Drawers in the Head

a short story by Lisa Meier

She was the friendly, conscientious wife next door. He was the tough entrepreneur and authoritarian managing director. The two of them barely had anything to do with each other and had nothing in common. Except for the countless barriers in their heads.

**

Louise had always dreamed of becoming a pilot when she was younger. Her father had been one of the best in the country and her greatest role model. A fascination with flying had united them, even though he was often away for weeks at a time and consequently was not a particularly present figure in her life. Although he loved his daughter dearly and would have laid the world at her feet if it had been possible. Some would have been put off by the nomadic life of a commercial pilot. But not Louise. She loved nothing more than the idea of steering one of these monstrous machines with her own hands, defying the laws of gravity and watching the sunrise from her workplace above the clouds.

But Louise grew older and over the years she lost sight of her dream of flying. It simply seemed no longer within reach. Not for her.

Because Louise was, after all, who she was. Daughter of her conservative mother, who wished for nothing more than a nice son-in-law and pretty grandchildren from her. A young woman in a world of sons and fathers.

Louise wanted to make her parents proud. There was no doubt that her father would have been thrilled if she had presented him with her application to flight school. Her mother, however, died a thousand deaths whenever he said goodbye for his next transatlantic flight. It would have broken Louise's heart to be a reason for her mother's sleepless nights as well. She would have done it anyway. Pursued her dream further. Until she met Emil.

Emil was everything that made up the man of her dreams. He was attentive and loving, supported Louise wherever he could and made her laugh. He worked enough, but not too much, bought her flowers once a month and took her on surprise dates even in the fourth year. 

And Emil was a born family man. He wanted at least three children from her.

Louise's mother was delighted. Louise was in love.

So she decided to start working as a waitress in her favourite café. Of all times, now that she had found the love of her life, to go to the other end of the country for pilot training… that would have been foolish. The years passed and Louise was not getting any younger. Emil would have liked to become a father yesterday already. The first

time. Her own father retired, looking forward together with his wife to family celebrations surrounded by grandchildren. 

Louise had been called crazy by her surroundings more than once when she occasionally still raved about her dream. How could she do that to Emil? And what about her mother, who could finally live without worry for her family again? And anyway – her as a woman? That was ridiculous. Passengers entrusted their lives to experienced and competent authority figures. And did she really believe that she, with her delicate build and her dreamy, sensitive nature, could bear this burden?

So Louise hung up her dream career. Perhaps it really had been a figment of her imagination. A ridiculous childish credulity. Some things simply should not be. Besides, she had everything she needed to be happy.

To give the love of her life children, to see the proud paternal glow in Emil's eyes when he held the miniature version of himself in his hands – Louise told herself that that was all she wanted to achieve. Should. Could.

**

The days were already becoming shorter and colder and Louise shivered in her thin summer dress as she returned from the market that afternoon with heavily laden shopping baskets.

She didn't even know why she still disliked wearing trousers so much. Earlier she had avoided it so as not to seem tomboyish, when she preferred to tinker with her father on model aeroplanes anyway rather than spend a day with her girlfriends at the shopping centre. The dresses had been a kind of protest against the drawer of the "tomboy". A desperate clinging to Louise's femininity. Because although she didn't like shopping and didn't like make-up, she still liked being a woman and wanted to be perceived as such. Perhaps she would have even come to love the whole fashion thing at some point, if it hadn't always felt so compulsive.

**

The engine of the brand-new, dark blue Audi roared unimpressed and drowned out the dull blows on the leather steering wheel. John's fists struck it again and again in desperation, but the car showed no reaction. An angry mixture of growling and sobbing escaped John. Then he let his forehead sink resignedly onto the steering wheel, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Don't lose it. Don't be weak now. The image of his older brother flickered past his inner eye. A sneering grin. You weakling. Like a little girl. You'll never amount to anything if you let yourself go like this.

John gritted his teeth. His fingernails dug into his palms. The pain felt good. He endured it, even enjoyed how all his senses focused on the stinging burn and for a moment everything else lost its significance.

But the ton-heavy weight on his shoulders returned with full force the moment his smartphone ominously announced the arrival of a new email. John squinted his eyes. Leave me alone, all of you.

Contrary to his brother's prophecy, John had indeed made something of himself. 

He had worked his way up from the bottom to the top executive level and founded his own real estate company at 23. Since then he had been pushing millions around like teacups on his desk and had two subsidiary companies under him.

However, this came with not only a fairly acceptable salary and the opportunity to escape the hustle and bustle of the big city here in the suburbs in a luxurious second home. John had been struggling with signs of serious burnout for years. His doctor had recommended a clinic stay more than once. But John couldn't afford it. Not from a financial point of view, certainly not. He simply couldn't afford weakness. 

John Perez didn't break down because of a bit of stress and responsibility. He was the head of it all. He hadn't worked hard for years to earn his respect and authority just to be pitied by his own employees. He was a fighter, a real man. Not one of those wimps that today's generation of mothers was raising.

And that's why neither the stress at the company nor his wife's sudden divorce petition would get him down now. It would be ridiculous if he, CEO of one of the country's largest real estate companies, got teary-eyed because of it. 

Three months ago, Sofia had left with a bag of clothes and her mouth full of accusations for her weekly girls' night out at her best friend's place and hadn't come back since. John could practically see the two women sitting on the sofa, dissecting his marriage in all its details. Almost enviable how unabashedly the two had always dealt with these things. John, on the other hand, had only received a far too firm shoulder pat from his best mate and a link to a strip club website. What you need now is a distraction, mate. Hey, you're a free man now! Time you had a bit of fun again. 

He had been right. The evening had certainly been impressive.

Emotionality was a foreign word to John. He had learned early on that it was better to strike it from his vocabulary. Completely.

So he ran his left hand over his face, unbuckled himself and got out of his car. Slammed the driver's door shut with as much force as ever and straightened his tie. Enough for today. There were still plenty of emails waiting for his undivided attention.

"Hello Mr Perez, nice to see you again." John rolled his eyes and almost groaned in annoyance. He turned slowly until on the other side of the privet hedge his neighbour's housewife came into his field of vision.

He nodded to her without raising the corners of his mouth. Just don't show any reaction. The last thing he needed right now was small talk about cleaning products or the fruit and vegetable market. Or even a question about his guaranteed red eyes. She shouldn't think he needed a sympathetic conversation. 

Louise's mouth corners were already burning from the forced smile she had plastered on her face. Smile friendly, don't put him in an awkward position where he might think she was in a bad mood because of him. Or even by asking why he was beating his steering wheel like a madman. That would be an attack on his pride. It was none of her business. Besides, she probably would never have understood this kind of problem. After all, Mr Perez was a successful businessman. She couldn't contribute to these things anyway. Just don't make him feel bad. Smile and wave.

Demonstratively, John turned his back to her to make sure he had locked the car.

Although Louise herself had no desire to continue talking to him, didn't even particularly like him, his dismissive attitude gave her a pang. Like earlier, when her mother had been disappointed that she wanted to go to the airport and watch the take-off rather than help her bake. As if she had failed.

"Have a nice evening," John pressed out before hurrying towards his front door. Now only high-proof alcohol would help. Louise raised her hand in greeting at the same moment her mouth corners fell.

Cold-hearted macho. Then she would just get on with making dinner. And swap this stupid dress for comfortable jogging bottoms. And wait for Emil. Like every evening.

She sighed. The door of the neighbouring house fell shut with a crash. She bent down to pick up the shopping basket that she had had to set down on the ground.

After Emil and she – unsuccessfully so far – had tried to get pregnant, she now kept house, cleaned the bathroom daily out of restlessness and cooked Emil's favourite dish once a week. She didn't want to make him feel that it was his fault that it hadn't worked out so far. She knew how much he wanted children of his own.

**

By the time it was dark outside, Emil was just driving onto the motorway. He had actually wanted to be home already, with Louise, who was surely waiting for him longingly.

At that time she was dancing to loud music boxes through the living room. From the dark street one could have observed her excellently in the brightly lit room. In the oven, the lasagne was burning, which she had somehow tried to keep warm.

Emil hated it when the cheese was charred. Louise danced around the sofa. 

How she had missed this room for herself. Her own music, at full volume, without anyone asking for quiet after a long day's work. Hopefully Emil was stuck in a traffic jam on the motorway. 

In the neighbouring house, John sat with a crystal glass of expensive whiskey in front of the divorce papers and concentrated on the sharp burning in his throat so as not to taste the salt that ran silently over his upper lip to the corner of his mouth.