Part II: Above the Waterline
Most days, we don’t speak, and I’m okay with that.
Because I rarely have anything to say to you.
I hear you making your usual morning noises as you get ready for work.
Some of them are unnecessarily loud.
You slam the shower door as if it did something to you.
I don’t get it.
But it’s also not my problem.
It is, however, irritating.
I prefer my mornings quiet.
Peaceful.
You sigh. Loudly.
Ah, the sigh.
You should trademark it at this point.
That sigh
the one that once silenced me and made me
cower
shrink
Has, at this point, become nothing more than background noise
And when I think further about it
It’s also become a burden.
It’s six in the fucking morning, and you won’t shut the fuck up.
That’s something I’ve noticed about you
even when you aren’t speaking,
I want you to shut up
What a concept.
I won’t lie though, sometimes it
reminds me,
brings me back
to a time when that sound
that sigh
terrified me.
It left bruises.
scars.
the kind of scars that don’t fade.
which is fine because now
they live as reminders
that healing is inevitable.
My alarm goes off.
Beeping loudly.
I don’t want to get up.
Not yet.
I hit snooze.
It will go off again in 9 minutes.
The noise will annoy you then, too.
cute.
You roll your eyes.
I close mine
to rest for 9 more minutes.
You see, here’s the thing…
It’s been seven years.
most of them costing me my identity, my strength, my womanhood,
and thousands of dollars in therapy.
Not anymore.
Because about 3 years ago, I made a decision.
I actually remember the exact moment it happened.
Disneyland.
Standing in line for a ride with the kids.
The cotton candy, the breeze, the joy.
Magic everywhere around us.
and then
You got angry about something trivial,
raised your voice,
and
stormed off.
I remember how loud you were.
I remember strangers turning to look.
and
I remember the children.
MY CHILDREN
their little eyes
waterlines filling up
and tears falling from their faces
out of fear.
Fear from you.
And believe it or not, I am grateful that happened
Because at that moment, something clicked
and made me remember that yes, you caused the tears
but I had tissues
which I used to erase that moment from their little faces
and then
I took a big bite out of my cotton candy
And we had a great fucking day.
without you.
what clicked for me was that,
they are owed
safety
a life without fear
one where they are allowed to smile
they are owed
a fucking childhood
even if I am the only one providing it.
And now?
now your noises mean nothing
and your sighs
mean even less
What does remain, though, are these tiny little lives
who are forced to shrink
simply because you’re around
They’re afraid of you.
and
they think it’s their fault when you’re angry.
silencing themselves whenever you enter a room
the way I once did.
I see their waterlines rise
and the tears fall.
The tears of our own children
MY
CHILDREN
And I know that even if you were submerged
Drowning in the very tears you caused them
lungs burning, mouth full
it still wouldn’t matter.
Nothing would change.
You selfish fucking prick.
So, for now, I do damage control.
I remind them that they didn’t do anything wrong
I’ll take them into another room or
out for ice cream.
But sometimes I stay…
I stay so they can see you and witness
my lack of fear
and be reassured that they don’t need to be afraid, either.
That no matter what game you are playing here
you are playing it only with yourself
And you…
my dear husband
Are losing.
Right now, though, in this moment, I’m still in bed.
Alarm about to go off, once again
And suddenly I am reminded that I have a question
One that only you can answer…
Before I ask it, though, I brace myself
Not because I need courage or bravery
but because
It’s 6:17 on a Wednesday, and I don’t want to deal with your bullshit.
In this case, I have no choice, so I roll over and ask:
“Can you pick the kids up from school today?”
You say,
“Fine,”
and slam the door behind you.
Not 5 minutes go by before I hear you scream downstairs
“GOD FUCKING DAMNIT.”
‘Shit, I forgot to buy creamer yesterday.’
I hold my breath.
Hold…
Hold…
Hold…
My eyes start to well up, my waterlines rising
not out of fear.
Out of rage.
Because I know that your little ‘display’
Your booming, slamming, and raised volume are what my children are waking up to this morning.
afraid
in bed
wondering what they did wrong
And
I won’t allow that.
not anymore.
You see,
because there is a reason…
a reason why I asked you to pick them up today.
Not because of book club or yoga.
or buying creamer at the grocery store.
no no….
Today
at 3:30pm
I have an appointment
with a lawyer.
Because
I will be fucking damned
if my children grow up in a home
where their eyes well up with tears
the way mine once did.
Whenever I was with you.