Waiting At The Door
You have the eyes that I'll come home to
You have the hands that I will hold
And my baby's waiting at the door
My baby's waiting at the door
Turn off the lights
We'll have ourselves a waiting night
Forget all the rules that you surrounded yourself with
I dim the lights
To tell you baby it's warm inside
Baby all I need is you
Tell me you need me when you do
Tell me that you stay right here
And my baby's waiting at the door
My baby's waiting at the door
-The Verdict
Part I
The woman lay flat on her back, her body pressed on the gray mat, out of breath and physically and mentally drained. Unless she took immediate action, the weight upon her chest meant certain doom. She struggled to inhale, groaned, then used all of her strength to lift her shoulder off the mat. The effort was unsuccessful as she loudly exhaled and released the tension from her muscles, relinquishing all resistance.
Her hands were immobilized. One arm was trapped behind her back, the other grasped at the wrist by someone else’s arm that encircled her neck, holding the head in a slightly flexed position. The weight of another woman’s body pressed down across her sternum. Another hand dug into her crotch, creating nearly insurmountable leverage for her opponent from which escape would be almost impossible. Indeed, the woman was a victim of a well-executed pinning combination.
Overwhelmed by stiffness, cramps, and exhaustion, the woman attempted to raise each shoulder, first the right, then the left. In each case, the muscles could only feebly twitch. The legs extended, then kicked. The knees bent, the heels pushed into the mat. Every leg muscle tightened; her face strained with her futile attempt to dislodge her opponent. For a second, she raised her head high as if to observe her predicament, then let it collapse back into its original position in silent resignation. The wrestling match would now surely reach its inevitable conclusion.
Overhead, the downy clouds floated across the midsummer blue sky over the suburban backyard. The property was typical of the northern end of Owl’s Creek Drive: a middle-class two-story home on four-tenths of an acre. A tall wooden fence surrounded the backyard perimeter with a gate on each side of the house. The referee’s wife, impartial to the competitors, tended to a flower garden on the front lawn. Her true purpose, however, was to assure privacy and see that no unexpected visitors would disturb the proceedings. Along the street, the routine Saturday activities, such as men washing cars in their driveways, neighbors walking dogs, kids riding bikes and skateboards, carried on as usual. At the far end of the backyard, beyond the fence, one could hear the streaming waters of Owl Creek as it wound through the neighborhood, eventually becoming a tributary to Stone Oak River.
Eight witnesses were present for this contest, all residents of Owl Creek Drive. There were three couples plus the husband of the projected winner and a local high school athletic director and owner of the property serving as referee. While two of the couples were solidly supporting the doomed woman, her husband was conspicuously absent.
The three couples watched intently but were silent while they lurched themselves closer to the edge of the mat. “You got her, Patsy. Put her away,” the imminent winner’s husband encouraged. The referee stepped over the underneath wrestler’s still legs to circle over toward her head. The pinned woman could sense the mat around her ill-fated shoulders sink beneath the referee’s weight as he positioned himself on his knees behind her head to begin the count.
The woman about to be declared defeated was thirty-five years of age. She was a wife and mom to three children and a longtime resident of Owl’s Creek. She was 5 feet, 5 inches, and solidly built. Her body was thick and sturdy but well toned. Her wavy shoulder-length thick black hair was a wild mess. Her deep-set amber eyes and classic nose were obscured from all spectators. She entered this competition wearing a two-piece black swimsuit with a modest high bottom rising to just below the navel. The top was lost during the battle and lay several yards away in the grass. If there was a silver lining to her current plight, her bare breasts were hidden by her opponent’s tank top and gym shorts clad body pressing down on her chest. Her husband warned her of this. In fact, her husband opposed this match from taking place.
“One,” shouted the referee.
“Come on, Margaret,” a female friend exhorted. It was Sue, Margaret’s best friend, stunned in disbelief and squeezing her husband Dennis’ arm tightly as the stoic man bit his lip in consternation. Margaret was barely moving. Unless an extraordinary turn of events occurred, Margaret’s ordeal would be over in ten seconds. All present knew it. Ten seconds. A long pin. That’s what the combatants agreed upon.
“Two.” The spectator's voices became louder and more in number. And more frantic. The distressed woman barely heard them. The legs kicked up high, then fell to the ground. The feet drum rolled the mat in frustration and futility.
“Three.” Margaret sucked in the air. Drops of sweat fell from the back of her neck onto the mat. After another futile attempt to lift her shoulders, her body went limp again. She inhaled hard and closed her eyes in near despair.
This was not how the match was supposed to end. Any reasonable person would have predicted Margaret as the winner. She was bigger, stronger, and more assertive. She didn’t take shit from anybody. She was a long-time resident of Owl’s Creek and arguably its alpha female. And Patsy? She was a wiry, quiet unsophisticated woman and a chain smoker, a complete nonentity in Owl Creek’s social stratosphere. But yet, there she was in the process of conquering Margaret. It didn’t make sense.
“Four.” Margaret felt the hot breath of the referee on her bare right shoulder. With her body still, the unfortunate woman was barely conscious of the usual sounds and smells of the neighborhood on a summer Saturday afternoon. There was the buzzing din of neighbors’ lawnmowers and weed whackers, the sweet smell of freshly cut grass, the aroma of barbecued chicken and Mr. Garcia’s highly acclaimed secret chili sauce heating on the grill next door. There were the familiar songbirds, the cawing of a crow, the sound of the flowing water over the rocks of the creek below the yard. Cut off from any pleasure of the sensory joys of ordinary life in suburbia, Margaret felt like a prisoner condemned to execution.
“Five.” There was a new disturbance, a beeping noise. She became agitated. She recognized that sound. What she heard was her cell phone. A call that she could not answer. A friend muted the phone. The agitation made her squirm, prompting her opponent to tighten the hold, like a starfish clamping down on an unfortunate clam. The hand on her crotch, pressing partly on her vagina and partly in the cleft of her buttocks, pushed in harder, and now it hurt. The back of her neck began to spasm from being tightly held in such a fixed position. She opened her eyes to the sky above to see a cloud in the shape of an alligator and another in the form of a duck.
“Six.” The referee’s count was the tolling of a death knell. My husband! He doesn’t know I’m here, Margaret thought. What will Tim say? My children. My babies. They’re why I’m doing this. To defend them. To preserve our honor. My family. I can’t lose. All the neighbors will know. The community will know. Eventually, my kids will know. The embarrassment. The shame. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This CAN’T happen.
“Almost there, Patsy. Almost there. You got her!”
“Come on, Margaret, you can do this.” The crack in Sue’s voice betrayed her growing sense of hopelessness.
“Seven.” If I can get my hand free, I can turn, Margaret told herself. I’ll get one shoulder up. Then I’ll roll over. I can do this. I’m bigger and stronger. I’ll win. I’ll go home and see my husband. He’ll be so glad to know I won. He’ll see. We’ll make love. I’ll hug my little ones. I will have put Patsy in her place. Then this neighborhood will be like it was.
“Eight.” This is it, Margaret thought. I’ll jerk my arm free and roll. I can do this. I can escape this.
Patsy adjusted her arm behind Margaret’s neck, slightly altering the position of her victim’s head. Margaret opened her eyes to find her line of sight directly aimed at the sun. The intense rays pierced her vision, blinding her. All she could see now was a sheet of white from the effects of the intense ultraviolet light…The merciless sun.
“Nine”,…
Part II
Margaret Roman placed down her magazine and stood in the foyer of her home about to answer the doorbell. When she saw through the window that her unexpected visitor was her neighbor Patsy Clark, she knew the encounter wouldn’t be pleasant. Tension had been building between the two women since the Clarks moved into the neighborhood across the street from the Romans two years ago. At first, they seemed like a welcomed addition. They were nice enough. All of their kids attended the same school. Both women were married stay-at-home moms with three children. Their 10-year-old sons, Jimmy Roman and Joey Clark, quickly became friends.
It cannot be pinpointed precisely when Margaret’s opinion of the Clarks changed; the shift was gradual. First was the realization that they were terrible property owners. They infrequently mowed their lawn in summer, allowing their yard to become an unsightly mix of long grass and infesting weeds. The broken shutters remained unprepared for months. “Lazy slobs,” Margaret muttered to herself. Then there was the junker car propped up on cinder blocks on the front lawn for weeks until the township ordered it removed. “What do they think this is? A trailer park? They’re ruining the property values for the whole neighborhood,” Margaret complained to her husband as she gazed through the window at the eyesore across the street.
Worst of all, that Patsy Clark is a terrible mother, Margaret thought. No discipline. Joey Clark gets into trouble at school. He makes a racket playing the drums in the garage at night. He broke another neighbor’s car window with a baseball, then lied about it. He once sadistically tied a goldfish to a helium balloon, then launched it into the atmosphere. Jimmy Roman was punished with his first school detention, and Margaret was sure Joey Clark had something to do with it. He’s a bad kid, she told herself. And that Patsy is clueless…or just doesn’t care.
Then came the last straw. Jimmy and Joey went into a grassy field to experiment with burning sticks by holding a magnifying glass to the sun. The resulting brush fire created a panic and required two fire trucks to extinguish it. Margaret was livid. No doubt about it, she thought. That Joey Clark is nothing but trouble. When the boys were identified as the cause of the fire, Patsy gave Joey a scolding, then hugged him saying, “Thank God no one was hurt.” One hour later, Joey returned to playing outside while Jimmy was grounded for a week. Infuriated, Margaret forbade Jimmy to see Joey anymore.
Margaret was generally respected in the neighborhood. She was community-minded. She was recognized as a good mother. She was a helpful neighbor and loyal to her friends. However, to say Margaret was uniformly admired would not be entirely accurate. Some saw her as competitive, even aggressive. She could be overbearing and argumentative over trivial matters, spending considerable effort to prove her points. Others found her superiority attitude off-putting. And Margaret had been known to gossip. Closely guarding secrets was not one of her strongest attributes. Now, she was about to begin a full-scale propaganda war. It wouldn’t get back to Patsy, she said to herself. After all, she told only a few close friends…and a few other people. Her accusations, naturally, traveled through the neighborhood. According to Margaret, Joey is a bad kid and belongs in a juvenile detention center. Keep your kids away from him. Patsy Clark is probably on drugs. Her husband Phil is a drunk. They’re white trash that doesn’t belong here.
Patsy and Margaret had maintained a cordial if not superficial relationship. They smiled and waved from their driveways and mailboxes. They engaged in brief conversations on occasion. Patsy sensed they wouldn’t be close friends but felt it necessary to maintain friendly terms with the mother of her son’s friend. But now, it all changed.
“Hi Patsy, come on in,” Margaret offered. Patsy dropped her cigarette, stamping it out on Margaret’s porch before kicking it into the dirt and entering the foyer.
With a serious scowl on her face, Patsy growled, “Don’t you ever, ever, EVER, badmouth my son again. If you EVER spread lies about my family again, I WILL OWN YOUR ASS.”
Margaret was incredulous. Is this a challenge? she wondered. The woman in front of her appeared tense. At 5’4”, about an inch shorter and at least ten pounds lighter than Margaret, she hardly seemed like someone who’d make such an audacious threat. Her tight curly dark brown hair topped off an angry face featuring intense green eyes and pursed lips. Her face looked older than her actual age of 32 years. Must be from all that smoking, Margaret thought. Her body seemed tone, but Patsy was never regarded as athletic. The nerve of this woman.
“Whoa, Patsy,” slow down. I didn’t badmouth anyone,” Margaret replied, “but let’s look at the facts.” She then voiced a litany of Joey’s misdeeds, some of them factual, others based on hearsay.
“He’s just being a boy,” Patsy explained. “He’s no better or worse than any other kid. I know my children aren’t perfect. But I don’t pretend, like you, to be the best mom with the best kids.”
“Seriously, Pat? Do you think Joey’s normal?…You need a reality check. He’s a little conman. And boy, does he have you fooled. You need to wake up and do something before that boy ends up in jail….He’s a bad kid, Pat.”
Patsy clenched her teeth and hands, looking down at the floor. Her voice was low, and with a stuttering cadence, she raised her fist. “You…and…I…are…going…to…settle…this…woman…to…woman.”
Margaret smirked. “Oh really, Patsy? Are you challenging me to a fight?”
Keeping her teeth clenched, Patsy answered. “That’s…exactly…what…I’m doing…I’m…calling…you…out.”
Margaret’s smirk now erupted into a hearty laugh. “You think you can beat me in a fight? You’re dreaming, girl. If it weren’t for the kids due home any minute, I’d whip your ass right now.”
“Then name the time and place,” Patsy shot back.
Margaret felt a mix of emotions. She knew this solution was irrational. She was apprehensive about the idea of a physical fight, but on the other hand, her competitive nature did not allow her to back down. Growing up as a tomboy, she had plenty of friendly tussles with her brothers and their friends. When she was bullied in school, her father taught her to fight. “Never take any crap from anybody,” he’d say. She had an actual fight in high school against a female bully that was quickly broken up. Despite her lack of real fight experience, Margaret had no doubt she could hold her own against anyone. And chain-smoking Patsy Clark would be no match.
Patsy had a more difficult childhood. After her parents divorced when she was five years old, she experienced three stepfathers and numerous changes in residence and schools. Always the new kid with no friends, she was a poor student and a target for bullies. Unlike Margaret, Patsy had several fights, but none since high school. But that pain of being ridiculed, being lied about stayed with her, and she intended to teach Margaret Roman a lesson.
“So, how do you want to do this?” Margaret asked. “Do we box, wrestle, or have an old-fashioned anything goes catfight?”
The question surprised Patsy. She assumed the two would fight without rules until one of them quit. But they’re not kids anymore. They’re moms risking injury. Wouldn’t it be just as satisfying to beat this bitch in a combat sport? Wouldn’t Margaret be humiliated getting punched with gloves or pinned by Patsy on a wrestling mat?…Wrestling? Patsy’s oldest son wrestles. She’s been at the practices; she’s watched the meets. I know something about wrestling, she thought. She imagined herself subduing Margaret’s body with her own. She thought of Margaret helplessly pinned with no hope of getting to her feet until Patsy allowed it. Total control. Total domination…Total vengeance.
“Let’s wrestle,” Patsy sternly said. “Freestyle rules. Ten-second pin to a finish.”
“You want to wrestle me? You got it, sweetie,” Margaret said slyly with a smirk.
Part III
“Absolutely not.” Tim Roman was adamant. “You mean you’re going to roll around on the ground with Patsy Clark like a pair of school kids. Honestly, Margaret, of all your crazy ideas…”
“No one will get hurt, Tim; it’s wrestling. There will be no hitting or kicking or…,” Margaret responded before Tim interrupted.
“And what’s the point?”
“To take out our aggressions, our frustrations. You know I don’t like her, and she doesn’t like me.”
“So you’re just going to act like animals?”
“Think of it this way, Tim,” Margaret suggested. “For centuries, men settled their differences with physical contests, sometimes to the death. Only two hundred years ago, highly respected men dueled with pistols, you know, like Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr.”
“Uh…I think we’ve come a long way since then, my dear.”
“Have we? So we don’t kill each other over disagreements anymore, but what about defending your honor, proving superiority, subduing your enemies?”
“What about talking things out like civilized human beings,” Tim retorted. “Women wrestling? Good Lord, Margaret, the kids will find out. What will the neighbors think?”
“One way we’ve changed is that women compete in fighting sports like boxing, wrestling, and martial arts,” Margaret explained. “Talking doesn’t always work. Sometimes you need to show that you’re not to be messed with. Stand up for yourself. How dare Patsy Clark come storming over here like she did, then saying she’ll own my ass. She picked the wrong person to say that.”
“And if she defeats you? We’ll be the laughingstock of the neighborhood. Do you even know anything about wrestling?” Tim asked.
“Sure do. I remember everything my pop and my brothers taught me. Let me show you some holds Patsy will never get out of. She has no chance. She’ll be out of breath in ten seconds from all the smoking she does.”
“You are not wrestling Patsy Clark,” Tim said sternly. “One or both of you will get hurt or embarrass yourselves…And we are done talking about it.”
“Tim?” Patsy called, her voice now softened. “I want you to close your eyes and imagine something. Imagine Patsy Clark and me in swimsuits. I’m holding her down, pinning her arms. You are standing by the mat watching me. She’s totally helpless as the referee counts to ten. I get up, and the referee raises my hand in victory while Patsy is still on the mat. I jump into your arms and devour your face. You’re holding your little warrior, your mate. I’m sweaty, and the two of us make out; we French kiss. Then we make a beeline straight to our house and upstairs into the bedroom. I take off my swimsuit. I rip your clothes off. I give you the best blow job you ever had in your life, and we fuck like bunnies all night long. Would you like that? Does that stir you? Wouldn’t you like to…”
“Yes, honey, it’s hot…very hot. But…”
“So there, you said it. You know you want me to do this,” Margaret said seductively.
“It’s fantasy, dear,” Tim refuted. “And reality rarely ever measures up to fantasy. My opinion hasn’t changed. You and Patsy Clark will not be wrestling…That is, not unless it’s only in fantasy.”
Late at night, with the kids away at overnight summer camp and Tim working in the home office den, Margaret slipped on her black two-piece swimsuit. Standing in front of the full-length bedroom mirror, she posed, flexed muscles, jutted out her breasts, sucked in her tummy, and inspected her legs. Donning a robe cover, she descended the stairs to the den where her husband was at the computer.
“Time for bed, love,” she cooed. “But first, come with me,” she added as she slipped off the robe. “I’m wrestling Patsy tonight for your eyes only.”
“That’s what you’d wear? That top will come right off.”
“Shhhhhh,” Margaret whispered. “Sit here,” she said, leading him to an oversized leather chair. “Just trust me. Support me, my love, as I give Patsy what she deserves.”
Removing a sofa cushion, the bikini-clad brunette grappled with it, tackling it, head locking it, bear-hugging it, scissoring it, flipping it, then finally slamming it, then schoolgirl pinning it, holding down imaginary arms. “That’s it, honey,” Tim encouraged. “You got her, babe.”
“Count her out, Tim,” Margaret implored. “She’s finished.”
Tim did as instructed. “Eight, nine, TEN! Ding, ding, ding.”
Margaret rose to her feet, then stepped on the cushion, mimicking a victory pose.
“I did it, hon. I won,” Margaret said in her best sultry voice. “How does it feel to be married to the better woman?” Standing face to face with her man, she threw her arms around his neck and quickly locked her lips onto his, slipping her tongue through his teeth. Their tongues explored each other until she lifted herself, wrapping her legs around his waist, sensing the bulge in his pants. Tim supported her weight with his hands cupped on her ass as their mouths remained attached.
“Come, my love,” Margaret whispered. “Let’s go upstairs and celebrate.” The couple remained in that position as they traveled up the stairway and into the bedroom. Tim carried his faux victorious wife to the bed where he laid her on her back, bending over her, his hands removing her bikini top, then lowering himself onto the bed, his warm wet mouth wandering across the curves of her breasts, finding her tight nipples. The foreplay wouldn’t be long. It didn’t need to be. They were both surprised to find the intensity of their desire the highest it had been in years. As Tim parted his wife’s legs and entered her, the mental image of his wife defeating Patsy Clark fueled his virility. Earlier that morning, he awoke to another typical day of a suburban husband and dad, an insurance agent, racing the clock, enduring traffic, being home in time for dinner and the kids’ games. But tonight, he went to bed mating with a warrior. His warrior. This was no ordinary breeder underneath him. She was exceptional - her beauty, her power, her femininity, her courage, her deadly skill. His warrior. Feeling the hardness of his erection, the vitality of each thrust, the rhythm, the synchronicity, Margaret’s mindscape filled with her own constructs. My man, my children, my home, my community, she told herself. I will fight for them; I will protect them. I will drive away the undesirables. I will not back down from a challenge. I am a better fighter, a better woman.
With each rocking pelvis, with each plunge of the cock, with each squeaking bedspring, the two of them seemed telepathically connected, engaged in a silent conversation.
My beautiful Amazon. My heroine.
I did it for you, my love…for us.
So strong, so beautiful. So sexy.
The world is a better place now. The way it’s supposed to be. We’re how we’re supposed to be. I feel you, honey. I feel you….I feel you…I feel you….I FEEL YOU…COME ON…I FEEL YOU!
The screams of their climaxes might have awakened the kids if they were present. All that mattered was the moment, lying in each other’s arms, sleeping as their fantasies gradually faded into the morning light.
“I love you, Tim,” Margaret whispered.
“I love you too,” her husband answered.
“Sooo…” she said in her whimsical voice. “You’re ok with me wrestling Patsy Clark?”
“No, hon,…bad idea.”
“But why?” Margaret protested, “after last night? We can make our fantasy a reality, Tim…And I get to teach that piece of trash Patsy Clark a lesson.
“That’s the problem,” Tim explained. “Reality. Reality is the problem. I love you as a wrestler in fantasy…Reality is messy.”
“So, you’re saying I can’t wrestle Patsy?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Tim replied. “We’ve already gone over this.”
Margaret sighed. The couple shared breakfast. Looking out the window across the street, Joey Clark was already outside, blowing up model cars with firecrackers while his mother watched from the porch. Bad kid, Margaret groaned to herself. Bad mother. They don’t belong here.
She and Tim stood in the kitchen, facing each other. Margaret noticed Patsy and Joey had gone inside.“Tim,” Margaret said, pulling her husband by the hand, “Come to the front door. I just thought of something. With the couple standing in the doorway, Margaret swung open the big wooden door, jostling the large floral wreath to usher in the morning suburban outdoor air.
“Now,” she said. “I want you to do something. A little role play. Imagine that I go across the street to fight Patsy. Only, you don’t know it. You’re looking all over the house for me and can’t find me. Finally, you open the door and look outside. What do you see? It’s your little warrior crossing the street. I just beat the tar out of Patsy Clark, and now I’m returning home. You’re waiting at the door, and I’m returning home to you. You’re confused at first. I’m exhausted and worn out. Then you figured out what happened. I’m wearing only this robe because we fought nude, and that’s all I got. You see me. I’m walking home. I see you waiting at the door. You hold your arms out to me. I run to you. I fall into your arms in the doorway….And…you wanna know what happens next?...Well, let’s act it out and find out.”
“Oh Geez, Margaret,” Tim groaned. “What will the neighbors think?”
“What’s the big deal?” Margaret replied. “I’ve been outside in my bathrobe many times. Now you stand right here. In ten seconds, open the door and wait for me.”
With a touch of embarrassment, Tim was happy to play along with his wife’s game as he dutifully shut the door and waited while his wife meandered across the street in her robe and bare feet. Ten seconds later, he opened the door to see Margaret; the bathrobe opened just enough to show ample cleavage, limping toward the house, making her best impression of a battered returning victrix. He noticed her hair tussled into a mess, red lipstick streaked across her face to simulate scratches.
“I won, Timmy,” she gasped, the falsely strained words uttered through her voluntary rapid breathing. “I did it. Patsy was tough, but I put her down.” As she approached the doorway, she opened the front of the bathrobe, treating her husband to a full-frontal view. He didn’t fail to notice more fake scratches represented by lipstick on her breast and belly. Once inside, Margaret dispensed with the robe and let her imagined bruised, exhausted, but victorious body fall into her husband’s arms.
They kissed. She straightened herself, then removed her husband’s robe, then kissed again as she reached down to rub his fully erect, hard pole. She dropped to her knees, working her tongue up and down the shaft, then in a circular motion as he tenderly placed his hands on the sides of her head. Tim felt his wife engulf his dick into her oral cavity, then close down with her lips. He gently rocked his hips as her wet mouth slid up and down. Slow at first, together; they gradually quickened the pace.
Through each in and out cycle, through the moans, through the slurping sounds, Margaret and Tim were united in fantasy, like wandering spirits who found each other in the exact same place in the land of make-believe. What a man Tim is, they both thought. What a lucky man! To be married to the alpha female, the queen of Owl’s Creek. A wife, a mother, a warrior. Her kingdom had standards, and the Patsy Clarks would be put in their place. The fellatio reached its frenzied phase before culminating in its inevitable climax. Tim looked down at his wife’s face, now covered in viscous fluid. “Now,” Margaret smiled, “can I wrestle Patsy Clark now? Let’s make this real.”
To Margaret’s disappointment, Tim’s answer did not change. She wanted her husband’s approval, but time was running out. It was Wednesday, and Margaret and Patsy scheduled the match for Saturday afternoon. She would try her role-playing seduction a few more times, having Tim stand by the door, with each fantasy becoming more elaborate. She covered herself in oil. She pretended she brought Patsy back as a slave woman. Tim immensely enjoyed the sex, but his decision did not budge. Margaret was forbidden to engage in an actual life wrestling match with Patsy Clark.
On Friday afternoon, Margaret received a text from Patsy: “u still on for tomorrow?” Margaret stared at the living room coffee table. What to do? Yes, she understood Tim’s concerns, but every fiber in her body told her she needed to do this. She rarely went against his wishes. Sure, they’re a couple, and a marriage is based on trust. But the word ‘obey’ wasn’t in their marriage vowels. Sometimes, one needs to do what’s best. He’ll see. He’ll find out. But he will see he has nothing to worry about. I will wrestle Patsy Clark on Saturday, she thought. I’ll tell him I’m going shopping, but I’ll hide the car around the block. Sue will let me use her garage. I will beat Patsy, then I’ll tell him. I’ll walk to the house and text him. I’ll ask him to go and wait at the door. Yes, I will beat and humiliate Patsy Clark…and my husband will meet me…waiting at the door. Margaret returned the text: “Damn right, I’m up for tomorrow. Bring it, bitch.”
Part IV
Margaret and Patsy did put their animosity aside long enough to finalize arrangements. They bickered over location, who would be permitted to watch, some of the specifics of rules. The attire would be swimsuits and bare feet. They both agreed there should be a referee, and they both had the same person in mind. Big John McCallister, a resident of Owl Creek, was a neighbor, high school athletic director, and Patsy’s son’s middle school wrestling coach. He was also Margaret’s high school crush. Incredulous, he first refused their proposal. Two moms? With no formal training? Why? The women tried to couch their reason as a love of the sport and competition. Big John saw the changes in high school wrestling. For the past several years, more and more girls have tried to get on the boys' team. Next year, the girls will have a team of their own. Maybe, a match between adult women wasn’t so crazy. Still, he couldn’t help but sense their friction. Perhaps I should referee these two ladies, he thought. Hell, otherwise, they might kill each other. Amused by their choice of a ten-second pin ending, he agreed. In addition, he offered his backyard. He had fenced in seclusion. He had wrestling mats. Located on the opposite side of the neighborhood, he provided neutrality.
The women agreed the match would be private. Each could invite four guests. Margaret chose her best friends in the neighborhood, Sue and Dennis Andrews. Like Margaret, The Andrews were long-time residents of Owl’s Creek, and both were real estate agents who despised the Clarks. “They’re driving down all our property values,” they’d say, echoing Margaret’s sentiments. She also invited fellow neighbors Denise and Kevin Donnelly. The three couples formed a clique in the Owl Creek development, sometimes taking trips together.
Aside from her husband, Patsy’s only guests and friends in the neighborhood were Amayah and Pedro Perez from two houses away. Immigrants from the Dominican Republic, the Perez couple never felt quite welcomed in the overwhelmingly white Owl Creek community, particularly by Margaret. In fact, the Clarks were the only family to reach out to them. With arrangements for the match set, all involved parties agreed there would be no photos; children would not be informed of the event. Finally, there was one additional requirement: Do NOT tell Tim Roman.
Saturday came. Margaret’s plans leading up to the match were executed flawlessly. She shared a light breakfast with Tim. As she looked at him from across the kitchen table, she thought, the day is here. I will put down Patsy Clark. I will come home. While I’m still outside, I will text him with a message: Come to the door and wait for me. In my bikini, I will fall into his arms as he is waiting at the door.
A few hours later, she dressed casually as if to go shopping. She stuffed her black bikini into her handbag. The gym bag and water were already in the car. Tim would stay home and do yard work. Perfect. She drove across the neighborhood and met Sue and Denise at Sue’s house. She changed into her bikini, terry cloth robe, and flip-flops. The three women walked to the McCallister house to join the men.
Mrs. McCallister politely greeted the women before escorting them around the side of the house to the tall wooden fence. As the large gate swung open, Margaret, Sue, and Denise took in their first glimpse into the backyard. They paused to process the outdoor arena in front of them. A large gray mat was spread out on the grass. There were a few fold up chairs and some water bottles. Patsy was already seated on a corner of the mat, stretching, assisted by her husband, Phil. Margaret immediately noticed her opponent’s attire, a one-piece brown swimsuit, and gym shorts. Big John, Dennis, and Kevin stood on the shaded back patio, talking and drinking beer, while the Perezes stood alone on the grass off the mat behind Patsy.
“There you are,” Big John said, turning toward Margaret. “You ready?” Margaret nodded. “Well then, why don’t you take a few minutes to stretch? Then we’ll get started.”
Patsy watched as Margaret dutifully disrobed and took her position on the diagonally opposite corner of the mat and began to stretch. She rolled her eyes at Margaret’s apparent lack of modesty to actually wrestle in a bikini. Patsy resumed stretching. The two ladies continued to stretch, occasionally pausing to eye the other momentarily. At no point did they speak.
After fifteen minutes, Big John blew a whistle and motioned both competitors to the center of the mat. Margaret’s friends wished her well as she headed alone to where the referee, Patsy, and Phil were already waiting. Standing across from each other, the women continued to stretch on their feet as Big John reminded them of the rules. To most observers, it was clear Margaret had a physical advantage. At 5’5”, 130 lbs, she looked strong. She exercised when she could. No one would mistake her for a bodybuilder, but for a mother of three, she appeared fit. With her short thick black hair pinned back, she looked very confident as she studied her opponent. Patsy measured at 5’4” and 118 lbs but appeared considerably smaller than Margaret. Her arms and legs looked skinnier; her tan skin was coarse, and her face had premature wrinkles, perhaps from her chronic smoking habit. Yet, she had a tough edginess about her, like someone who came there for a fight. Her dark curly hair needed no adjustment. Her facial expression conveyed that she was not a person to mess with.
That most people would consider Margaret the more attractive of the two was a fact not lost on Margaret herself. For a few brief moments, her superiority in the looks department made her feel sexy. She stretched her back, folded her hands behind her head, and rolled back her shoulders, showing off her breasts. Her 34Cs were average but well proportioned and larger than the relatively flat-chested Patsy’s pair. She looked at Big John as she spoke. Her former crush was a football star in his high school days. In his T-shirt and khaki shorts, with graying hair on the sides, he still cut quite a figure. As Margaret leaned toward him to ask a question in a girly voice, she made sure to rest her bare shoulder on his arm.
Finally, Phil was sent back to Patsy’s corner; Big John positioned the women and asked if they were ready. With the blow of the referee’s whistle, the match was on.
Part V
Both competitors faced off in the middle of the mat. One was defending the honor of her son, while the other represented the integrity of the neighborhood. With their knees slightly bent, their hands in front and their shoulders hunched, they circled, pawing with their arms, looking for an opening for attack. Margaret succeeded in seizing Patsy’s right forearm while Patsy grabbed onto Margaret’s wrist. Both women pulled back, trying to swing the other. They swung each other in a circle, resembling a child’s game. Big John groaned under his breath, possibly regretting what he had agreed to. These were untrained wrestlers, and it showed. Margaret won the first test, flinging Patsy, sending her stumbling across the mat until she fell.
Before Patsy could get to her feet, Margaret charged in with a football tackle, taking her opponent down, then holding her face down, lying across her back. Margaret, now in charge early in the match, realized she’d have to turn her opponent over to win. She tried digging her hands into Patsy’s armpits and pulling her over. Patsy instinctively assumed a defensive position on her belly, keeping her head down and arms tucked in. Margaret pawed at her like a mama bear trying to get to the food inside a locked container. Her inexperience cost her, as she carelessly allowed Patsy to take her arm, pull her off, and escape. Regardless, Margaret kept up her pursuit; as Patsy rose, Margaret lunged at her legs, taking her down again.
Both women were lying on their bellies with Margaret holding on to Patsy’s ankles. The smaller woman kicked free, hurrying away on her hands and knees, crawling circles around Margaret, who lunged after her several times, as the wrestling match now resembled a greased pig catching contest held every year at the Farm Show. Patsy managed to create enough distance from her pursuer to stand up, but Margaret relentlessly kept up the attack and took Patsy down again. This time, Margaret succeeded in mounting her opponent and strove for the schoolgirl pin.
Margaret’s friends, feeling relaxed and confident, cheered her on. She controlled the action. It was clear that she was the more muscular woman and the aggressor. It would be a matter of time before Patsy succumbed to Margaret’s attack. Perhaps that time was now. The two locked hands as Patsy fought from her back. Margaret wasn’t entirely in the mount, and Patsy was careful to keep at least one shoulder off the mat. They grabbed and slapped at each other’s arms. Again, Margaret allowed Patsy to pull her off balance as both women rolled to the side. Locking their arms, they battled as their legs wrapped and kicked each other, as they continued to roll, grunting and groaning, off the mat and onto the grass until Big John declared them out of bounds and ordered them to stand and face off on the center of the mat.
Once again, Patsy was no match for Margaret’s power as Jimmy Roman’s mom muscled Joey Clark’s mom, taking her down. Margaret was dominating the contest but, in her inexperience, struggled to put Patsy away. For the second time, she had her despicable neighbor mounted on her back, but Patsy managed to keep her legs outside her attacker's body, wrapping them around the trunk. Margaret seemed to know only one way to wrestle, and that was by staying on the offensive. She tried to leverage her weight on top of Patsy and pin down the arms, but her scrappy opponent used her legs nicely, controlling Margaret’s body enough to avoid serious trouble.
Determined to end the match, Margaret tried to keep up the pressure. Several times, Patsy’s shoulders went down, prompting the referee to count, but each time, she could shift Margaret’s weight enough with her legs to pull a shoulder up to break the count. Still, Patsy was in a precarious position. Without an escape, she would eventually fall victim to Margaret’s force from the top. Tiring, she took a seven-count before swinging Margaret to the side with her legs. As Patsy’s gossipy neighbor tried to regain her mount, Patsy hooked her attacker’s neck with her ankles, forcing Margaret off of her, allowing Patsy to roll to freedom.
Both women stood on their feet, their movements slowing down as the hot sun and humidity were undoubtedly a factor. They were glistening with sweat and working a bit harder to breathe. Neither woman was in peak physical condition. Patsy smoked, and although Margaret was reasonably fit, her body was not trained for wrestling, and her inefficient attacks already expended much energy. Frustration began to show on her face, and Patsy, despite being taken down repeatedly, maintained her look of determination.
Margaret gritted her teeth and bull-rushed her opponent again. This time, Patsy maneuvered to the side, then counterattacked. Both women grabbed each other, holding on to each other’s neck and shoulders, pulling and grunting, trying to take each other down. Margaret’s superior strength took over as she overpowered her adversary, trapping her in a headlock and forcing her to bend over at the waist. Patsy tried her best to stiffen her body and resist, shifting her feet to stay balanced. She grabbed onto Margaret’s waist, trying to hang on. As Margaret wanted to swing her around, their feet became tangled, and they both fell together, hitting the mat hard.
Breaking their grips, they lay several feet apart, with Margaret groaning in pain, holding her right shoulder. Patsy rose first, watching her opponent. As soon as Margaret stood upright, Patsy pounced, jumping on her back, wrapping her arms around the neck. Margaret did not fall. Patsy wrapped her legs around the waist, locking her ankles at the belly. The stronger woman walked forward, carrying her opponent as if they were playing piggyback. Patsy released the scissors, sliding herself lower down Margaret’s back, kicking at the legs, tripping her. Margaret quickly dropped to her knees, then fell face forward, with Patsy mounting her back, as the chain smoker tied one arm behind the back, pushing the face down into the mat.
The turn of events jolted Sue and Denise. After seeing their friend taken down like a mighty ox falling prey to a young lioness, then seeing her subdued like a criminal, their confidence was replaced with a sense of uneasiness. Margaret was visibly flustered, detained on her belly with her face pressed to the plastic mat covering as she kicked and pounded her free fist. Patsy paused as if contemplating her next move. She then snaked her hand under Margaret’s armpit, clasping the back of the head in a quarter nelson, scissored one leg with her own, then rolled to the side, rolling Margaret with her. Big John was impressed; finally, one of them executed a wrestling maneuver.
With Margaret now on her back, Patsy, lunged her body across the chest, kneeling on one arm and pinning the other arm down with her hand, executing a cross body press. The referee began to count…one…two…
“Oh yeah, you got her, babe,” Phil shouted to his wife.
Margaret panicked. She was never in this position before and the voice of the referee counting filled her with a sense of dread and dire urgency. She raised her legs and kicked hard with her feet, nearly raising her shoulder, but yet, the count continued…five…six. She managed to squirm her arm out front under Patsy’s knee. With a sudden jerk, she broke Patsy’s grip on her other arm. The long-time Owl Creek resident broke the count, but she was still in a dangerous position as Patsy battled to regain complete control.
From the bottom, Margaret slipped one hand between her opponent’s thighs and wrapped the other arm around Patsy’s neck as Patsy lay across her chest. She pushed hard with her feet, twisting her body. One side of her hips and shoulders rose higher and higher to where she was now on her side, holding Patsy in front of her. Margaret drove her legs harder and harder into the mat, gaining momentum, using everything left of her power advantage. Finally, the two moms rolled over, completely reversing positions. Now Patsy was on the bottom, pinned, with Margaret’s body across her chest.
Margaret’s friends raised their voices in exhortation as their wrestler seemed to be on the verge of winning.
“That’s it, Mags; we knew you could do it!”
The referee reached a four-count, but Patsy’s arms were free, and she frantically pushed Margaret while kicking and bucking with her legs. As the referee reached six, Patsy squirmed enough to get a shoulder up and battled Margaret until she could roll over. As Margaret fought back for position, the moms grabbed at each other on the ground, tying each other up in headlocks. Margaret had the advantage with a tighter hold, but Patsy tied her up enough that the stronger woman had limited options. With both women locked on the mat in a stalemate, Big John ordered them to wrestle from a standing position,
“Hook the leg next time, Mags,” Kevin called out. “You would have won if you hooked the leg.”
They rose slowly, both wrestlers looking fatigued and out of breath, but it was Margaret who appeared to be moving more slowly. When the referee gave the start whistle, Margaret played the aggressor one more time. She lowered her shoulder and charged in low. Patsy stood her ground, lowering her own shoulder, absorbing Margaret’s blow. Patsy did not go down. Instead, she gave Margaret a hard shove to the chest, sending Owl Creek’s standard-bearer stumbling backward and down on her ass. Patsy moved in, grasping Margaret’s ankles and dragging her on her back to the mat center. Margaret’s friends felt her humiliation as they watched with looks of worry. In Patsy’s corner, Amaya and Pedro watched intently and silently.
Patsy tried driving her foe’s legs over the head in a folding pin. She nearly succeeded, putting pressure on Margaret’s upper back and shoulders. With her strength waning, Margaret still barely kept one shoulder off the mat. When Patsy attempted to reposition, Margaret pulled one foot free, then kicked frantically; her foot struck Patsy in the jaw, sending her sprawling across the mat. Big John ruled the kick accidental, though Patsy and Phil disagreed.
The moms started once again from a standing position. Margaret could only lumber toward Patsy, who maneuvered circles around her. Then Patsy shot in, sweeping Margaret's legs from under her, sending her down. Patsy, for the first time the aggressor, dove onto Margaret, and the two of them tussled on the mat. Patsy was with the superior wrestling skill, and with Margaret’s power draining away, Patsy was now in control. She worked Margaret over on the ground, then subdued her with body scissors as Jimmy’s mom lay faced down. Tim’s wife panted louder and louder as Patsy’s legs seemed to be taking the breaths and the fight out of her.
Margaret used what strength she had left to get to her hands and knees, with Patsy’s legs wrapped around her. In a valiant effort, she tried to stand. She rose shakily and slowly as Patsy squeezed as tightly as she could. Margaret managed to stand, her hands working to pry her attacker’s ankles apart. Before she could break the hold, Patsy, still on her back with her legs up and wrapped around Margaret, swung her hips, ruining Margaret’s fragile balance, sending her neighbor crashing down on her back, the scissors hold still intact.
In pain, Margaret writhed while Patsy resumed applying pressure. The referee began the count several times before Margaret lifted her shoulders. Margaret was trapped, unable to escape, yet, Patsy did not have the leverage for a pin. The referee asked Margaret if she wished to concede. This was not a submission match, but Big John questioned Margaret’s fitness to continue. She declined the submission. Finally, as the match reached a point with no progression, Big John ordered Patsy to break the hold and restart.
Margaret looked woozy, getting to her feet, and the referee again verified she wished to go on. She tried to summon every ounce of fight and power she had left. No! She told herself. She would not lose. Not to Patsy Clark. Not that piece of trash. She would fight on. And she would win. And she was mad.
The ladies faced each other once again. This time, Margaret’s eyes were blazing. She was there for Jimmy. She was there for all three of her kids. She was there for her husband, Tim. She was there for the neighborhood. And for decent folks everywhere who don’t need riff-raff like the Clarks sullying their status quo suburban life. Margaret was mad as hell, and she wasn’t going to take it anymore.
Big John gave the order, and Margaret responded with a slap across Patsy’s face. Joey’s mom responded with a return slap before Big John got between them, scolding and warning them. This is wrestling, he told them. Not a catfight. Fine, Margaret thought. Let’s wrestle. Drawing on everything she had left, Margaret let out a scream and charged at Patsy.
The two wrestlers tumbled to the mat. The action was fast and furious, marked by yelps, groans, and loud heavy panting. Bodies rolled over and over. Arms and legs flew from every direction. Hair ties were lost. It was not good technical wrestling. It was a contest between two bodies belonging to mothers and neighbors who hated each other. Patsy had better wrestling skills. Margaret’s strength advantage was gone, but she was renewed in her determination. The action was hard to follow, and it was not clear who had the advantage at any given point. They rolled from one end of the mat to the next. Finally,…the action came to a stop.
Patsy won the exchange. Margaret was forced to her knees, trapped in a full nelson by Patsy, who was standing over her. Her chin was pushed into her chest. Her arms hung uselessly to the side. Somehow, in the scuffle, her bikini top came off. With her head forced downward, all she could see was her naked udders pointing downward to the mat.
Patsy seated herself behind Margaret, pulled her victim backward, and wrapped her legs around her waist. With Margaret now on top of Patsy, facing up, her tits were in full view of all spectators. Her face looked like utter defeat. She had given it her all, and loss was all but certain. Her friends looked away, demoralized. Big John’s first instinct was to interrupt the match to let her cover up, but that would be unfair to Patsy. Surely, Margaret will quit, he thought. Wrong. Margaret would not submit. His final solution was to order Patsy to make the pin now or risk disqualification.
Patsy stood up, pulling Margaret with her. From the full nelson position, she flung the topless woman down to the mat. As Margaret struggled to her feet, she doubled over. Patsy slipped beneath her, lifting her up by the crotch, holding on to her shoulders. She managed to get Margaret off her feet but not by much. Holding Margaret's full weight, Patsy could not maintain stability. She stumbled and fell forward with Margaret’s body absorbing the full force of the blow. Margaret let out a loud gasp and lay still on her back, with Patsy lying across her chest. Margaret’s right arm was trapped behind her back. Patsy grasped Margaret’s crotch with one hand and wrapped her arm around the neck, trying to hold down the opposite arm. Patsy positioned herself, squeezing her arms tight. Perfect leverage. Perfect pin. Surely, the match will be over now.
“One,” shouted the referee.
“Come on, Margaret,” Margaret’s best friend Sue exhorted, stunned in disbelief and squeezing her husband Dennis’ arm tightly as the stoic man bit his lip in consternation. Margaret was barely moving. Unless an extraordinary turn of events occurred, Margaret’s ordeal would be over in ten seconds. All present knew it. Ten seconds. A long pin. That’s what the combatants agreed upon.
“Two.” The spectator's voices became louder and more in number. And more frantic. The distressed woman barely heard them. The legs kicked up high, then fell to the ground. The feet drum rolled the mat in frustration and futility.
*************
“Come on, Margaret, you can do this.” The crack in Sue’s voice betrayed her growing sense of hopelessness.
“Seven.” If I can get my hand free, I can turn, Margaret told herself. I’ll get one shoulder up. Then I’ll roll over. I can do this. I’m bigger and stronger. I did it before. I reversed a pin. I can do it again. I’ll win. I’ll go home and see my husband. He’ll be so glad to know I won. He’ll see. We’ll make love. I’ll hug my little ones. I will have put Patsy in her place. Then this neighborhood will be like it was.
“Eight.” This is it, Margaret thought. I’ll jerk my arm free and roll. I can do this. I can escape this. Margaret gave her arm a sudden yank. Someway, somehow, the arm broke free. She squirmed and shifted her body to rescue the arm trapped behind her back. She dug in her feet and pushed. She felt movement in her shoulders. Her entire body found a reserve of strength she didn’t know she had.
“Nine.” Margaret gave it everything she had. In one last desperate effort, she pulled her shoulder, turned and…No ten count. I did it, she thought. I broke the count. Now I’ve got to reverse this again.
She used her free arms to hold Patsy’s head close to her body, slipped her arm between her opponent’s legs and turned. Her feet dug into the mat; the legs drove like pistons, her body twisted and turned…and turned…and…turned completely over.
She was now holding Patsy down on her back. Margaret bounced her body on Patsy’s chest, using her weight advantage. For the second time in the match, she reversed a pin hold. Patsy’s shoulders were down. Margaret did not notice the referee already reached a count of four…then five. She felt Patsy struggle beneath her body. She sensed her opponent's legs desperately kicking, trying to help her escape. She remembered Kevin’s words, “Hook the leg next time.” She reached down, grasped Patsy’s left leg behind the knee, and pulled it toward her. She sensed Patsy’s helplessness. Her resistance was weak. The match was over.
“TEN!” Yes, it was over.
Part VI
Exhausted, Margaret could barely lift herself off her defeated adversary. Sue and Denise helped her to her feet. “I knew you’d do it. Here, girlfriend, let’s cover you up,” Sue said, placing Margaret’s robe over her shoulders and handing her the lost bikini top. The three women hugged as Patsy’s husband Phil tended to his wife, who was still panting on the mat.
Margaret was elated but looked dazed as Big John raised her arm. Sue handed her a water bottle. “Come on, sweetie, let’s get you back to my place to wash up.”
“No,” Margaret answered, a little unsteady on her feet. “I need to go home.”
“Your car is at my place,” Sue reminded. “If you don’t want to drive, I’ll take you. It’s just a short trip to the other side of the neighborhood.”
“No, I’ll walk.”
“You? Walking through the neighborhood after what you’ve been through? Margaret, are you ok? Come back to my place and rest awhile.”
“No, I need to leave now. I need to get to my husband. He’s waiting for me. I must go to him. He’s at the door looking for me. This is how I dreamt it. I need to see Tim.”
“Look,” Sue and Denise urged, “we can’t let you walk home. You had a tough match. You’re dehydrated. You’re not thinking clearly. We’ll help you.”
“No, I’m walking home…to Tim…, and I’m walking alone.”
Margaret was known to be stubborn at times, but this strange insistence puzzled her friends. Yet, she knew what she must do. She defeated Patsy for the honor of herself and her family. She did it not only without her husband’s blessing but without his knowledge and expressly against his wishes. Mixed with the joy of victory was the humbling fact that she was one second away from a harrowing defeat. Tim was right, she realized. This battle easily could have been a humiliating disaster. Now she would journey home. She will tell him everything. Maybe he will be upset. But he’ll understand. They will talk. They will celebrate her win. They will make love. It is all about Margaret and Tim now. She must go to him. And she must go alone.
“Come on, Margaret, let’s go,” her friends continued to urge. Margaret was silent. There was no point in arguing. Her friends wouldn’t leave her side if she walked the neighborhood streets. But there’s another route to her home. It’s a route that they can’t follow.
Dressed in only a bathrobe and bikini bottom, the mother of three walked over the McCallister’s lawn to the gated fence at the far end of the backyard. “Margaret, where are you going?” her confused friends called out. She remained silent as she opened the gate, passing beyond the fence, then stepping her bare feet onto the rocks as the rushing water sprayed her legs up to her knees.
“Oh Christ, she’s going into the creek!,” voices cried behind her. “Margaret, what are you doing?…Kevin, get her!”
Balancing herself on the wet rocks and gritty creek bed, Margaret headed downstream. She was aware of being followed; she moved as quickly as she could, feeling the hard sediment scraping against the soles of her feet. Dense trees lined both sides of the creek, which looped around the entire Owl Creek development. Houses, hidden by fences and trees, lined the right shoreline. The creek would lead her to her own backyard, a quarter of a mile away.
The men called her name. Due to the steep banks lined with thorny bushes, like Margaret, they walked out into the creek to retrieve her. Margaret knew her actions were irrational. It’d be easy to accept their assistance home and explain to her husband how she had just spent her afternoon. But no, she needed to go to Tim on her own terms…walking alone. Despite her attempt to wave the men off, they persisted in their pursuit.
She knew what lay ahead as she hurried her way, her bare feet stepping on the rocks and gravel of the creek bed. In another 25 yards, she could elude her pursuers. The current became more rapid, and the water turned more shallow as she strove forward. She nearly slipped and fell in her haste. Then, in front of her, large rocks lay from one side of the creek to another, the stream gushing over some and through others. On the other side of the rocks was a four-foot waterfall, Margaret’s means of separation.
Margaret climbed on top of a boulder and looked down at the drop. She knew this was the deepest part of the creek, about six feet. The robe was now a liability. She retrieved the bikini top from the robe pocket before peeling the robe off her body and dropping it into the pool below the falls. With little time left, she realized the top was broken. In her mind, there was only one action possible.
She dropped the bikini top and, bare chested, positioned her feet at the edge of the rock ledge. As the men screamed for her, she walked off the shelf, falling four feet into the water below. Submerged, she swam about ten yards before resurfacing. Then she realized she was still traveling downstream, carried away by a strong current she had underestimated. The water swirled around her, rotating her like a carousel as she helplessly was at the mercy of the stream. The current became more vigorous and violent, forcing Margaret into a swirling vortex. She panicked. How foolish, she thought. She had enough hiking experience to know that people can be injured, die, or drown by not taking proper precautions.
She lost all sense of distance as the creek pushed her out of the whirlpool, flinging her toward the creek bank, then depositing her into the rocks and prickly plants lining the water. She rose slowly, her arms and knees scraped, her shoulders and breasts scratched by thorns. She stepped back into the water, only to slip off a rock and fall on her rear end. “Fuck,” she screamed out loud. Arising again, she found a long piece of branch that would serve as a hiking staff. She would not be so foolish from now on, she told herself as she resumed her journey.
With the water now shallow, and the stream calm, her heart rate began to settle down. Margaret was familiar with the creek well enough to know there would be no more hazards on her sojourn home. As she churned her way through the knee-deep current, for the first time since her battle with Patsy, she felt relaxed. She was tired, and she ached, but she would soon be home. Her thoughts once again turned to Tim. Would she see him waiting for her at the door?
As she continued to walk, the creek no longer felt ominous. The dense trees and shrubbery which darkened the skies gave way to green grass and sunshine on both sides of the banks. Birds and cicadas sang their summer symphony. Children could be heard playing in the distance. Home was near.
Margaret took a deep breath, inhaling the cool air off the water, taking in the scent of the creek, the muck, the trees, the water plants, and flowers. Everything around her seemed so vibrant now. The sky, the water, the plant life all had a wonderful newness she wasn’t sure if she had ever experienced before as if her senses suddenly acquired new powers. At the creekside, green leaves hung from branches dipping into the water. Dragonflies flitted in front of her like miniature helicopters crossing her path. Mallard ducks and white egrets searched for food in the shallow pools. Water skeeters skimmed along the surface as if their long legs wore skates. Underwater, schools minnows disturbed by her arrival darted away in unison while the crayfish sought refuge under rocks. Life was everywhere, and it all seemed beautiful. She recalled her near defeat at the hands of Patsy, how during her nine seconds of confinement, the ambient sights and sounds of neighborhood life felt like a cruel mockery. Now, like a survivor of a near-death experience, everything was a celebration.
She smiled. The time now passed quickly. Margaret found the dirt trail that leads from the creek to the neighborhood. Climbing out of the water, she felt safe, solid ground beneath her feet. Her home and Tim were a short distance up the hill. The trail was a drain for water runoff after heavy rain. Houses were present on both sides, obscured by fences. The street lay ahead. Wearing only a bikini bottom, she folded her arms over her chest and proceeded cautiously. Fortunately for her, no one was outside. She made her way up the trail to the street curb.
Her house stood across the street. This is the moment she dreamed of. If she had her cell phone, she might have texted Tim to meet her at the door. She’ll just have to knock. Margaret crossed the street carefully, looking in every direction, hoping not to be spotted. She doubted herself. What will Tim say? What will he think? Will he be angry?
The triumphant grappler walked up the driveway, mixed thoughts racing through her mind. She stared at the door. It was moving, swinging open. Is it? Margaret wondered. Is it him? As the door fully opened, a male figure stood in the entranceway. Yes! It’s Tim! He saw me coming. My husband went to the door for me. Tim squinted as if confused. As he looked at his wife, his face turned to a radiant expression of joy and love for his wife. A smile beamed across his face. His arms opened wide to welcome her. He knows what she did…He knows she defeated Patsy Clark, and he’s waiting for her at the door.
Margaret felt her heart leap within her. All the tribulations of the day evaporated from her mind. He’s here, in front of her, waiting. Her husband. Her love. Her stuttering walk up the driveway gave way to an all-out run. She galloped up the steps to the door, ready to fall into his embrace. With her and Tim just a few feet apart, she lifted her arms to throw them around his neck,…except her arms wouldn’t move, as if they were tied down. Margaret felt a weight on her chest. Her legs lifted and kicked, but she seemed unable to proceed forward. Her crotch ached as if it was under a grip. Margaret seemed stuck in place and couldn’t move.
Tim’s loving eyes and joyous smile for his wife were just inches away. “Tim, what’s wrong with me? Tell me,” Margaret pleaded. Tim’s expression hadn’t changed. His face began to turn white…dazzling white. She could no longer see his features; for now, he became pure light, becoming brighter and brighter. Margaret tried to look away, but her neck was locked in a fixed position. “Help me, Tim.”
Margaret realized that she wasn’t standing but rather lying on her back, looking up at Tim. But Tim was gone. In his place was powerful light blinding her, replacing her vision with whiteness. It wasn’t Tim, but the sun…the merciless sun…
TEN!…Margaret Roman was defeated, her still body firmly restrained and pressed under the weight of Patsy Clark on a summer afternoon in a backyard near the rolling waters of Owl Creek.
Acknowledgement
This work was inspired by the classic short story, “An Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge” by Ambrose Bierce. What does a grim story set in the American Civil War have to do with moms wrestling in a backyard? Absolutely nothing! However, I borrowed a few key concepts from Bierce’s stunning tale to create this piece. As a tribute, I used the name “Owl Creek” to apply to the street, neighborhood, and creek in my story. I’m sure Mr. Bierce would be thrilled. Thanks for reading.
-Kiva
