You Can Run

Relieved that another day was over and I could finally get back on the treadmill again, I get out of the car and walk to my storage unit.

Having just gone through a breakup, I’m living with my best friend for now and most of my possessions are in storage. Luckily, I found a power point in my unit and I've been coming here every night this week to run and escape reality for a while.

Lifting the roller door, I feel a rush of dizziness; something inside me shifts. I wonder how many weeks it will take for me to feel normal again, to return to my old self.

As I enter the unit, I’m immediately met with the musty smell of dust mixed with cardboard boxes. The fluorescent lighting gently flickers and hums in time with my thoughts.

Stepping onto the treadmill, I put my headphones in to try and drown out the noise in my mind. I hit the start button and begin walking at a brisk pace. My first few footsteps feel heavy; I’m sluggish and lethargic.

Suddenly, a weight lifts off my shoulders and I feel lighter. With each step I run further from her, further from it.

I really did have to get out of that house; it was becoming so toxic.

Everything was going great when it was just me and him — weekly date nights, movies snuggled up on the couch, and breakfasts in bed.

Then his mother announced she was being kicked out of her rental property, apparently because the owners wanted to sell it… I still don’t believe that.

Of course, he was more than happy to have her move into our spare room. I knew it was going to be a bad idea, but how could I say no, the woman had nowhere else to go and it was only temporary.

Feet thumping rhythmically along the belt, I remember that first day she moved in.

He was so happy, you could tell he was secretly excited to be living with his mummy again. I came upstairs to find him helping her unpack her boxes; he was even putting her clothes away in the drawers. I dunno. Something about that seemed a little weird to me.

Then he asked her if she could make him pancakes with lemon juice and sugar for breakfast, just like she used to do when he was a boy.

I hate to admit it, but the pancakes were delicious.

The first few weeks were fine. She was always there, but I had accepted it and was trying to make peace with it.

The treadmill beeps as I turn up the intensity a little.

It was after the first month that I started to suspect she wasn’t even looking for a new place to live.

Every day, pretending to care, I’d come home from work and ask how her day was. With the sour smell of wine on her breath, she’d tell me how she’d just been having lunch with the ladies, or playing lawn bowls. There was never any mention of looking at rental properties or submitting housing applications.

After the small talk was out of the way, I’d walk upstairs to our bedroom and find things a little different: tidier, the bed made, a cute throw rug at the end.

When I questioned him about it, he’d say, “Oh yes, Mum likes to tidy our bedroom sometimes, isn’t it great?”

No! I thought it was weird and invasive!

Then came the chocolates.

I came home one day to find our fridge full of fruit, which was great, but I couldn’t find my box of chocolates anywhere. When I questioned her about it, she told me she had done me a favour. She’d thrown away my chocolates and bought me some healthy snacks instead.

I couldn’t even buy new chocolates. Where would I have hidden them? She was everywhere.

Placing my hands on the cool metal of the handlebars, I jump my feet to the sides and catch my breath for a second before continuing to run.

The final straw was movie night. We usually watched something together on Saturdays, and his mum would sneak away upstairs to give us privacy. I got home from meeting my friend for coffee late one afternoon to find them sitting on the lounge together. He was against the wall, so the only place to sit was next to her. She announced that we were watching the Sex in the City movie, as she patted the spot next to her on the lounge.

Now I know he didn’t choose that movie.

I sat through the movie, but I had no idea what was happening. All I could hear were my thoughts boiling for two hours, interrupted occasionally by her cackling laughter.

I feel the endorphins coursing through me as I run a little faster.

Yes, I really did make the right decision.

I stuck it out for a few more weeks, but whenever I was alone, I’d find myself packing my bags, organising the storage unit, making plans for a place to stay.

And then I was waiting, waiting for her to be out of the house so I could break the news to him.

Finally, one night she went to bingo with some friends.

I told him it wasn’t working out, that my feelings had changed and it looked like our lives were heading in different directions. I don’t even think he was that sad.

I grabbed my bags and left.

It would take some time to get used to being single again, but I was finally free.

I know his mum staying was apparently only temporary, but what would happen next? We’d eventually get engaged, and she’d be right there, planning my wedding, inviting all her friends so she could show off. Then we’d get married, and she’d be my mother-in-law… forever.

No, this is definitely for the best.

I stop the treadmill, and for a few minutes, I almost think I’ll be okay this time.

I feel lighter, more relaxed.

My heart rate begins to slow. I step down with shaky legs, pick up my towel and water bottle, and notice my shoelace has come undone.

I bend down to do it back up. When I stand and turn around, I hear a thump as I crash into one of my boxes. My vision blurs for a second, the familiar sound triggering something hidden deep down inside me.

The memory I’ve been trying so hard to suppress comes flooding back. I feel the weight of the world crashing down again.

The day after the movie night, we had a fight.

He went out with some work mates.

I went upstairs to her room and asked if we could talk.

I told her we needed some space, that it was okay her living with us for now, but movie night was our thing. We still needed some alone time together.

She said she was his mother and would always be the most important woman in his life. Girlfriends would come and go; she was the only constant.

I got angry and started yelling.

“You’re not even looking for somewhere to live, are you?”

“You know this relationship you have with your son is unhealthy?”

She looked a little shocked as she backed out of the room.

I followed her, waiting to see what she would say. As I was about to leave her room, I noticed a picture hanging on the wall by the light switch. It was a photo of her and him, I recognised it from his university graduation, but I remembered it differently. I took the photo off the wall and inspected it closely.

Sure enough, I could see an extra hand on his shoulder.

That was my hand! I’d been standing next to him in that photo, but she had cut me out of the image.

I grabbed the frame off the wall and spun around to ask her about it.

I turned so fast I accidentally knocked her with the frame.

She stumbled back a few steps until she was out in the hallway teetering on the top step.

It felt like time slowed down. She stood there, wide-eyed, arms flailing for what felt like minutes.

I’m sure I would have had time to grab her.

But I didn’t.

Finally, she went crashing down the steps.

I closed my eyes as she went tumbling down. When I finally heard the thumping stop, I went down to have a look.

She was lying at the bottom of the stairs; her body twisted at an odd angle. Her eyes bulged with fright. Blood trickled from her nose.

I took her pulse, but there was nothing.

Her neck looked severely broken; I don’t think CPR would have helped.

Panicked, I grabbed my bag and ran out of the house.

I wandered the streets for ages, wondering what to do, and then I realised I already had the perfect plan.

All I had to do was go home, find her, and call an ambulance.

I could say I’d gone out for a bit and come home and found her there.

It was a complete accident. She was an old woman; she just fell down the stairs.

Everyone believed me, but I still had to live with what I’d done.

I did stick it out for a few more weeks, planning my escape, but only because the guilt was too much.

The roller door clangs shut, and I feel a glitch. My reality blurs, and I start to wonder which version of me is the real one.

I throw my jacket on and start walking back to my car.

Every night, I run to forget, but every night, the me who remembers always returns.