... Words ...
He is screaming at me and I can't hear a word he is saying. It is his face that holds my attention. It is a contorted face, angry, ruddy, and furious. I try to see the face I have smiled at before, the face that I look to for my answers. It isn't there. Maybe he's a different person now.
Something flies past me. He has thrown something. Tracking the missile with my eyes I don't move. It lands, a bicycle tire pump. It doesn't pierce the invisible shell around me. Think, bright light, think purple tissue paper, think warm blankets, quiet and sleepiness. Think...he won't hurt me. The bicycle pump lands off to my right in front of the television. Sixty minutes is on. Isn't that how the argument started? I shouldn't have said what I wanted to watch. I shouldn't have wanted. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. Bright light, blankets, purple tissue paper. Sleepiness.
Guidance. He's telling me that I interfere with his life. It's because I'm stupid he's telling me. I don't think before I open my mouth. I haven't spoken in half and hour now. My parents raised me like this; he spits out the word 'this'; he wants it out of his mouth before it infects him. I am losing half the words he is trying to give me. So many words, they are rattling around in my head bouncing into one another and cracking into unintelligible pieces. I used to know words. I can't remember if words are tools or weapons. Think he has to stop soon. Think light, blankets, paper, quiet, sleepy.
He goes to the kitchen. The fridge door slams shut. Do angry people drink milk? I won't move. I won't move. If I don't move he can't' see me...won't see me. A knife clangs into the sink, it clangs and skids down into the bottom of the sink. Be quiet. The sink doesn't matter. My foot has fallen asleep and my eyes ache. My eyes are swollen. I think there's a big rock in my throat because I can't swallow properly nor can I remember why I'm sitting on the floor.
There's a Jeep commercial on the television as he walks back into the living room. He crouches down in front of me. I should know that he's just trying to make me a better person. I should go and wash my face. I get up and go to the bathroom, walking oddly, I can't feel my right foot. Light, blanket, paper, quiet, sleep. Locking the bathroom door I take a face cloth from the towel rack. The water is cold. The volume is up high on the television now. I wipe the makeup off of my face and breathe through the damp cloth. Light, paper, sleep.
When I walk back into the living room he's watching television and eating a sandwich. It smells like peanut butter. He smiles at me and I sit beside him in the other chair. He puts his arm around me and fiddles with the collar of my shirt. I am forgiven. I have to think of something to say. He can't think that I'm pouting. Light, sleep. Don't talk about the television, not the kitchen, not the sandwich. Think think, think. School! How was his day at school? Wrong, stupid picked the wrong thing to say. I should know not to pressure him to succeed. Stupid. Think quiet. Think. Quiet. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.
story and words and photos Copyright Charlotte Kinzie 2009.
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