LOST PROPERTY: a novel by Megan Choritz

Author:Megan Choritz
Format: epub

PART 28

This part of the story is me in my car. The part of the story where I have nowhere to go. It is the fighting part of the story. In this part, Mark is always threatening to leave, but he never does. He stays put. Settles in. Hunkers down. In this part of the story, I am parked on the side of a road, trying to think where to go or who to call.

It is summer, and my short dress is stuck to the back of the seat.

It is winter, and I keep the car running so it doesn’t fog up in the cold drizzle.

It is daytime, and cars come around the corner too fast and over-adjust so they don’t hit me; this street is usually empty during the day.

It is evening, and I see the streetlights turn on. I try to remember if this is the first time in my life that I witness the moment.

It is nighttime, and I am crying, and it is raining, and I haven’t eaten supper and it is still on the stove and I can’t remember if I turned off the plate.

I am bitterly aware that my car is easy to recognise, and neighbours will wonder what I am doing. In this neighbourhood, domestic arguments are common. They are loud and unremarkable forms of violence. But I am a snob in this regard. In this regard, I am not like my neighbours. I am like Larry and Merle, whose fights were toxic and dangerous but private family affairs, with only their children – us – and Dora as witnesses. And Mark knows this. Occasionally, someone will raise their voice. Mostly me. And Mark will say, “Do. Not. Shout. At. Me.” Or Mark will throw things, his plate of food, a book, his laptop bag. He throws things that won’t make a noise beyond our house. He throws things like a professional torturer, one that does not leave cuts or bruises for someone else to see.

There are many versions of this part of the story. One version is when Jojo, my dog, is still alive. In this version, I am in my car, parked around the corner of our home, with my bag and an almost dead phone battery. In this version, I wish I have Jojo with me because I am suddenly unsure of what Mark the public animal whisperer does when I am not there. This is a dawning moment, in this version. This is the first I-don’t-know-this-person moment. It is also the moment of piercing shame. This part, the shame, is what isolates me from my friends. It is why I have not told them how unhappy, how afraid, how diminished I am.

There are versions of this part of the story that come from later, with Arthur, our dog. In one version, I have long hair. In the next, I have a short bob and the brown is more flecked with grey than before. In this version, I have packed

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