DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
way, nonchalantly replied to your greeting. You feigned normality too, swept the lateness of the hour under the carpet: “What are you watching?” I noticed the way the words came out of your mouth, stretched like chewing gum – the drunken drawl. I saw the telltale red lines in your eyes, those eyes that had at first seemed to me honest and kind.
Swept under the carpet You emerge from the shower, towel wrapped around your waist, your taut, tanned body fit and ready for anything. The thing that attracted me to you most from the beginning was how comfortable you are in your own skin. Here’s that confidence on full display. My heart pounds when your shining blue eyes land on me. I hold my breath when your powerful arms sweep me into an embrace. “Hello honey. Isn’t it a beautiful day? How about you get that gorgeous body of yours into your bikini and we go to the beach? I’ll go and tell the kids to get themselves ready.” You stride out of our bedroom, calling cheerily to the children about the beach. I sit down on the crumpled, sweaty sheets, felled to silence and inaction. I run my tongue over my swollen lip. The metallic taste confirms my lip has been bleeding, cut last night – by your fist. I replay the sequence of last night’s events, beginning with hearing your car arrive home late last night. You were two hours later than you should have been so I’d already guessed where you went after your game. My body knew too, a prey animal on the alert. I maintained my pretence of watching TV as you entered the room. I merely glanced your
Bile rose to my throat when you asked why the children were already in bed. However I heeded my earlier sermon to myself, advising not to challenge you tonight. “Because it’s late,” I managed in a calm voice. Inwardly I cursed my cowardice. Then you asked why I wasn’t talking to you! Did you want an argument? Should I have mentioned the pile of unopened window envelopes? Would you have liked to know I’d had a phone call from your son’s teacher yesterday? He’s in trouble again for bullying. I didn’t dare mention yesterday’s anonymous phone call with silence at the other end when I said hello. What could I discuss with this version of you? That’s when I lost my self-control, broke my silence. “I can see where you’ve been. Not able to limit yourself to one drink at the 19th hole, eh?” Inwardly I kicked myself. You silly woman – you know it’s provocative. It’s happened before. Your temper is easily ignited by my questions or by my silence, by my tardiness or my punctuality. It could be inflamed by the children’s noise or their withdrawal, their mess or their absence. I’ve seen horses and birds pommel buckets and cartons, tossing them and rolling them
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