Continued from Marrowbone :
We got justification for wealth and greed:
Amber waves of grain and bathtub speed.
Now we even got Starbucks – What else you need? – James McMurtry ‘Out Here in the Middle’
If he just hits me one more time I’m going to leave. Just one more time.
It’s my mantra. I’ve been saying it for five years. He doesn’t hit me anymore, not really. Our first neighbor saw me before I put the makeup on one day and called the cops the next time she heard yelling. They came in while my nose was still bleeding and took him away to sober up. No charges, but it convinced him that black eyes and nosebleeds were bad news.
Now he pinches.
I reach down and massage the sore area above my hip, right where the belt hits. My “chub”, he calls it, when he’s being cute about it. My “fat useless ass” when he’s not. It doesn’t bruise up like other places. You would think that pinching would kill the nerves or stop hurting eventually, but it doesn’t. It hurts more every time. But pinching isn’t hitting and the promise I made myself says hitting.
Maybe he’ll die. Fall into a machine at work and die.
The upside of the pinching is less makeup. It’s cheaper, no more clogged pores! I’ve gotten a little tan on my face now, it’s pretty. I have lots of sundresses so I don’t have to wear a belt.
My fat ass will need the room.
I spend most of the day when he’s at work outside. I trim the front yard, I do the hedges, the edging. I have a little spot picked out in the back yard where I like to lay down and pretend I’m dead. I think I’d like to be buried out here, underneath the pecan tree, in the sugar sumac. I think I’m going to plant some lillies.
I am getting my dress all dirty again. Need to change before he gets back.
I don’t think the neighbors would complain, as long as I kept the front yard clean. That seems to be pretty important to them. We got a $10 fine for letting some oranges sit under the tree out front for a week. I clean them up first thing in the morning now.
There was blood in my pee for a week. He just kept yelling about the fine and he wouldn’t stop and I thought he would kill me. I hoped he would just kill me.
A little more time laying out under the sumac and then it’s three and I guess I better start on dinner. If it’s not ready to go when he gets home he gets started drinking, and then sometimes we don’t eat at all, we get started on the entertainment early. If I can get him fed, he’ll probably just go to sleep, and then I can watch some TV with the sound off.
I can’t even look into the bathroom. It’s still there on the counter where I dropped it, stupid tampered with piece of shit.
Maybe a pork roast! Something a little sweet. Brown sugar and mustard, got those. Need to get a shoulder. Got some red potatoes and asparagus and for the love of Christ make sure we have beer otherwise he’ll go straight for the liquor cabinet.
I just can’t take that right now not right now. I’ll buy another test while I’m there because this one was messed up. They’re all wrong. God it can’t be right.
I grab my coat and some quarters from the change jar. I make sure the porch light is on. I might make the 3:08 if I jog.
I pick up the fucking liying little stick and the worthless broken tampered with box and the receipt and stuff them in the bottom of my purse.
I just had the BEST IDEA! I should get some ice cream, we’ll have banana splits for dessert.