Bowed

Just a tale of freedom gained

"Merry Christmas!" he called as he came down the stairs that morning. I was in the kitchen making coffee and breakfast, the clock on the microwave read 7:32. The aromas of bacon, sausage, eggs, coffee, and pancakes mixed and floated around the room. I set his plate in front of him as he sat down at the island, along with the butter dish, syrup, and silverware. I turned to get his coffee, hoping he would find nothing wrong with the food. I set the mug down in front of him and stepped back, hands folded in front of me. He ate in silence while he read the newspaper. Twenty minutes later he got up off the stool and walked out of the kitchen. I breathed a breath of relief. Holidays were always better. He was happier when family was coming. I heard the television come on in the living room. He was settled so I began to prepare my own breakfast of oatmeal and toast. I put the bread in the toaster and set the water to boil. I started to sip my coffee. "Hey!" he yelled from the living room. Sometimes I think he had forgotten my name, it was always 'hey', 'b***h', or 'woman'. I rushed into the living room.

"Yes, Sir." I said, head down and voice demure.

"The kids will be here soon, turn the tree lights on. Is the food almost done?"

I walked across the room and plugged the tree in. "Yes, Sir. The turkey and ham were done this morning. The deviled eggs were done last night.. The pies and cookies were done yesterday. The stuffing is in the oven right now. The potatoes and rolls will be done before we sit down. The fruit salad is in the fridge."

"Corn? Green beans? Baked beans?" he looked hard at me.

"Yes, Sir. Everything will be ready."

"Good. Now get the f**k out my sight." I bowed and left the room. My toast had popped up and the water was boiling when I walked back into the kitchen. I poured the water into a bowl and added the instant oatmeal. I sat at the island and griped my coffee mug. I silently laughed at myself, disgusted. He hadn't even made me start bowing, I just started one day for no reason and it became habit. He had never said anything so I suppose he thought it was a sign of my further submission. The timer for the stuffing went off and I moved to take it out of the oven. Closing the door with my foot I set the pan on the stove. I heard him try to sneak up behind me. I quickly turned the oven off. I knew this was coming, i'd been dreading it all day. He put his hands on my shoulders and I jumped to make him believe he has startled me. "Smells good."

"Thank you, Sir."

"You've been good this morning, woman." he said, kissing my neck.

"Thank you, Sir." I turned to face him.

"Get upstairs."

"But, Sir, the kids will..."

I was cut off with a sharp slap. "B***h, did I say talk back to me? No, I said to get your f*****g a*s upstairs." He took hold of my arm and dragged me toward the stairs. I started to climb them towards our bedroom. My heart was beating fast and my palms had started to sweat. I walked into the room and stood by the end of the bed. He started to take his clothes off. He like to take my clothes off of me himself so I just stood there and stared at the floor. He walked over to me and shoved me down on the bed. Grabbing the waistband of my pajama pants he yanked them down, taking my panties with them. He straddled me and unbuttoned my top. He got off of me, "Get up." I did as I was told and stood back up. He pulled the shirt off my arms and I was naked before him. He pointed to the bed and I crawled obediently onto it. I closed myself off inside my mind, an act I had become an expert at. I was upset that I wasn't going to be able to wear the dress I had wanted to today. He didn't like me to show my bruises. One more Christmas in a turtleneck sweater and jeans. I hated him. I don't know why I stayed with him. After the kids were gone I had no excuse. Fear of being alone I suppose. I'd never had a job or gone to college. How was I going to support myself alone? I may live in fear but at least I have food and a roof over my head.

He rolled off of me and got up. "Get dressed and get back in the kitchen." I slowly got up, now aware of a soreness throughout my whole body, I went to the closet and got out my sweater and jeans. He left the room and I sat on the edge of the bed. I surveyed myself, looking at all the new bruises. My upper arms, wrists, breasts, thighs, and neck were all purple. I got dressed quickly and made my way downstairs and to the kitchen.

I looked at the clock on the microwave again, 8:43. The kids would be there in about forty five minutes. I drank my cold coffee, ate my cold oatmeal, and threw away the stale toast. Turning the oven back on to preheat I began putting the pre-baked rolls on a baking sheet. All I had to do was peel and dice potatoes, put them on the stove to cook and I would be able to go into the living room to wait for the kids to show up and we could open presents. My son was bringing his wife with him this year. I loved his wife, she was sympathetic. We never actually talked about it but I could see the pity in her eyes. The oven beeped to say it was heated and I slid the rolls in. 9 o'clock. I really didn't want to sit in the living room with him so I sat at the island and peeled to the potatoes as slow as I could, making sure to get every dark spot. I took just as long to dice them and get them on the stove. 9:23. Any minute now and I could rest easy, if only for a little while. I got tea, sweet and unsweetened, out of the fridge and put the pitchers on a serving tray. I had just finished putting cups and a bowl of ice with them when the doorbell rang. I rushed to answer it. Many hugs and kisses later everyone was in the living room. I came in with the drinks and sat next to my sons wife.

"Father." my son nodded to my husband.

"Son." he replied.

The conversation drifted as the children talked among themselves, occasionally asking me a question or two about how we have been. Two daughters and a son. All with spouses. It was nice to have this many people in the house. Made it almost like a home. "Alright. Lets get the presents started." My husband said. I moved over to the tree and began to pass out everything we had. Then the kids all passed out what they had brought. Out of tradition we started with the youngest. and went up. I was last before my husband. After I had opened all of mine and he had started on his I got up and went back to the kitchen to get the rest of the food ready. The rolls were done and the potatoes needed drained and mashed. I set to work opening cans of corn and beans. I carried everything to the dining room and started to set the table with the fine china. When everything was in place I went to the living room and stood in the doorway. "Yes?" my husband asked.

"The food is all ready and set out. When ever ya'll are ready we can eat."

"What time is it?"

"Twelve thirty."

"Very well. Come on ya'll. Lets eat." Everyone got up and we went into the dining room.

"Wow, Mom. This looks great." My oldest daughter said.

"Thank you, dear."

The dinner was pleasant enough. The kids told us about everything that had happened since the last time we had seen them. My youngest daughter and her husband told us that they were pregnant. I hoped it wasn't a girl. I had taken many extra beatings over the course of my daughters childhoods to keep my husband from touching them. I didn't think I could handle doing it for a grand-daughter as well. My son told us that he had gotten a promotion and that they were moving to Seattle. He had always talked about getting out of Texas. I was happy for him. Maybe they could be a normal family up there.

It was a quarter to two and the kids had other Christmas plans. We said our goodbyes and it was just the two of us again. "B***h is pregnant."

"That's your daughter."

"Are you back-talking me, woman?"

"No, Sir. I was just saying that perhaps you don't talk about your daughter like that."

"B***h! I will talk about whomever I want to however I want to. You're lucky I don't beat you into the ground right now. Get your dumb a*s back in that kitchen, where you belong, and don't come out until I say so."

I slunk off to the kitchen, defeated. I don't know what I was thinking speaking up like that. I know better. He was right, I was lucky he didn't beat me right then and there.

One good thing about being exiled to the kitchen is that the alcohol is kept there. I grabbed a bottle of Spirytus vodka that he had picked up on his last trip to New York. I didn't bother with a glass, I just took a swig. It took my breath away. My throat was on fire. It took every ounce of my being not to choke. I grabbed a glass and filled it with water. Downing the whole glass I took a deep breath in. After taking a few moments to catch my breath I filled the glass two thirds full and filled the rest with the vodka. Diluted with water it burned significantly less. Half way through it I was determined that I was leaving my husband. When I downed the last of it I was going to give him a piece of my mind. He was going to know everything I felt and thought.

I went upstairs as quietly as I could and went to my closet. If was going to make my point I needed something I could take off with one hand. I chose a button down blouse and slacks. I slithered into the study and got the loaded gun that my husband kept in his top drawer. I slunk back out and made my way to the living room. I walked in, head held high and stood in front of the television, blocking his view. I held the gun behind my back. "Your fat a*s is blocking my show, b***h. Get the f**k out of here. I told you not to come out of the kitchen until I told you to." I brought the gun out and pointed it at him. "What the f**k are you doing? Give me my damn gun before I have to hurt you." I laughed out loud when he said that. He was going to hurt me regardless of whether I gave him the gun or not. He was going to try anyway.

He stared to get out of his chair. "You sit your god dammed a*s back down right f*****g now." I could hear my words slur as I said them. I didn't care, I was going to say what I wanted to say. "I'm going to tell you some things and you are going to listen. You will not interrupt me. So help me God, if you interrupt me I will shoot you in the f*****g leg." I paused to take a breath and he sat back down in his chair. "Now. I am tired. I am tired of living in fear of you. I am tired of being your f*****g slave. I have stayed with you for thirty f*****g years for a reason I can no longer fathom. I am tired of having to cover myself up because you can't keep your f*****g hands off of me." I took my free hand and began to unbutton my shirt. I slid that arm out and then switched the gun to that hand and slid the other out. I let the blouse fall to the floor and unbuttoned my pants. I let them fall as well. I wanted to take my bra off as well but that would have required me to take the gun off of him and I refused to do that. He closed his eyes and turned his head. "No. You f*****g look at me. If you can't stand to look at your handy work, then maybe you should knock it the f**k off. But you don't have to worry about that. I am leaving you and there is nothing you can do about that. I should have left you years ago. I am going to pack my s**t and leave." I paused. In my head it had sounded like I had more to say than that but I couldn't think of anything else. I just stood there with he gun pointed at him.

"Are you done?"

"I have nothing else to say."

"Then get the f**k out of here. Don't ever come back."

I stood in place for thirty seconds before I realized that he was letting me go. I backed out of the room with the gun still pointed at him. I ran up the stairs, the adrenaline counteracting the booze. I pulled a suitcase out of the top of the closet and began to throw clothes in it. I had everything out of the closet and had started on the drawers when I heard him. He was bounding up the stairs yelling, "You ain't going nowhere, b***h! You belong to me. I own you." He burst into the room. "You better prepare for the biggest beating of your life." I had the gun in my hand again. He had barely gotten the last word out of his mouth before I pulled the trigger. With a flash and a bang my husband fell on the floor, blood flowing out of the bullet hole in his chest. I walked slowly up to him, gun still pointed. He wasn't dead. He was choking on his own blood and looking at me. The fire in his eyes was the scariest thing id ever seen. I kept aim on him and just watched him gasp until he just stopped. I looked at his lifeless body and the anger just poured out of me. I screamed and pulled the trigger again. I shot the other eight slugs into him and just kept pulling the trigger, willing another bullet to come out.

I don't know exactly how much time had passed before the police came barreling in but it was not long enough. I was still screaming when they wrestled the gun from my hands. I must have been a sight standing there in my underclothes with blood spattered on me screaming like a banshee. I couldn't stop screaming. A female officer came in and slapped me. I understand what she was doing, there was no way for them to know that would set me off. I turned my focus on her and pounced. I clawed and punched and kicked while still screaming. Two officers had to restrain me for several minutes before I realized what was going on and stopped. I looked around the room. There were four cops in the room, the two men who restrained me, the woman who slapped me, and a man in a suit, probably a detective. I suddenly became very embarrassed.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" I looked at the man in the suit and nodded my head. "Can you tell me what happened here?"

I nodded at him again, "I shot him."

"I can see that, ma'am. Why?"

"He was going to kill me this time."

"Why?"

"I told him I was leaving him."

"You said 'this time', what does that mean?"

"Look at me! Do you see the bruises? This is just mild. Check my medical records. See what that b*****d has done to me over the last thirty years."

"I understand, ma'am. Can we take you down to the station so we can get a formal statement?"

"Can I clean up first?"

"Sure thing. Just let us get some samples of the blood off of you and you can wash up and get some clothes on."

"Thank you."

Over the course of the next twenty minutes I was swabbed, washed, dressed, and on my way downtown in a police cruiser. I should have been afraid of what would happen to me but I just couldn't find it in me to be anything but happy. After thirty years of cowering, after thirty years of sunglasses and excuses, after thirty years of hospital visits and looks of pity I could hold my head up high. I was worry free. I was no longer bowed. I was alone, but...

I was free.