A Man Named Dave

push it. I really don’t want to go there.”
    “No! We’re going to confront it!” Marsha demanded. “All you do is give. You’d slit your wrists if you thought it would help someone. Just take a moment and help yourself. I’m here. I’m here for you, honey. There was nothing you could have done.” Marsha leaned closer, to hold me, but before her fingers could touch my shoulders, I pulled away.
    “You don’t know, you weren’t there. I could have done something! That’s the worst part of it all. I never said no. I never stood up for myself. Don’t you get it? I could have stopped it. I let it go too far. The day she – she stabbed me, I just stood there, like I was begging for it. My brothers would have never let anything like that happen to them, I could tell by the look in their eyes. But I did. I always did. I swallowed ammonia in front of my dad. When I cleaned the bathroom with that mixture of ammonia and Chlorox my throat was on fire, and all I had to do was dump that stuff down the toilet. I even ate the dog shit when she was in the other room. All I had to do was throw it down the disposal and she’d never know, but I did it, I did everything she wanted. I never stood up for myself. All I had to do was stop her, just one time. Maybe once and that could have changed everything.” A stream of tears began to spatter the wooden deck. “I could have stopped her. I never … never said no.”
    Marsha began to cry as well. As I covered my face to hide my shame, a wave of anxiety made me slip from my chair and fall forward to the deck. I stayed on my knees as my body shook. “Everyone thinks I’m – I’m so damn courageous for telling my pathetic little tale. Part of me feels like a whore. The truth is, if I’m so brave, why didn’t I have the guts to stop her? I could have left. I had hundreds of chances.” In my mind I envisioned Mother parking her gray station wagon at the local Serramonte Mall. “Whenever she went shopping, when she kept me in the car, my hand would wrap around that door handle … sometimes my grip was so tight my entire arm would vibrate. All I had to do was turn the handle, open the door, and walk, just walk away. I could have ended it. It would have all been over. I could have stopped it.” With my eyes clamped shut, I shook my head from side to side, so much so that I could feel myself beginning to pass out.
    “Dave,” Marsha cut in, “when you were with Patsy, did you work on your marriage?”
    Stopping to look up at her, I shook my head. “Now that I’ve had time to think about it, it was Patsy who really put forth the effort –”
    “No!” Marsha boomed, “it’s not just your fault. So, I’m asking: when you were married, did you give it your best?”
    “Yeah, I guess so.” I stopped to collect myself. “Sure, I guess so.”
    “As a writer, how long did you say it takes you to construct a paragraph?”
    “Anywhere from four to maybe six hours. Why?” I asked, feeling intimidated.
    Marsha dug further. “Now, don’t think, just answer: Why does it take you so long?”
    “Because I can’t type, I have no mechanics, because I’m stupid? What are you getting at?”
    “No,” Marsha calmly interjected. “Shh, slow down. Tell me, just open up and tell me. Dave. Why?”
    I could feel myself about to erupt. “Because… I want to do my best, my best in everything I am and do! That’s why!” I shouted.
    “As a father, a husband when you were married … ?”
    “I did my best!” I fired back.
    “Flying for the air force, your volunteer work, the way you stack your firewood, fold your shirts, arrange your table when you barbecue dinner … ?”
    “I try. I try and give everything my all. Stop it!” I begged. “Just let it go.”
    “Everything?” Marsha asked in a hushed tone. “You’ve always given everything your all?”
    I nodded yes.
    “As a son, did you give it your best?”
    “Damn straight I did! I always did. The chores, trying to impress her with my work at school, praying every day that I wouldn’t piss her off.”
    “And you didn’t quit?” Marsha raised her eyebrows.
    “No! I never quit!” I stated with conviction. “I never quit.”
    “You told me that when you were in foster care and the air force didn’t want you that it took you years of proving to them that you wanted to fly for them … When you were scammed by that man from Lincoln and left with nothing, you walked away … After everything you’ve been through, why in heaven’s name, why do you push yourself? As a child, Dave, you were a child; why did