His silence would arrive sharp and abrupt, interrupting a joke, or what seemed to be a good day. It would sulk around for days, giving only piercing glares of hate-filled rage as the demons in his head whispered and taunted, and I struggled to remember what I had done wrong. Then, the silence would end:
He says: “I wish I never got married. I could’ve slept with a lot of women.”
(Does he not remember who he’s speaking to: me, his wife?)
He promises: “I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
(Thank God there’s no guilt-gifts anymore, humiliating me with
reminders.)
He says: “Boys, your mother would rather be at work than home with you.”
(I was supposed to stay home with them- another of your failed
promises. Yet what home would we have without a roof over our heads? )
He accuses: “Why did he talk to you? You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you!”
(He’s my boss. We have to speak to each other. Don’t worry. I’ll find
another job.)
He screams: “You pay more attention to the kids than you do to me!”
(They’re my children, and I don’t get to see them much anymore.)
He pleads: “Let’s have another baby.”
(Maybe I’m the one who’s going crazy.)
He declares: “All women cheat. Just be sure you don’t bring anyone home tonight.”
(This is what it feels like to be ‘hit by a ton of bricks’. I can’t breathe.)
He sneers: “You are cold hearted. You can’t give me another chance?”
(Five years of chances. I can’t remember the second one, blown like
all the others.)
He says: “You make me sound like a monster. You’re lucky I don’t hit you like the rest of the men in my family do.”
(I think he’s comparing himself to the wrong spectrum of men.)
He cries: “You’re the love of my life! Don’t leave me.”
(This is not love.)
He attacks: “If you leave me, you’ll be alone. You’ll never find someone as good as me!”
(Being ‘alone’ does not sound bad.)
Of Words and Writing 