He eats his toast, drinks his coffee and there’s no complaints. He leaves and I listen for the sounds that tell me he’s gone for the day. The tenseness lets go of my body for a bit. I have half an hour before the babies come tearing in here. I put up the bed, put away the linens, wash and dress. I look in the mirror and there are no black eyes, split lips or bruises. It makes me smile a little. Even my hand is better. I took the “stitches” out and it’s healing nicely.
I hear the whisper of one Linus waking Boo. When Boo does wake, Linus giggles and says “Hi Boo!” like she had nothing to do with it. It never occurs to her, to not wake her sister. I told her once she didn’t have to do that and her eyes filled with tears and she gave me that pout and said “But why?” and damn near broke my heart. She wakes Boo and all is well with the world.
They come running into the kitchen and I act all surprised to see them and they laugh and ask for breakfast. He brought some apple jelly from Mennonite country and we have it on our toast and shout out “yummy for our tummies!” We have our milk and lick the jelly from our fingers. Linus exclaims “All done!” holds up her hands and continues with “All dooty.” Boo with her last mouthful of toasts puts up her hands “dooty.” Single file, we march to the bathroom, “dooty” hands up in the air, hup two three four, Linus telling Boo not to “chutch anyfing” and Boo repeating “anyfing.” It’s wash and dress and brush our teeth. Then we play. I would like to go outside but we don’t have proper winter clothes and I don’t need anyone to get sick. Bad enough, I’m opening and closing the heavy drapes on and off. I worry he will drive by on some unexpected delivery and see them open.
Just before noon, I hear that guy dumping bread in the bin. Then I hear a knock at my door. I hate how it makes me jump out of my skin. I open the door to find that guy from the bakery and he hands me a bag saying “you might want these.” I can feel my face get terribly red. “Look,” he says “I see what you do and I’m sure there’s a good reason but I’m afraid you will fall in and hurt yourself.” I tell him there’s too much bread in this bag for me and I take just two small loaves. “Just come to the back door and ask for Lenny when you need something,” he says.
I’m dying of embarrassment but I’m relieved I don’t have to fetch bread from the bin any more. I ask God to bless Lenny for his kindness. For lunch we have spaghetti-o’s and our bread that’s not from the garbage. Then it’s nap time and I wash dishes and clean.
Like clock work, my body tenses up when it’s time to feed the babies, give them their bath, put them in pajamas then start his dinner. He’ll be home soon. Maybe he won’t complain about anything. We’ll go to bed, he’ll fall asleep and all will be well. I never sleep with my back to him and I sleep lightly.
Just before I close the heavy drapes, I look out into the world from my dark room…it’s been a good day, a normal day…
Next -> Letter to Anda
Tags: body tenses up, dark room, jump out of my skin, prope winter clothes