally and Princess and Sally's
five little puppies. The trailer was parked in the shade of an enormous
weeping willow and several elm trees and as close to the lake as we
could get it. Osoyoos has a reputation as having some of the
hottest weather in Canada and that summer certainly did not disappoint.

With a limited power supply, (only one extension cord running under the dirt road to the nearest neighbors outside outlet) we could only do with one small fan to cool us down. That night the air was sweltering and the only relief from the heat was an occasional tepid breeze coming in off the lake. Our tiny travel trailer seemed even smaller on hot summer nights like that one.

At about eight and a half months pregnant, sleep was a precious
commodity to me most nights. That night, though, it was even more
elusive. I was sleeping with one eye and both ears open as was
usual when Myron was out drinking in town. This particular night,
my senses were at a heightened awareness and my nerves were even
more raw than usual.

Myron had been getting gradually more and more ornery over the last
few days. I knew he was about to blow. His rage from the day
before ended in a coffee mug being thrown at me and just narrowly
missing my head but coming full force through the rear window of
the trailer. Shards of broken glass and cold coffee all over me, the
bed and the dogs still did not satisfy his need for control of the
situation and of me. Somehow I knew that this incident was far
from the major blow-out that was heading my way. I could see it in
Myron's eyes and feel it in my bones.

This particular night, since I knew Myron would be out late, I let
Princess my wolf-dog sleep in the trailer with me. Normally Sally
was my pal but since she had puppies a little more than a month
earlier, Princess and I had formed a new bond. Sally and the seven
puppies slept curled up together under the trailer.

Princess and Sally always seemed to get skittish when Myron was in
one of his moods. It was as if they could sense the tension in the
air. Princess, still unaware of Myron's abusive streak, stood by
me, defiantly protective, but Sally knew enough to make her self
scarce when Myron got this way. She had been on the receiving end
of his boot when she was still a pup herself. Jumpy as puppies
are, Sally was bouncing around and snapping at the air when she tipped
over Myron's beer that was sitting on the ground between his feet.
I wasn't there at the time of the incident, but arrived shortly
after to see my new little puppy with a very badly broken leg.

We took Sal to the veterinarian right away, and he fixed her up as
best he could. Of course Myron made up some cockamamie story about
Sally falling over a tree in the orchard and landing in a hole. By
the look on the Veterinarian's face I could tell that he scarcely
believed Myron's ridiculous tale. Ever since then, Sally kept her
distance from the man that hurt her so. The small trailer was a bit
crowded with a large dog sharing my space, but the security
Princess gave me, if even for a short while, was worth being cramped up a
bit.

When Myron finally arrived home well after midnight that evening he
was noticeably intoxicated. I was never sure just which substances
he had been into on any given night but the smell of whiskey on his
breath was unmistakable. The moment I awoke, mere seconds before
he busted the already broken trailer door open, I could tell he was
ready to explode.

"Where the fuck were you? Bitch!" he burst out as he barged trough
the swinging metal door.

"You were supposed to come to the barbecue after work" he continued
angrier with each consecutive word.

I can see now, in hindsight that Myron was probably more angry at
not having a ride home from his friend's house or the bar than he
was upset that I didn't accompany him. At the time, I was too far
in shock and dismay to try and rationalize or make sense of his
demands, accusations or insults. I tried to explain my self, but
as usual my protests fell on deaf ears.



The truth was I just didn't feel like going anywhere. I had
to work early the next morning, the heat was making me nauseous and I
was having these cramps that seemed strangely similar to
contractions. All I wanted to do was stay home and get some rest.
Myron however did not see things quite so clearly.

He stormed outside smashing and fumbling around in the near-dark. For
what he was searching I couldn't be sure, but I could hear him
breaking twigs for kindling and starting the campfire. When I
peered out the broken window to see Myron holding two of the
puppies
and a can of creosote, my head began to spin. Terror struck me as
I realized what he was about to do.




I was able to grab all the puppies away from Myron, and one by one drag them to the lake to wash the creosote off of them. Oily and sticky it didn’t come off well and what did come off the puppies ended up on me. Adding to the burns I had on the back of my hands from the contact with the solvent.

I washed the puppies completely in the warm Osoyoos Lake and waited for Myron to pass out inside the trailer. Thankful that he was now asleep, I put the pups back with Sally, their Mamma and quietly crawled inside the trailer to get a little rest of my own.








Willow




A couple of years went by after the creosote incident and Myron grew increasingly cruel to our animals. As pets, I adored all of our animals, every last one of them and could never understand how a person could be so cruel, so cold and unfeeling to any of these beautiful creatures. Not Myron. He seemed to see them IN a different light and had no problem abusing our pets and treating them badly.

The incident with Willow was by far the most severe, though there are many that I don’t write of here, such as the time he threw his most beloved dog Patches off the second story balcony and when he kicked our cat Billy so that he slinked when he walked, belly to the ground for a week, that compare in cruelty.


"How the fuck could you let this happen, bitch?" Myron screamed at me in anger.

"I... I..." I stammered as I tried to choke back tears. I knew that if I cried Myron's anger would only escalate past its already heightened point. Still, as hard as I tried, I could not fight the tears. The sight of the puppy lying bleeding in my arms was just too much to bear. Willow had been my Christmas present to Jakob for his second
Christmas. We had only had her for a few days, but we had grown attached to her nonetheless.

It was boxing day and we picked her up from the farm only a couple of days earlier, but Jakob and I had already formed a bond with Willow. Being Border collie and still a
pup made her a lively addition to our small family. Both Jakob and I were instantly attached to Willow and her puppyish ways.



As I stood dumbfounded, shocked, with Willow in my arms, I tried to drown out Myron's voice. There must be something I can do, I thought to myself. Surely there is some way I can save my dying puppy. But try as I might I could not come up with a solution. The car that hit Willow was driving so fast, that it really did a lot of damage.

I resigned to myself that although there was nothing I could do to save her life, I'd at least make sure her last hours or minutes were as comfortable as they could be. So I carefully took Willow down to the basement and laid her down on a pile of soft blankets. "You'll be okay Willow," I assured her softly as I stroked her tiny body. She looked up at me briefly, and I could tell by the look in her
fading eyes that she understood me and that eased my heartache some.



I stayed there with Willow as long as I could, determined to sit with her until she closed her eyes forever. Myron had other plans, though and the sound of him screaming at me from upstairs broke the somber silence in the basement. As he stormed down the stairs, his voice got louder and more and more gruff.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Bitch?" He demanded. I couldn't respond as I had no idea what he was ranting about. "What had I done?" I thought to my self.


Myron's raving continued despite my obviously emotional state. "You get off on torturing the poor dog?" He grilled me. "You are a sick bitch, Lor, sittin there watchin' her die like that. Yer fucking sick! You must be if you get off on torturing the dog!" he roared.

His endless accusations, continued non-stop until finally I felt the need to explain. To defend myself. "But, I'm not sick. I'm not torturing her. Myron I'm just trying to make Willow feel better. She's dying."
"Yeah, I know she's dying, cunt. You are just prolonging her agony. Get the fuck out of the way bitch!" Myron screamed as he yanked me by the arm and out of the way. It wasn't until I was half way up the stairs that I realized what he was planning. When I saw the glimmer of the hatchet in Myron's hand I knew for sure I wasn't the sick one. "What is he going to do to our little puppy?" I screamed silently. "Why doesn't he just leave her to die in peace?"


My horror at the sudden realization of the events that were about to transpire made me weak. I felt as though I was going to collapse. But I managed to walk up the stairs and go to my son so that he couldn't see what Daddy was doing to his puppy.

Just before I closed the basement door, I caught a glimpse of the sickening scene that was unfolding in my basement. That frightening image of Willow lying on the cold hard concrete and the axe severing her head from the rest of her lifeless body will stay forever in my mind. I closed my eyes as tightly as I could to try to escape the sight. And ran as fast as my wobbly legs would take me away from the
sound of the axe repeatedly hitting the concrete floor. Try as I might, though, I could not drown out the sound of hatchet hitting concrete.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Again and again and again!
Thwack!
Thwack, thwack!









*** Author’s Note ***

The day that Willow died was just a couple days after Christmas, it was cold out and snow blanketed the ground.
My brother Shawn and a good friend, Cam stopped by to see Myron and took him somewhere.
This relieved me immensely. I was often glad to have him gone for the day. To be alone, just Jakob and I with no stress, no worries, just free to be ourselves with no fear of Myrons actions or reactions.
This day he took with him the body of our little puppy. Willow fit inside a shoe box, she was still so small. As I watched the three of them walk away, Myron, Cam and my brother, I could see that Myron was carrying the box. Cam put it in the back of the truck.

To this day I still beleive that no words were spoken about what was in the box..
And how Myron actually got the package to Cam's property and buried it without telling either Cam or my brother what was inside is still a bit of a mystery.
But what's most disturbing to me about all of this is how the box with our puppy inside it was discovered the following Spring.
Apparently, the snow had melted on Cam's property and he found a small shoe box, half buried, half on top of the earth.
So Cam opened up the box to see what was inside.
At first he didn't want to tell me "You don't wanna know Lor." He repeated a couple of times "You don't wanna know!"
"It was Willow, wasn't it Cam?"
I knew it was. But what I didn't know was the state that Cam had found the puppy in.
Not only had Willow's head been severed from her small puppy body by Myron's hatchett, but so too had each one of her paws.