I live by insane rules. I’m very aware of my surroundings. I know the sounds intimately. It’s the only way I can survive. I always wake at least a half hour before he does. This gives my body time to tighten with anxiety. I listen to the sounds that tell me he’s up. I listen to the toilet flush, and the water running, the sounds of shaving. By the time he opens that bathroom door, I need to have coffee and toast on the table for him. I then sit quietly while he eats. I hate the sound of his chewing and the ticking of the clock in the kitchen.
Then the sounds I live for…he’s putting on his jacket, his boots. He grabs his lunch, the sound of the door opening, then closing. His footsteps crunching on the gravel, getting in the car, the car starting…he’s gone. I can relax a little. I put away the mattress and do what the list he leaves, tells me to do. Wash clothes, wash floors, clean house…
Then come the sounds of my heart, the sound of little feet, happy smiling babies shouting “Hi Mom…hungwy.” We eat our toast and drink our milk. The sounds of washing, dressing, playing and singing…all the sounds that give me strength. To soon the clock will tell me it’s time to stop. We eat before he comes home. The babies must be fed, have their bath, be in pajamas and ready for bed by the time he gets home, so he can eat in peace.
Then come the sounds that I hate. The car in the driveway, the car door closing, the crunch of his boots on the gravel, the sound of the door opening, then being locked. The running water when he washes up, his clothes being changed. Dinner is on the table as he comes out. I put the babies to bed and I sit quietly while he eats and tells me about his day. When it’s payday I will have twenty dollars and 30 minutes to go to the store and back.
Then there’s the sounds he makes when he comes home that tell me he’s been drinking. His footsteps on the gravel are uneven. He has a hard time unlocking the door. Every nerve in my body is on high alert. I can tell by the way he eats if he’s angry. I listen for the way he says my name…that is my cue that I’ve displeased him somehow and now I must pay. The clock ticking makes me so angry. My life is ticking away…tick…tick…tick…I dread the sounds of hands hitting me, my body hitting the wall or the floor…his snoring while I try not to cry out from pain…
Tonight it is quiet. He plays guitar a bit and I tell him it sounds great even though I don’t mean it. The sound of the mattress hitting the floor tells me it’s time to go to bed. I fix his lunch, roll his cigarettes, and get his clothes ready. I begin to feel giddy when I hear the sound of his body dropping on the mattress. I can now turn the light off and get into bed.
I listen for the sounds that tell me he is really asleep. I wait all day for this moment when the pleasure of laying on my stomach is so exquisite and I am free. Free to dream, to think, to be and he can’t take it away from me…
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Tags: hands hitting me, insane rules, little feet, pain, toast and milk