Notice

      Colleen pours out three bowls of cornflakes and sets them on the table. She leaves a jug of cold milk on the counter, adding a shot to her coffee. Alice is always late, Darren is probably thinking of a good lie to get out of school. Gary should be home in ten minutes; he called from the car. He should have been home hours ago. There’s a man shooting at cars on the free-way. Colleen watches the news coverage on the new television on the kitchen table; a Christmas present from the kids. She squints at the line of cars, looking for the family Volvo. The gunman fires another three shots into a red Honda. The woman had opened her door. Perhaps she recognised him. Perhaps she thought she could talk to him. Colleen sips her coffee and watches the woman slide from the driver’s seat to concrete. She takes a step towards the screen; yes, there is a small boy sleeping in the back seat. Children can sleep through anything. She wonders if Darren has sneaked back to bed yet.

      Gary’s home. He shivers through the back door, shivers out of his dripping raincoat. She doesn’t speak; points to the milk jug. She doesn’t look up from the screen.

      “I’ll be gone by the time you get back. I just need to pack a few things.”

      “Alright.”

      “Col, is there no way we can...?” He shoves the spoon into his mouth.

      “No goodbyes, Gary. Kids aren’t gone yet. He chews the cereal. Any other day, he’d complain about a cold breakfast. His eyes flick from the TV set to her face. She drains the mug and leaves the kitchen, calling the children as she goes. They shout excuses from their rooms. She doesn’t wait to hear them. She mutters something about finishing getting ready. The gunman drops to his knees, surrounded by armed police. Gary starts to cry quietly.

      The train is crowded, buzzing with concern about loved ones caught in the morning traffic. Colleen did not see how the drama ended. She drove the children to their bus, leaving him in the kitchen. He had started to watch a sports programme. The kids waved goodbye, keeping up the pretence They were all pretending today. She is marking papers quickly on her briefcase. Jill Tyler is failing, again. She can barely muster sympathy for the girl, even though she now understands what it feels like to have a broken family. She writes a half hearted note in the margin to Jill, urging the girl to come and see her to discuss her problems. She hopes that no such visit will take place. She does not know how to pity any more. The train shudders into her station, but she does not get up. She lets the doors open and shut, sinking back into her seat. An elderly couple board the train. She thinks about giving up her seat, and decides against it. She hasn’t the strength to stand, nor even to move her now discarded briefcase from the seat next to her. She watches the crooked old man offer an arm to his plump wife, both swaying and slipping in the moving carriage. The woman falls to the linoleum floor at a sharp turn. Colleen looks away, staring out at the graffiti’d neighbourhood.

      She rides the circuit twice before descending at the stop got on at. She makes for the car, and stops at a news stand for a pack of cigarettes. Gary had made her quit when Darren was born. There had been the odd drag here and there, at parties and funerals. He knew that. She lit the first cigarette and drew feverishly. It was gone within a few minutes. The nicotine made her head spin, and she gripped the side of the Volvo. After a moment’s faithful deliberation, she decided to get into the car, and lit another, dangling her arm out the window. The first and last time Gary had seen her do this, he had lashed out. After all, it was a company car. Colleen decided that after everything, she didn’t give a shit. She thought of Brooks, his boss, doing his weekly inspection of the cars, and pictured his shiny face screwing up at the smell of stale smoke. Gary could get fired for that. Good.

      She wonders where they go from here. She has heard about things like this, the awful soap opera stories her friends tell her, where the loving husband has been playing away. The stories always seemed ridiculous to her; she wondered whether the girls from work had actually elaborated their sad divorce stories to make themselves feel better, make themselves seem like the victim. She figures it makes sense; it is quite pathetic to admit that he just left, he just lost interest. Nothing like a bit of adultery to spice up the court hearing. Colleen pitied these women, but from an elevated view point. She didn't like to think she looked down on them, but she did. Poor, sad little women. Well, they can't all be Gary. Not like my Gary. Now what? She turns the key in the ignition and starts off, heading for the bridge.

      It is too quiet, she thinks. She turns on the radio, quickly turning off the broadcast about the highway shootings. She settles on some eighties track. Gary always hated the music in the eighties; he says rock died in '79. Colleen finds it comforting. It reminds her of being pregnant for the first time, and everything being new and exciting. It reminds her of beginnings. She had never associated Pat Benetar with things coming to an end until now. The little screen above the radio tells her it is 12.46pm. Darren will have cut class by now. Alice will probably be at some meeting; yearbook, pep, prom committee, cheerleading. She was always Little Miss School Spirit. She gets that from Gary, the easy popularity. Colleen was never like that. She was never a slacker or a burnout, just never noticeable. She wasn't anything really. It always puzzled her that Gary chose her. She figures he just liked the way she idolised him; her high school crush on him had lasted twenty four years now. She is stuck in traffic. There are policeman in yellow vests directing diverted traffic at the other side of bridge. The nonsense from this morning must be the reason for the hold up. Colleen lights another fag, almost smiling at her boldness. Almost smiling. Horns and shouts fill the air on the bridge. She wants to yell at them, tell them to stop being so rude. Do you mind? I'm trying to think! She says it quietly, they way she always says her comebacks when Gary is on her case; loud enough to make her feel better, quiet enough that he can't hear her.

      She decides to make him notice, make them all notice. Sorry folks, she thinks as she put her foot to the floor, swerving to the left. Sorry folks, your commute is about to get even longer. She crashes through the rails, and starts to go down, down. She has another drag, closing her eyes. She smiles. Think your boss will notice, Gary? Notice this asshole. Notice me.