A DIFFERENT DAY

Marcela Iglesias

 

This cold June morning, I broke down completely. What I had feared most finally happened: I no longer wanted to go to work. Work had been my escape, my way out of the icy, hostile environment in which my life unfolded. But today, I did not even feel like doing that anymore.

Sitting on that sofa, without even the energy to go get something to keep warm despite the cold, the only thing I wanted was to stop thinking.

This is what I asked for. I spent seven years of my life praying for his conversion, begging, praying, imploring. And God granted it to me. But what for? Why? Was it a test of faith that I failed?

I had always believed I had a good marriage. A stable and happy home. An example to our loved ones. That was why I could not understand why I felt like one of the walking dead. It did not make sense. Or did it? The past few years have gone from bad to hellish.

“What are you doing there, sprawled out like a New Year’s dummy? Get up already. Don’t you have anything useful to do?”

Suddenly his insults pulled me out of my thoughts. It was my husband who, like every morning for the past few years, began the day with some vulgarity.

“I feel sick”, I said to him, “I don’t think I’m going to work today.”

“Suit yourself, but I DO-HAVE to work, so you and your children can stuff your faces, you filthy fat cow. Hurry up. Serve me breakfast.”

I had never dared answer back to his insults, but that morning was different.

“Well then, serve yourself. Everything you need is in the kitchen.”

And I met his eyes. He looked at me defiantly and asked,

“You’re not going to serve me breakfast?”

“I told you I feel sick, serve yourself”, I replied without lowering my gaze, “you have two hands, don’t you?”

A voice in my head sprang to life.

Good, good. Good answer. Don’t give him satisfaction, don’t fall for his provocation. He doesn’t command you. Stay seated.

But another voice replied...

No, what if he keeps yelling at us? I’m scared. He’s getting more aggressive every time.

It doesn’t matter if he yells, don’t get up!

No! We’d better do what he says. Look at his face, he’s getting furious...

No! Don’t get up.

He began moving toward me slowly, holding my gaze, threatening. When he stood in front of me, he crouched down and grabbed my face with his left hand, squeezing my cheeks hard enough to cause a slight pain.

“Are you going to serve me breakfast?” he said in an imperious tone, almost through clenched teeth.

The voices in my head started up again.

See? I told you he was going to get aggressive. I’m scared; it hurts. I want him to let go of my face.

Noooo! Don’t let him. Slap his hand away so he’ll let go.

As if propelled by a spring, I swung my right arm and struck the hand that was gripping my face, freeing myself.

What did you do? He’s going to hit us again. What did you do?

I began to tremble uncontrollably. Really, what had I done?

It’s okay, calm down, it’s okay. Don’t be afraid. Looking at his face, he’s bewildered. Get up and lock yourself in the bathroom. Take advantage of it.

And in fact, he was very surprised. In those eternal seconds, before he reacted, I stood up and ran for the bathroom. Suddenly I felt a painful yank. He had grabbed me by the hair as I tried to flee.

“I told you to serve me breakfast!”

As he said it, he tightened his grip on my hair and dragged me by force into the kitchen.

I’m scared, I’m scared. He’s going to do something bad for us. Like the other times.

Calm down! Don’t struggle. Make him think you’re intimidated so he’ll let go.

But a third voice said:

Open the drawer, the knife is there. Kill him. Enough is enough.

No, please, think of the children, I’m scared.

Kill him.

I’m scared, the children.

Kill him.

Enough! For today, just try to get him to let go without hurting you too much. We’re going to kill him, but we must plan it well.

I stopped struggling so he would release my hair and adopted a submissive attitude. Thick tears slid down my cheeks, burning my skin.

“I’ll do it now, I’ll do it now. Go take your shower. When you come out, it’ll be ready.”

“You’d better, you useless, fat cow.” And after jerking my head, he let me go. “I’ve got a little time, I’m going to soak in the tub and relax. You put me in a foul mood. Witch.”

When he left, the struggle in my head flared up again.

He’s going to get in the tub. Take advantage of it!

I told you, it hurt, it hurt so much. Why do you make him get like this?

Kill him.

We must take advantage of the fact that he’s in the tub. When he relaxes, he closes his eyes.

I began making breakfast. Thank God the children were on a week’s vacation and were staying with my sister. I did not like them seeing those scenes. I kept crying, quietly.

Kill him. Take the knife. Go in with the excuse of bringing him towels. Stick it in his throat.

Let’s think. Let’s go to the bathroom first and see if he’s in the tub.

Please, let’s just make breakfast. I don’t want him to get angry.

I do not understand what drove me to obey the voices and head for the bathroom. I went in quietly. He really was in the tub, his eyes closed. His back to the door.

This is your chance. Go get the knife.

Patience.

Just finish breakfast, please.

As if he had heard them, he turned around and said to me:

“Planning how to kill me?”

I almost fainted.

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, it was a joke. What are you doing standing there like an idiot? Looking for ‘your reward’? Not today. You behaved badly.”

“I came to see if you had towels.”

“Ah, there aren’t any, incompetent. Bring some quickly, I’m getting out soon.”

“I’ll bring them right away.”

As I headed toward the laundry room to look for clean towels, the voices argued in my head.

With the knife. Grab him from behind and cut his jugular.

A blow would be better.

Pour liquid soap on the floor so he slips and cracks his head.

Nooo, the children!

They’re with your sister. For their own sake you have to do it.

Kill him!

Yes, it’s true. The children and I are afraid. I don’t want us to be afraid anymore. Fear is horrible.

At last, now you’re beginning to understand.

Luckily, there were clean towels. I did not want to imagine what would have happened if I had brought him dirty or damp ones. I took two that were on top of the pile of clean laundry I had not folded in days.

“Hey, the hair dryer”, I said out loud, “I hadn’t seen it in a while. Right, I left it here the day I took the children to my sister’s.”

I picked it up along with the towels to go put it back in its place in the bathroom.

While he gets dressed, I thought, I’ll finish making breakfast. Let him leave quickly so I can have some peace.

I went into the bathroom. He still had his eyes closed. It seemed to me that he was asleep. I placed the towels in his favorite spot, beside the tub.

As I was leaving, I remembered the hair dryer I was carrying in my hand and went back to put it in its place. I plugged it into its socket, but I did not notice that my leg had gotten tangled in the cord. I almost fell, and in the process, I yanked the dryer, which dropped into the tub.

We won’t be afraid anymore...

Marcela Iglesias was born in San Salvador on March 12, 1972. Due to the civil war in her country, she emigrated to Ecuador, where she has lived since 1988. A mathematics teacher since the age of 13, she always had a desire to write. Now she considers herself a writer in progress.