The Wrong Side of the Bread

“The mayonnaise is on the wrong side of the bread,” he growled. “I’m sorry, I will make it again for you.” This was a weekly scenario she was all too familiar with. She would escape to the shower when she could, and contemplate her reasons for living. She felt stuck, trapped, and scared. How could she make it with out him? Where would she go? She didn’t want to be another single mother struggling to make it. She just recently had their daughter, so now that made 4 mouths to feed. Oh no! It’s 9:00pm, he will be here any minute and the kids are still up and there’s toys on the floor! “Y’all please help mommy pick up, we have to hurry before daddy gets here,” she said. Then she would strap her daughter to her chest and plead with her 3 little boys to hurry to get in the bed. His car pulls into the drive way, and She hears his supposed “spiritual music” blasting. He unlocks the door. She listen to his heavy foot steps walk all over the house. As he gets closer to their room, she realizes shes holding her breath. She lays still, while holding their daughter and she closes her eyes. He says nothing. They made it another night.

The next morning came, and while relying on only 3 hours of sleep, she got up to get the kids ready for school. Every morning was like walking on eggshells. She would get the kids ready as quietly as she could not to disturb him. She got the kids in the car, and as they drove away from the house, she would always feel a sigh of relief. Some days after dropping the kids off to school, she would try to steal just five minutes of time alone in the car and pray he didn’t notice she was outside. “How can I keep doing this?” “How did I get here?” These were questions she asked herself everyday. As she sat in her car, she seen the front door open. It was him, and he was mad. “What are you doing sitting out here!” She scrambled for a response that would be acceptable...something he could understand. “I was talking to my brother,”she said. She lied. She lied a lot to avoid him getting angry. “Well hurry up, the baby is awake,” he mumbled and shut the door. She got out of the car, and went to pick up the baby from her crib. Baby girl was breastfeeding and super attached. Most days breastfeeding felt like a beautiful experience. Other days it felt like her soul was being drained and there was no end in sight. “What are you making to eat, he barked?” Doesn’t he see me soaked with leaking breast milk, tired, and on the verge of a breakdown? Why can’t he make himself a bowl of freaking cereal! These were things she wanted to say but would never. He had threatened to kick her out before, but she couldn’t take the chance that he actually would. So she put baby girl in her carrier, and she went to take out the eggs and sausage.

Every day she watched the clock. She watched for it to finally read 1:30 pm. At that time he would leave for work, and she could feel a sense of happiness again. She could let the kids play, dance, and actually be kids. She could breath. The hairs on her neck wouldn’t stand up every time he walked by. He was gone. Even if it was just for a few hours. She could leave and visit her family without rushing back of fear that she was gone too long. Her family could come visit her too, but they rarely did because later they would tell her how depressed and anxious she seemed, and they didn’t want to make matter worse for her. Today her brother came to see her, and seeing his face gave her hope and comfort. When she opened the door he said, “Is the warden home?” They laughed, but the question was a legitimate one. “You can’t go on like this, her brother said. We need to talk.”