Alone, I smiled and pretended our family was just fine…wanting to believe in you with such force that my spirit bled from my body until I was just existing as an earthbound spirit.
Once, I believed in destiny after we spent all night talking on the phone, sharing secrets until our voices were too hoarse to speak. You told me that the world had turned its back on you and I was the only one who understood, the only one who cared.
You were the only one invited into my inner world, moving from the telephone through fiber optic cables, winding into my heart. We stood together with our backs to the world and our eyes locked on each other. I felt the first tug when you stepped into my bedroom and gently held the drawing of the unicorns I made, and told me how you had seen this image before, perhaps in a dream, it was a sign we were meant to be together. I chuckled at how large you looked, sprawled out on my small twin bed, beneath a pile of my stuffed animals. We listened to music and discovered that all of my favorite songs were yours too! You told me how pretty I was, how wise. You told me that I didn’t need to go to school because you never did, because school couldn’t teach me much—life was meant to be explored not confined to a classroom. You told me I didn’t need to work, I should just leave it all and run with you into the blurry horizons of fate that brought us together. So I did.
Once, I believed we could make a life together. We gazed at the stars in each other eyes.
You were the only one who touched the dark, secret places of my body and filled them with life. Beneath my heart, a child grew. His eyes were brilliant as the stars we once gazed upon.
Once, I believed in luck. You wrapped your arm around my waist, winked, and promised
that you could make more money in a week of gambling than going to work. You were too smart to have a job, anyways. It was better you did your own thing, than deal with those jerks! You told me that you would win if I supported you. So I did. And when the bills went unpaid, and the baby had no diapers, and the cupboards went bare, and the credit cards maxed out, and the mortgage lost on the river, you could explain that too. You lost because I was not at your side (I was at home with the baby). You lost because I failed to support you. You lost because I was a bitch. So I closed my eyes, and let you go. No matter how many times you lost, I tried to be the only one who understood.
Once, I believed in forgiveness. After all the times you hurt me, I tried to forgive. After, all the times you laid your hands on me, twisting and tearing until I grew still and silent, I tried to forget. You told me that if I left you didn’t know what would happen…I was the only good thing in your life. Or you cussed me out and screamed about how much I had messed up your life, if anything went wrong it was my fault. I was crazy. I sat on my ass watching soap operas all day while you went to work. I couldn’t keep the house clean enough. I couldn’t keep the baby from crying; he smelled bad, made disgusting sounds when breast feeding and was such a brat. Once we talked late into the night until our voices were too hoarse to speak. Now those words were lost in torrents of rage.
Once, I believed I could take away your pain, if I just became silent, if I smiled just so. So I did. You popped another pill in your mouth. Dry, no water—anything you could get your hands on. Your energy shifted from an anxious buzz to falling headlong into a sleep so deep that I could not reach you. Those moments of sleep were moments of peace, no fighting or fear. Only to shift when you woke, a shadowy form fading into the starry night. The two fists crumpled at your side were tense reminders of what you smashed, kicked and crushed. I begged you not to leave—the cash crumpled in your hand was the last of the bill money, spent on another dry swallow. Alone, I smiled and pretended our family was just fine. I lived for the moments the baby giggled at me, or the times you tickled my waist…wanting to believe in you with such force that my spirit bled from my body until I was just existing as an earthbound spirit.
Once, I believed I was just a scared, small girl. Then I caught my reflection in a clear mirror of quartz. I saw a hollow look of surrender gazing back. I saw line and scars beaten into me. Somewhere within, my spirit stirred, filling flesh and bone with breath. I held the mirror in my shaking hands and yearned for all the lines and scars to show. Yearned for mineral veins of strength to emerge, breaking through the surface of glistening quartz. I am no longer scared. I am no longer small, unseen. I am no longer believing anything you say. I have survived all you have done to me. I am a survivor, hardened like quartz. Resilient, Beautiful.
Lynn Mari, © 2009.
