Struggling With Inadequacy
The comforting words of a loved one aren't always enough to help you past an internal struggle. In this story for Jon Sanders, it doesn't matter how hard a wife tries to quell the concerns of her troubled husband.
Jon is spending his day the same way many of his fellow otters did in the mid 1800's, splitting logs out in the yard while the setting sun wasn't burning overhead. Winter would soon approach, and the oven would need all of the wood that it could hold if Jon and his wife were to survive the bitter cold.
His wife is troubled by his demeanor, however, which has been cold and reclusive for a few days, Though they never actually say what his issue is, Jon tries to ignore it by splitting more logs...knowing that it will do nothing to fix the problem.
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Something about splitting wood the old fashioned way was just so, so satisfying.
The power of one man was still something to be reckoned with in the early 1800's. It was true that there were machines popping up in the larger cities back east that were powered by steam and oil that could do the work of ten men, and they were starting to make their way out to the Midwest, but further out west, where the roads weren't quite so developed yet, Jon did things the old fashioned way.
Sweat coated his brow, and soaked right through the armpits of his shirt as he lofted the axe over his head again. No matter how much moisture snuck into his grip, he managed to keep an impressively powerful grip on the handle of the tool, and each time, he delivered a precise, powerful strike, cleaving smaller logs into two pieces and building up quick the stockpile of firewood.
He didn't have too much longer before the bitter cold of winter rolled in from the ocean front, and when it did, he wanted to be sure that he was ready.
Behind him, a large stack of firewood was already waiting, and even up in the mountains, secluded from the rest of the known world, Jon likely had enough supplies to make it through the coming winter without any kind of a struggle. He was strong and healthy, despite a body that many deemed to be too slim for his time period.
He didn't allow that frame to define him, however. He was proud of his ability to split logs with such speed and effectiveness, and no matter how many blisters formed in his palms, or how his arms ached for a break, he refused to give himself one.
Again, the axe was heaved up, and with a loud, desperate grunt, Jon swung forward again, chopping another log vertically. It split with such a wonderful satisfaction into two perfect halves, but Jon didn't take the time to admire his dirty work. He was already reaching over to the pile of rounded logs next to him, knowing that there was still plenty left to do before the cold weather dawned.
The only sound in the mountains was that of Jon working off his frustration. He was doing everything that he could to burn it away, but no matter how many times he swung the axe, there was still a deep hatred burning in the pits of the otter's eyes. His expression held a grimace, no matter how much he accomplished throughout the afternoon.
Hours of the same process went on, until the sun was beginning to set over the far reaches of the trees below, until the horizon was cradling it in a semi-circle of golden comfort.
For Jon, no matter how beautiful the sight was, as blue sky mingled with golden rays to create hues of pink and orange upon the floating clouds, he took no comfort in it. He felt, instead, that nature was mocking him in some way, and with a huff, he picked up another log and set it on the stump in front of him.
His arms refused to halt, even as the words "Jon...it's all right..." traveled across his ears. Trusting that the woman wouldn't approach when he was swinging such a dangerous weapon, Jon drove the axe through again, splitting the log with such a terrible force that the halves were cast off, several feet from the stump where they were split.
" Mmph."
The grunt was more than Jon had said to his wife that entire evening, and more than he'd said to anyone else in weeks. Such introversion simply wasn't in his nature, but he was turning into himself more than ever lately, and getting information out of him was like trying to churn butter out of water.
"You're not the only one, Jon. I've heard of others, you know."
WHACK! Another log was split with terrifying power, and even then, Jon only paused for a moment to wipe his brow, before picking up another log. "Meh," was his only reply, as he refused to so much as turn and look at his wife.
Her body hid behind the back door of their small, quaint cabin in the mountains. Splinters of wood were being cast in all directions, striking the area around Jon without prejudice and making for a fairly dangerous situation, if she wasn't careful.
"I don't...I don't love you any less. I hope you know that."
Infidelity was a serious problem in those days, and as the rights of women were paltry, it wasn't really in her place to say such things. If Jon were to have sought out another lover, so long as he went through the church in the process, no one would bat an eyelash at it. It was likely that his wife would be branded as the problem, and yet, there she was, trying to comfort a man who was clearly inconsolable, simply for the fact that she loved him.
"There are men like you everywhere, my love. I'm sure that you can overcome this if you just try hard enough."
Jon wasn't showing any signs of slowing down. His breathing was heavy, and his chest rose and fell rapidly with the panting of his labor, but even as veins crept through the surface of his fur and bulged against his skin from his efforts, he didn't turn to face his wife. She tried to creep closer around the door, but her paw shot up to her muzzle and covered it in fear as Jon struck down another log. Sweat was soaking through his clothes to the point of ruining them, and the suspenders across his back were turning loose with the droop of his shirt.
With the axe held so tightly in one of his paws, he looked less like the loving husband that she knew he was, and more like the kind of monster she was terrified of being stuck with.
"I...I don't know what else to tell you, Jon. It makes you no less of a man in my book, my dear. D-don't...don't be late for supper."
There were no words to describe the defeat that she felt in the pit of her heart as she slipped back behind the door. She didn't dare to approach him, in the downward spiral of fury that was his entire existence.
She merely kept to her busywork, preparing dinner for her husband, who continued to convince himself that he wasn't the least bit flawed, in the only way that he knew how.
WHACK!