[I suppose this piece somehow wells up from my dark side. I also know an angry crazy person, impossible to live with, and I have experienced first hand having been driven to extreme frustration, although I have never gone this far unimaginatively. And it puts out an imagined but no less palpable reality, a thing to be witnessed and at some level understood. Good only exists, I'd pontificate, because evil does . . . such is the dualism of every thing.
From the view of imaginative variations to come at what is, this piece offers some interesting possibilities based in part on intentional ambiguities. For example, where would this question lead one: Grounded in what is said and only that, what is the relationship between the speaker and you (mentioned twice)? and the man she lived with for eight (or more) years? Ask further questions like these, and you will get additional tentative realities, I imagine. Leading to . . . an open and comprehensive (integral?) conclusion to bank for future decision/action.]
I've told this before, but I can tell it again if you like. It doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. If I had it to do over, I would. Even if things was worse than now. This is nothing compared to living with him. I didn't actually live with him. I lived at his mercy. And that finally got me. I mean I realized it. I only lived because he let me. He watched. I was under his thumb. Every minute of every day. My only safe place was the bathroom. He wouldn't come in there, trained he was, like that. But he would bang on the door if I was in there too long, longer than I should, "to take care of normal business," he said. He was like a dog, and angry. Oh, the anger. Anger and meanness. I took it for as long as I could. I think eight years is long enough. After I moved back into the house, it started. I should have left him then when it began to get bad, before even that. My sister warned me. I don't remember the first time, but early on. She finally said, "Bash the bastard in the head. The world'll be better without him." I finally got the message, but bashing seemed so brutal, or something. The word. Cruel, I guess. She said, "Show no mercy." Like him when it comes right down to it. But in the end, I got pretty angry, pretty desperate. Bash. Yes, that is what I did. Skull caved right in. I guess almost anything does with a with a hammer. "Lucky hit for a girl," he'd have said. He always said stuff like that. But this time he didn't. He can't. At that point I didn't care about nothing. Not me, not him, not my sister, not mom, not what would happen, not if he lived like a vegetable from then on or just died right there and then. Nothing. And I'm happy now. I was pretty shocked at first, but now I'm OK. At least sort of peaceful. This place is heaven compared to our old dump. Plus there's heat and TV, and it's clean. I couldn't even tidy up, he had me so scared. Like a mouse or something I was. No, he was this big cat and I felt like this tiny helpless thing. Yes, maybe a mouse. I just wanted to get away from him. Hide in the corner. But I couldn't after I decided to come back. He was always there. Always. Watched me. Talking. Never let up. My sister warned me. I guess I lost days, months. Probably most of those years. I had nothing else but to do what he said and try to avoid those hands when he got riled about something. He'd hold his arms straight down and his hands would begin to make those fists. I'd freeze up, stop whatever I was doing. Something silly. Nothing, really. I lost years, and I don't even remember stuff. It is like a blur to me. I remember when it started and when it ended, but in between? It's all fuzzy. Like his head. Like it was. He deserved it. The judge didn't think so, and his friends, those people who'd come around now and again. But I know. Yes, I know. And my sister. No one would believe me about her. They said she didn't even exist. Imagine. Well, check it out. Check my family tree, or whatever you do. I am sure to this day I know where she is, but no one cares. No one even asked. "Bash," he said. She said, "Bash away," and he did. Took her out the back door and didn't come back for a long time. Told me to stay right there. Last thing I heard for a long time was that screen door bang. I still hear it if I think about it, which I don't. Well, after seeing that, I was so scared. Like frozen I was. I know where she is. In a better place. "But sometimes when you open your mouth, that's what happens." He said life was like that. "No freedom of speech 'round here," he said. I didn't know what he was talking about. But now I do. I can say whatever I want to here. Even talk to you. I don't have to be quiet. I am not a mouse. It is better than living like that. And my sister. I am sure she knows. She is in a better place. I am sorry she's not here, but this place--she wouldn't like it. She with the short happy life. Me, I hope I have a long life. Mostly not happy so far, even before his nap--I couldn't even move, he'd get so angry. Said I was always disturbing him, makin' noise and such. But I was very quiet. Maybe I'll be OK, if this is what I got comin'. Who knows? They're gone and I'm here. And it ain't so bad. Only sometimes, when the others get to yelling and making noise, like they are crazy or angry or something. Or when those friends of his come round. But all the doors keep them away. I am safe. And he's not here to bother me. Mercy. Mercy. That's what there is sometimes in this world. But the good kind, the kind where nobody really bothers you much. Yep, him and my sister gone. Just me. I wonder what Mom thinks of all this. She probably saw it all, and she saw it all comin'. I think in some way she can rest in peace now. In good mercy, I guess you could say.
