A simple solution

The Travelosopher
Nov 5 · 15 min read
Photo by Jagoda Kondratiuk on Unsplash

A woman stood at the balcony, shadows under her eyes, her hands clutching the bannister, gaze fixed on the depths below. A man came out, grabbed her by her hair and dragged her back inside.

Mrs Miller shook her head. It was a pity that all three parties were now completely used to this.

She walked away from her window and took the hissing kettle off the stove, made two glasses of tea and waited. “Gary. Gar — TEA!!” she yelled. Her rather deaf husband waddled out the den and sat beside her. “You’re getting deafer by the day,” she snarked. “And you’re toothless!” he snapped back.

Here was another routine. Gary and Laura sat down and shared tea every day at 4 pm, along with a side of biscuits, and some well-seasoned insults.
“He’s at it again. He’s beating up that poor girl.”
Gary tilted his head to hear better, scrunching up his already scrunched up face.
“Eh?” he inched closer.
Laura rolled her eyes, “He’s beating her up. AGAIN!” she yelled.
He lifted himself out the chair slightly and peered out the window. The balcony was empty.
“She’s a fool. She should leave him and run for it, she should.”
“It doesn’t — it doesn’t work like that!!” She got up and shuffled into their bedroom, coming back with Gary’s hearing aid.
“Ow! Stop! It makes my ear itch!!”
“Stop struggling!”
“Evil woman!!” he shrieked, but the deed was done. The aid was in.

“It doesn’t work like that!” she continued. “She’s got nowhere to go, no money.”
“And she told you that sob story did she? How do you know she isn’t lying?”
He was morose now. He fussed about his wispy hair that Laura had managed to mess up.
Laura threw him a dirty look.
“Alright! Alright! What can I do?” he said.
“You were a Marine for god’s sake!”
“35 years ago!!” he trembled with indignation.
Laura scoffed and went back to the window, muttering under her breath.

That night, Gary couldn’t sleep. He rolled as much as his creaky hip would allow, and that did not help. He got up, put on his hearing aid (he did this voluntarily only when the Mrs was fast asleep), and made his way laboriously to the kitchen. He had just put down his glass of water, reaching for the newspaper when he heard it. Over the racket Laura was making in her sleep, the piteous wail from across the street.

He moved to the window, and there he could see through their balcony — a brute of a man was kicking at something that was on the floor. Each kick of his was punctuated by renewed begging and sobbing from something he couldn’t see. Gary turned away from the window, and turned off his hearing aid — he could no longer hear what was happening.

But, he just couldn’t unhear what he had heard.


Large sunglasses, a scarf around her neck, a full hand shirt and worn-out jeans — an even more worn-out woman limped across the block towards the supermarket. Becky Tinsworth, once a happy woman, felt all traces of it vanish as she stepped out into the sunlight after what seemed like an eternity. The swaying trees, cool breeze and those fluffy white clouds had no effect on her. They might as well have been all grey and still.

With the grocery list clutched tight in one hand, and a battered wallet on the other, she entered the store. The chatter inside died down instantly, and she could feel all eyes on her. She paused for a second, and then pushed herself forward. The chatter now resumed, but on a quieter octave.
As she walked through the aisles, Becky was constantly muttering calculations to herself. Today was going to be tougher than usual — she had resorted to digging out pennies from between the couch cushions. Today, she could already tell, she’d be going to bed hungry.

Salt, a loaf of bread, canned tuna and some ramen. She nervously watched the cashier, as she saw the computer show a higher amount than she had anticipated. She realized she was several dollars short, and that her hands were now visibly trembling. Just then, she heard someone call out her name.
“Miss Tinsworth?” There was an old woman standing by the cereal section, waving to her. “I think you dropped something, my dear. Could you come here a moment?” Confused, Becky checked both her hands — there wasn’t much to drop. But she went over anyway. The old lady walked further into the store, stopped at the end of the aisle and waited.

When Becky joined her, the lady took her hands and pressed something into it. It was a wad of cash. “Take it, dear. It’s alright. Buy some more food for yourself. And my husband is paying for your stuff on the counter now.”
Becky’s tears fell rapidly, her eyes hidden behind her sunglasses. She shook her head and tried giving it back to her, but the old lady was having none of it. “Don’t cry,” she sounded stern. “You’ve done nothing wrong. None of this is your fault. None of it.” She dug into her tiny handbag and took out a little phone. “Here. Keep this. If you ever want help, call me. I’ve saved my number in there.”

There were more people headed towards them now, so Becky hastily turned and walked towards the exit. An old man was standing by the door, and he held out a paper bag which she quickly took, and walked as fast as her feet would take her back to the dingy apartment. She doubled up on the staircase and wept silently — it had been a while since she had spoken to someone, and even longer since she had experienced kindness. But there was no time to savour this feeling of gratitude. She had to be home before he got suspicious. She quickly removed her shades, wiped her face, and tucked the cash the old lady had given inside her shirt. She took a moment to calm herself, before allowing the usual dread to take over once again. She turned the doorknob and entered — there he was, sleeping on that couch like he was the happiest man on earth. He stirred in his sleep, and that was enough to make her wince.

She quietly took off her shoes, tip-toed to the kitchen and left the grocery bag on the counter. With many discreet looks at the couch to make sure he was still sleeping, she crept into the balcony, kneeled, and pulled at a thin thread behind a flowerpot by the railing. At the end of the short thread, as she dragged it out, there was a tiny drawstring cloth bag — it was a dirty brown that blended completely with the walls below. Biting her lips, she quickly pulled out the cash and the phone from under her shirt, put them inside the bag, lowered the thread back to position and pushed the flowerpot back in place.

She got back up, glanced into the hall and her heart could beat no faster — he was standing by the kitchen counter looking at her, and though she couldn’t make out his expression, it was the most scared she had ever been of him.
“What were you doing just now?” his tone was calm, but Becky knew what was behind the calmness.
“Just… I was just — ”
“ANSWER ME!”
She almost jumped in fear, but slowly made her way inside.
“I was just taking in the laundry,” she raised her hand to show two of his shirts.

He walked closer to her and looked at the shirts with a blank expression. Her neck whipped to her left with the force of his slap. She hadn’t even seen it coming. She knew she was now on the floor, but only barely registered it. Her head was spinning, lights popped in front of her eyes, and she could taste something rancid in her mouth. It took her a few moments to come to. She saw his blurred figure peeping into something brown on the counter, pull back his head and throw the bag at her. The tuna can hit her right under her eye, and her head resumed its spinning.

She heard the door slam, and she lied there on the floor, not moving a muscle. She wanted to go to sleep right there, just like that. She was tired of getting back up. Tired of waking up. But she had to. Because there was a strange sound coming from somewhere in the house.


“Look at that sick son-of-a-bitch!!” Gary spat. Laura was clutching his shirt and with her other hand, she covered her mouth. They had watched the poor woman hide away the phone and the cash they had given her and then watched her get slapped by that man. When she didn’t get back up, they got worried.
“Get the phone, Gary! Oh my god, the poor poor child!”
Gary shuffled forward, and called the number—they rang twice, and just as Gary decided to go there himself, they saw her stir. She made her way to the balcony very slowly, looking entirely dazed. Laura snatched the phone and spoke, and Gary could see the girl nodding, but saying very little.

“Forgive me for asking, Miss Tinsworth, but have you considered leaving your husband?” Laura asked.
“I have. But I—I just can’t leave him like that! I’ve left him so many times, but I have to come back to him. I love him!” her voice cracked.
Laura could, even with her poor eyesight, see that Becky’s face was swollen and blue from across the street.
“My dear, my husband and I have been married for 45 years. We fight almost every day. All couples do. But never once has he hurt me. Never.” She turned around to look at Gary and just saw him leave through the door.
“It was my fault, I came back late—”
“Sweety, you didn’t fall at his fists at great speed. Your husband hit you.”
“But he’s a good man! He is! And he loves me!” Becky whimpered.


A light breeze ruffled her hair, and Becky looked up at the sky. Her neck was in agony, and she felt like her face was on fire, but it was a nice moment. There were beautiful streaks of red against blue, the clouds looked gigantic as they slowly inched closer. She put the phone Laura had given on silent-mode, placed it in the bag and let the string back down again. She struggled to her feet and made her way in. He wasn’t going to be back for dinner—she knew that. It was a chance to sleep. But as she lied down, she noticed that she was crying. All the words that Laura had spoken came crashing down on her.
He loves me. He’s not a bad person, she whispered to herself.
“If you have to remind yourself that he’s a good man more than once, then he probably isn’t, my love”, the old lady had said. Her voice was gentle, but the words felt like stab wounds to Becky.

She had a few hours to herself. She had the time to take a long shower, eat a hot meal, and even sing to herself. She felt strange. Guilty for thinking that she felt happier without him. She shook her head to clear that thought and heard footsteps approaching. There was a knock on the door—That's odd. He never knocks.

Confused, she opened the door to find a wispy old man standing at the door. His clothes were neatly pressed, he looked dignified, and in his eyes, she saw a determined look.
“Sorry to bother you, Miss. Your husband is lying drunk at Kelly’s, so don’t worry, he’s not going to find out about this,”
He stretched out a bag towards her, “I know it’s yet another thing you’ve got to hide. But I think you will find it quite useful. There’s a note in there that you might want to read first.”
Becky took the bag feeling completely surprised, and the old man gave her a small nod and turned to leave.
“One more thing”, he turned back, “I’d like you to remember that you’re not alone in this world. I’d like you to remember that.”

She saw him walk briskly into the elevator and disappear from sight. It was a while before she realized she was still at the door. She quickly drew in and locked the door behind her. The bag was heavy, about the size of a large encyclopedia. She sat on her bed and opened the zipper. She opened a small, folded sheet of paper, and it looked like a list of instructions. More confused than ever, she proceeded to unwrap the rest of the bag’s contents.
She began piecing together the old man’s plan. She chewed on her lips, her eyes were wide in fear. There was another piece of paper inside. Her hands fumbling, she hurriedly opened it, crumpling it in the process. It read—

“Please burn this once you’re done reading it, Miss Tinsworth.

Do not leave your husband. Do not leave him when the going is bad, because you will always regret it.

But when things are seemingly smooth, I beg you to look beneath the surface. I believe you will be able to make a decision only then. And if you do, remember this:

Eva Smith, 225, Rosewood Street, Philadelphia.

Good luck.”

Becky looked at the time—this was too dangerous. Quickly zipping up the bag again, she got up and looked around. Her breathing was heavy, and she held the bag so tightly that her fingers hurt. After some frantic pacing, she finally figured out a place to keep the bag safely hidden.

She hurried back to her bedroom, took the note to the kitchen and burned it over her stove. She swept up the ashes and flushed them, ran back to the living room and unlocked the door.

In a few minutes, just as she had predicted, he was back. He took a long look at her face, smiled and hugged her. “Why’d you go and make me do that, huh? You know I love you. Why do you have to make it so difficult?” he kissed her and stumbled into bed spread-eagle, leaving no space for her.

As she lied on the sofa, she put the puzzle together in her head. All of her confusion was starting to take shape, and her head was finally clear and ready for some sleep.


“Gary!! 4 hours! You’ve been gone for 4 hours!” Laura sounded breathless.
“I took a walk,” he waved his hand.
“For 4 hours?! I’ve been worried sick!” She saw him gaze towards the house across the street. “Gary?”
He quickly removed his hearing aid and strolled towards the bedroom. “I’m skipping dinner. You go ahead and eat, Laura.”
Laura watched him get into bed. He looked worn out and fell asleep almost immediately. Her brows were wrinkled with worry. With one last look at Becky’s balcony, she too retired for the day. It was a quiet night.


The start was rather difficult. She didn’t want to believe it. But what the old man had written stuck with her. Look beneath the surface – the damn words were all she saw now. And with that thought sown in, she could see through the facade so easily now that she felt dumb for not seeing it before.

“Why did you make me do that?” “Don’t you love me?” “Your pain is nothing compared to what you put me through!” —It was all about him. He was pure, and she was always the fuck-up. She deserved to be punished for putting him through so much. A punch for not cooking the meal on time. A slap for not getting out of the bathroom sooner. He was always trying to “help her” be better.

Every time he smiled at her, she felt slimy. Disgusted. What has life turned into? How did she land up here? There were a lot of questions. But she only had one answer: it wouldn’t be this way for long.


The scumbag was cheating on him. He knew that for sure. The way she holds her chin up these days, always looking preoccupied, there’s no fear in her eyes anymore. He clenched his fists, noting to give her a sound beating once he got back home tonight. He was far too nice to her. That’s why the bitch was taking advantage.

“Sherrif, there’s a call for you.” He snapped out of his reverie and got up to take the call.

Today’s a lucky day, he came out of the station smiling to himself. His work was going to be quite close to home today. He decided he’d drop in on the bitch and see what she was up to.

He bounded up the stairs, two at a time. I knew it! The bloody pig isn’t home. I'm going to fucking murder her tonight. He decided work can wait. He was going to wait right there until she came home. He rubbed his fists in anticipation. But, there was a feeling he couldn’t shake off. Something was different. He stalked about the house, checking every room. All her things were still there. Only the bathroom window was, uncharacteristically, wide open. He peered out the window and noticed a layer of dust missing on the ledge below. The size of a duffle bag. He could feel his face become hot. His brain was on overdrive, and anger like he had never known built up within him. He called his friends at the station, revved up the patrol car with sirens blasting. I’m going to crush her under these wheels when I find her.

Where would she go? She’s got no money. There was something very odd about this. Odd… hadn’t he noticed her odd behaviour? She’s been planning this for a while. Ungrateful piece of shit. Odd… there was something he was missing.

He slammed the brakes on his car. Hadn’t he seen that old lady from across the street get out of the elevator just now? Tires screeching, he turned his car around, abandoned it in almost the middle of the street and ran into the building.


There were a series of bangs on the door. The floor vibrated with the force of them. “POLICE. OPEN THIS DOOR!!”
Gary looked at Laura reassuringly and unlocked the door. The man didn’t even wait for Gary to open it, he pushed his way in, knocking Gary down in the process. There was a louder outcry than he had anticipated. Two old men helped Gary up, while several old people yelled at him incoherently.
“What’s going on here? WHERE IS MY WIFE?” Several more of his colleagues now caught up and stood at the door.
“It’s my birthday party,” Gary said grumpily.
“I want every single person here to identify themselves. YOU! What were you doing in my building?!” he demanded.
“Your building?” Laura threw him a contemptuous look. “I was there to invite Betty,” she pointed at a stooped woman with a dangerous look.

He turned his back on them and spoke to the officers at the door, “Take every single one of these geezers into custody. I want to know where she is!”
“Sherrif, the press is here. We can’t bring them in without cause.”
“What the hell is the press doing here?!”
“He’s the county’s oldest veteran, sir.”
“BULLSHIT!” he grabbed the nearest woman by her collar and shook her— “NAME AND ADDRESS! NOW!”
Several of them were screaming now, and some of them even tried to push him out the door.
“Eva Smith, Rosewood, Philadelphia!” the woman squeaked. She looked scared out of her life, and some of his officers were prying his hands off of her. There were more footsteps outside, and some flashes went off.
“Sir, the journos are here. We’ve got to leave.”
With a searing look of hatred, he roughly released the old lady, took one last look at Gary and left the room.
Laura rushed to the old lady’s side and helped her up. Gary smiled to himself.


There was a new Sheriff in town. A lazy, ‘couldn’t-care-less’ guy who was decent. The old one had been ripped apart by the newspapers, caught assaulting old women and transferred to a county on the other side of the country. Becky Tinsworth had disappeared off the face of the Earth, at least according to him. She now had new-found freedom. She lived in a loving home, went out for walks whenever she wanted, she was slowly beginning to make friends again and had her own source of income. Pretending to be an older woman made her feel younger than ever before, and she promised to herself that she’d cherish every second of her happiness. She had found her happily ever after, at long last.

Her only regret? She hadn’t yet said “thank you” to Gary and Laura for saving her life. Would thank you suffice? Gary always said, “the most complicated issues need the simplest solutions!” It had been his idea to give her Laura’s sister’s name and address—she wouldn’t have been able to make things up under pressure. Laura’s sister often went on prolonged road trips, never owned a phone, and was almost impossible to track. It was her best, and simplest disguise. She remembered how Laura had beamed at her husband then.

“GARY! Becky! Tea!” Laura announced.

She remembered this line she had read somewhere, that said ‘One day, I will find the right words and they will be simple.’
How very true. Becky Tinsworth smiled and left for tea.

The Travelosopher

Written by

I go on an adventure everyday, catching those dreamy moments that slip past your eyes.

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