Adrianna sits on the porch overlooking her forest yard that leads down to the lake. She thinks about his original song, “Over The Cliff Again.” He’s always throwing it in her face.
The Cicadas Sing Their Song
It’s quiet, only the critters singing their songs. It registers that the cicadas seem to be louder this morning. It is the South, after all. It’s warm, but not as humidly hot as it will be in just a few hours.
Tears begin making tracks down her face. She brushes them away, but they keep coming. The trust she had tried so hard to build with him just came tumbling down like the block towers her son used to build when he was about two. How could this have happened? Why, she kept asking herself?
I’ll Do It My Way
He only sees it from his point of view, “I’ll do what I want when I want, I’m doing this for us,” his usual excuse. He wants to know everything she does, where she is, where she’s going, who she’s going to meet, what she’s going to do, yet, it’s perfectly acceptable for him to lie to her.
His word doesn’t seem to mean anything. It seems to be just something to keep her appeased, so she’ll stay off his back. But what he doesn’t realize is that it doesn’t appease her. Every time he does this it takes a bite out of her trust. She has a really long fuse, but it’s burning down quickly, there’s not much left.
After years of “I’ll be finished soon” or “Sure, I’ll stop…on my way home” or “Just a few more minutes” that turn into hours while she sits alone. Her trust has worn thin. She’s just about to the place where she could walk away and never have a second thought and never look back. The broken promises, the lies she’s been told, the insensitivity has taken its toll.
He sings the song “Over The Cliff Again” mangled and in flames. Why? He’s the one who’s doing exactly what he wants to do with no regard for anyone else. Why is he mangled and in flames? He sits in his studio singing and recording his songs totally oblivious to anything or anyone else around him. She could leave right now, and he wouldn’t miss her for days unless the house isn’t cleaned or food cooked.
Adrianna wipes the latest tears from her cheeks then walks down the steps to the path that leads to the lake. The boat is tied to the dock bobbing up and down with the occasional wave from the wind that seems to be picking up. She looks longingly at the boat. She’s never taken it out alone before, but she knows how to start the motor. “The car is still parked on the other side. The keys are hidden on the bumper,” she tells herself out loud.