Courtney Katzmeyer
Escape
She was a neat and tidy person, and she wanted to make a doll house. So one day, after cleaning, while her boy was at school and the baby was asleep, she went to the store and bought a block of wood. It was shapeless and looked like nothing, but she was going to make it fantastic. She began right away, searching through her husband’s box of tools for something that looked right. She didn’t know the first thing about making a doll house, but the sharp-tool she grabbed looked like it could do the job. So she went to work.
She poked and prodded and cut away at the wood for three hours, until the baby cried, and she had to get him some milk. Then she went back to work. At 2:30, she had to stop again. Her boy was home, and he wanted a snack and left a mess, so she got him one and cleaned up. She wanted to go back to work, but then her husband came home too, and he wanted dinner and sex, so she gave him both. But when he fell asleep, and the baby was quiet, and her boy was in bed, she went back to work. She chiseled away at the wood until they all woke up the next morning with more demands to be met.
The next day went the same, and several days after that, until one day the block of wood no longer looked like a block of wood. It looked like a house. So that day, while her husband was at work and her boy was at school and the baby was napping, she went to the store again and got paint and fabric. When she came back, the baby was crying, so she held him and crooned him a song, then let him out to play before beginning painting.
She painted the walls; deep crimson in the bedroom, beige in the living room, a gaudy blue in the nursery. She laid down the fabric as carpet in some rooms, used popsicle sticks and finish to make hardwood in the others. By the time her boy got home from school and was hungry and made a mess, the house was almost done having its floors laid. She hated to quit then but had no choice.
She cleaned his mess and fed the baby, who was crying, and let them watch television until her husband got home, while she finished the floors. Her husband got home and kissed her lips and asked what was for dinner. She said grilled cheese, and he scoffed, but it was her boy’s day to pick, and that’s what he asked for. So they ate grilled cheese, and she she cleaned up, and her boy did homework, and her husband watched basketball, and the baby played with his bear. Then she put the kids in bed and had sex and went back to her house, laying a second layer of paint over all the walls.
The next day came the furniture. She waited until her boy was at school, and her husband was working, and the baby was playing quietly with his toys, and she went to the store. It was difficult, but she found what she wanted: tiny doors and chairs and beds and tables, everything a miniature family would need in her miniature house. When she came back she began work right away, furnishing the tiny painted boxes into rooms. A tiny bathtub with tiny towels and a tinier bar of soap sitting on the edge. A tiny cradle with a tiny mobile. A tiny refrigerator with tiny food inside, in case anyone got hungry.
When her husband came home that night, he yelled instead of asking for dinner. She forgot to go to her boy’s baseball game, and he hit a home run. She apologized; she was busy with the baby.
Why didn’t she bring him with her?
He was fussy.
He was crying when the husband got home, and she wasn’t doing anything about it.
Well, that was the only time she wasn’t.
The husband sighed and walked upstairs to change. She felt bad he was angry, so she made his favorite dinner that night. But he didn’t want sex. Not tonight. It was okay with her, she had work to do. She had to put the baby in bed and tuck in her boy and finish furnishing the living room.
Two days later there was another missed game, and another big hit, a double this time, followed by another fight and a crying baby. This time they didn’t have the husband’s favorite dinner, though, and the boy didn’t show her his game-winning ball. He didn’t even make a mess wearing his cleats into the living room. He just went upstairs to do homework. It was math, so the husband helped and she could work on the house. Tonight she was finishing the upstairs bathroom, the one in the hallway. She worked until the baby cried for sleep.
The next day was the day she was waiting for, the day she would finish. Only the hobby room was left, and there wasn’t much furniture in that room, just a worn down, colored-on table and an old stool. It wouldn’t take long. So she let the baby cry, and she let the boy’s coming-home mess stay on the floor, and she let the husband yell at her for forgetting dinner. It didn’t matter; she wasn’t listening. Instead, she put the stool in, and the table, and crawled in herself.
The house was nice, and quiet. There was no baby in the crib, or cleats in the living room, or expectant husband lying in bed. Just silence and perfection. She laid there relishing it for days, but soon enough got bored, so she went to the hobby room, where she knew there was a tiny block of wood waiting to be carved.