He Started It

by Samantha Downing

One day I might analyze these feelings instead of cleaning the house or something.

Of all the things I’ve learned since the last trip, the most important is this: You can’t fight every battle. Otherwise you end up bloodied, drained of energy, and unable to go on. Sometimes it’s better to agree and keep your mouth shut. That’s what I’ve decided to do on this trip. Otherwise we’ll never make it to the end.

That’s always the way, isn’t it? The threat of physical violence eclipses everything. As a child, you know it, and as a woman, it’s always in the back of your mind. The slam of a fist can change everything.

“I’d give him a bunch of sleeping pills,” I said. “He’d just die in his sleep, never knowing he wouldn’t wake up.” I still think that’s the best way to kill someone. No sense in making a bloody mess.

Arguing about every little thing is what makes people hate you, especially when it comes to family. They’re the least forgiving of all.

You knew about her. Even if you didn’t consciously know, you knew because it’s how these stories go. It’s a law. Maybe even written in stone by now. There’s always a missing girl.

And her. Nikki. The firstborn. Our older sister. Nikki with her wild, flaxen hair, her blazing eyes, her body constantly in motion. Here, there, everywhere, all at once. And I have her journal.

Devil’s Rope is what the Native Americans called barbed wire, and yes, there’s an entire museum devoted to it. That didn’t seem very exciting when I was twelve, but it turned out to be amazing. Barbed wire changed everything. We learned about how it was used in the nineteenth century, when people could just settle on a piece of land and call it their own. The barbed wire was how people marked their territory, and it also kept the cattle in, otherwise they would just roam around. That’s why cowboys hated it, along with the Native Americans. So many animals died when they walked into it, hence the name Devil’s Rope.

I wonder how many bad things have been explained by such a simple phase, a simple idea. Because I could. Because no one stopped me. Because it was easy. All the same answer, and it really means because I wanted to.

Remember, a cheating wife is just one deal breaker. Murder is the other, which means neither my mother nor I can be the heroine of this story.

“Sometimes it’s good to be reminded they can all be assholes. Like a genetic thing. So I don’t forget.”

Do I think it’s going to work? That I’ll get away with it? Timing. It always comes down to timing.

I’ve laid the foundation, put everything in its place. The arguing everyone saw. The road trip no one wants to be on. The note. The plan to see him at home. When I get there and he’s not around, I’ll call the police and report him missing. Without a body, a crime scene, or any suspicion of foul play, they’ll assume he has left me. They’ll have nothing to go on, no reason to suspect Felix is anything but a husband who had enough of his wife. I plan to be extra annoying to the cops to solidify that belief. I can be the woman no one wants to marry.

This is the part not many talk about. The nerves. They feel electric, almost painful. I’m convinced it’s a form of panic because really, it’s fear. Fear that I’ll be caught, fear that I’ve screwed up. Fear that everyone is in on it but me. That last one is the worst. But I don’t throw myself on the ground and scream. I don’t hyperventilate. No tantrums, just movement. I cannot be in this place for one second longer.

“These road trips are so screwed,” Eddie says. “We always lose people along the way.” Indeed.

We all look at one another until one of us breaks. It’s me, because you can’t stand around and do nothing forever. Eventually you have to get on with it.

He’s an asshole, Always. I can also hear the people next door having sex. Eddie is actually preferable. Nice.