Wednesday, January 29, 2020

Mrs. Compton on the Five-Forty-Eight Essay Example for Free

Mrs. Compton on the Five-Forty-Eight Essay When Mr. Blake’s eyes met mine on the five-forty-eight, I smiled and could tell it did not affect his mood a bit. Of course it was my usual smile—sweet and slightly welcoming—but I knew Mr. Blake was a harder shell to crack than I encountered on a daily basis, and it did not bother me the least that he neither returned nor politely acknowledged my own outward kindness. It did not surprise me, either, since his wife and I had what I would consider a mutual relationship in regards to womanly confessions and the general outrage we keep inside until the right person (usually myself) ends up—coincidentally or not—in the other person’s life. I do have a keen eye for the â€Å"suffering,† and while anyone with a husband such as Mr. Blake had to be in all sorts of pain, Louise Blake just radiated the emotional pain I was familiar with hearing and, in effect, relieving by that very same act of just listening. So was I surprised to hear that Mr. Blake had given Louise another one of his childish â€Å"I’m not talking to you† fits? Hardly. Neither was I shocked to learn from his feigned indifference that he disapproved of my relationship with his wife, as most men did. Now I do not particularly enjoy being a â€Å"busybody† as some might put it, but when the woman asked Mr. Blake if she could sit beside him, I was slightly intrigued. Not so much in the woman posing that question in an only half-full car, but in Mr. Blake’s once more feigned, but convincing, approval. He tried to hide his shock, or maybe it was nervousness, but I could Mr. Blake’s comfort level had certainly been violated. I am an optimist, but certainly know when a man is disturbed by a woman. There was nothing platonic about this â€Å"meeting.† I unfortunately could not hear, being several cars ahead, but kept myself facing forwards so he could not gauge how closely focused I was. Louise is my friend, and I felt it was my duty as such a friend to keep her out of harm’s (emotional and physical) way. So I had no issue with trying to grasp the situation. Mr. Watkins, who is Mr. Blake’s neighbor and a man he dislikes far more than me, did not show any sign of acknowledging the pair, though he could have been hiding it as well as I do. It was not long before I took a quick peak back and realized Mr. Blake’s face, which had a habit of glowing bright red as a furnace when he was angry—and so, a good portion of the time was burning—had suddenly turned as white as a heavy snow. Not just thick, either, but blanketing. Something Mr. Blake wanted to keep hidden was stowed away beneath that layer of pale, perhaps even cold, skin. Even the gloom and shadow of the rain and graying clouds outside could not veil it, and instead probably intensified it, because snow is always stronger in a dark environment. Over the next while I managed to sneak glances at the two, and it was obvious whatever conversation they were having was neither a happy one nor entirely forgiving upon Mr. Blake’s complexion. I could just imagine the conversation though, and Mr. Blake’s frustration building up until he realized the woman was planning on blabbing to the wife about their after-work adventures. Then she slipped him a letter, and as he glanced up at me I pretended as if I had seen nothing, not the look of fear in his eyes or the flash of devils in hers. This is how it went for the next while: folks boarded and I snuck more glances back to see how the two were acting. She was whispering something into his ear. Must be trying to blackmail him now. Or force him to divorce Louise. Poor Louise! â€Å"Shady Hill, next, Shady Hill.† The conductor’s voice brought me back to the image of the car and the rest of the world. Again, I try not to be a â€Å"busybody† but this was an exception. Louise’s husband had not only cheated on her, but was now plotting to leave her for the woman! Maybe I am getting ahead of myself, though. It really could be nothing. But the look on his face, and the fire in her eyes†¦ The train stopped and I forgot all the parcels I had with me, and quickly gathered them with my mind still drawn to the awkward couple behind me. As I stepped off the train, I questioned what I should do. Tail them and see where they go? Confront him, perhaps? I kept my eyes straight so as not to give myself away. The rain stung my eyes and face with its cold little bodies. Should I call Louise as soon as I arrived home? Tell her what I saw? And could I be the one to break her poor little heart? I suppose I could; it would be better from me than him. With all the pain he has put her through, she was likely to kill him.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.