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The few times I couldn’t help it and snapped back never ended well for me.
Just behave yourself and it won’t be a problem.
My mother’s voice, brought on by that awful customer, rings around in my head.
Mom was always shoveling the blame for Arthur’s behavior onto my shoulders. Always telling me “if only you’dthis”,or “if you’d act likethat”… But I was a kid. An innocent kid with no way to defend myself from his bullying. And we both knew that no matter how perfectly I behaved, it wouldn’t make a difference. When he was in one of his moods, he’d hit me whether I did something to bother him or not.
Unconsciously, one of my hands moves up to gently rub the front of my neck.
I’ve had stitches. Broke my arm that one time. All things thatphysicallyhurt more than the times he put his hands around my throat. But somehow that one was the worst.
Because when he choked me, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about the fear. The fear that maybe he’d go too far. Squeeze a little too hard.
My lips press together, and I force myself to breathe through the memories.
The worst part was the fear I felt when I sawthatlook in his eyes. The one that said he knew just how close he was to silencing me, once and for all. And that he was considering it.
I can almost feel the cold press of his god-awful ring against my neck.
I try not to think about it, any of it, but I’m almost certain he would’ve killed me if we hadn’t been so poor. Arthur always seemed to find a way out of trouble, but he didn’t have the sort of money a person would need to bribe the police to look the other way over a murder.
On my darkest days, there’s a part of me that wishes he would’ve. To end my misery, and add to his. Of course, I wouldn’t be around to enjoy his punishment, but I’d’ve died happy knowing he’d rot in prison.
It’s my biggest regret, that he gets to live a normal life. He might not be a happy person, but he’s free. He has control over his days. And he doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve to breathe after what he said––what caused me to finally run away, two days before my eighteenth birthday.
* * *
“Wait! Please!”I hike my purse higher on my shoulder. “This is my stop!”
The bus is overly crowded today, a by-product of the shitty weather, and I was on the verge of nodding off when the person next to me jabbed their elbow into my ribs, jolting me awake. It’s a good thing they did, because this terrible day would’ve been made even worse if I missed my stop entirely.
“Sorry. Excuse me.” I mutter my apologies as I shuffle sideways up the aisle.
I’ve come to terms with my size long ago. It’s just who I am. Wide hips, thick thighs… it is what it is. It’s fine. And I usually don’t care. But right now, when the bus driver is already glaring at me through the overhead mirror, I wish I could just sprint out of here. But narrow aisles, full of elbows, and wide hips don’t mix.
“Sorry,” I apologize one last time as I reach the front.
The driver doesn’t reply, only makes a show of opening the door.
A gust of damp wind flies up the steps, sending the sides of my coat flapping, like some sort of dumpy Marilyn Monroe skit.
God, I’m so over this day.
I grip the handrail tightly as I take the final step off the bus and onto the sidewalk. And I’m glad I did, because I nearly lose my balance when my sneaker makes contact with the thin slippery layer of slush covering the curb.
My hand has barely passed the threshold when the door snaps shut behind me and the bus speeds away.
“Jerk,” I grumble, pulling the sides of my coat together.
I should’ve zipped up before I left Twin’s, but I was rushing. Which I’ll blame on that bitchy customer, because it was her leftover caffeinated cup of coffee that I accidentally bumped over when I was putting on said coat. But now, with half a block left between me and home, I’m not pausing for anything. Cold wind be damned.
Another gust of wind has me tucking my chin to my chest and squinting my eyes. This wintery mix of snow and rain is early, even for Minnesota. The weight of the precipitation is going to knock more leaves off of the trees and that makes me sad. Because fall is my favorite season and a premature end to it will surely bring on a bout of seasonal depression.
With my head down, I don’t notice the small branch on the sidewalk until the toe of my right shoe catches on it.
I try to stop myself from falling. I really do. But I’m too slow.
A cry of alarm leaves my lips as I tip forward.
