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SHORT STORY: one step forward, one back

Friday January 13 2017
fight

The push and shove that followed will rush back to your mind. You will remember the twists and turns and how you got knocked to the table. You will remember the last exhalation before you gave in and the spasm of pain that followed. ILLUSTRATION | JOHN NYAGAH |

The sound of the alarm will stir you from your slumber. You will toss and turn, strain to open your eyes and fall back asleep again. Another alarm will sound and you will force yourself to get out of the bed, cursing the new day.

You will undress, walk to the mirror and stare at the shattering reflection that is your image. You will examine every detail like a specimen under the microscope. You will notice the wrinkles forming on your forehead. You will reach for them and feel the depths they form on your skin.

While you’re still looking at your body, something will startle you. You will stop when you see the scar that reminds you of him — the mark that reminds you of the day when you had another fight that left you sprawled on the linoleum floor, the day when he first forced himself on you.

You will remember your plea.

“Baby please, not now, not today.”

You will remember his words, those sharp piercing words.

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“You are my wife. I cannot be denied.”

The push and shove that followed will rush back to your mind. You will remember the twists and turns and how you got knocked to the table. You will remember the last exhalation before you gave in and the spasm of pain that followed.

You will close your eyes; cover your face with the palm of your hands tightly.

Things will get crazy when you take your hands off your face. You will want to run out of the house and out of your life. Instead you will take your white towel from the bed and carry it into the shower. The warm water will distract you but only for a short while.

You will bathe hurriedly, step out of the shower, dress and try to leave the house as quickly as possible as if escaping the ghosts of your memories. But, before you walk out of the door, you will remember him soothing you after each violent episode. You will remember the countless gifts and bouquets of flowers and exquisite chocolate that came after.

You will go back to your bedroom and stare at him sleeping like a baby. You will watch his eyes open like the petals of a flower in the morning.

“Sweetheart, why are you up so early?” he will ask.

You will look into his eyes.

“Why did we always fight?”

“What?”

“Do you know that you gave me this scar, and this one, and this one?” you tell him as you point to the different scars.

“And how many have you given me?” he’ll ask.

You will see him start to get angry and the knots in your stomach will start to tighten. He will say something hurtful, something that will leave your heart burning with hatred.

******

You will pick up your bag and finally master the courage to leave. You will run through the streets not caring about the stagnant paddles of dirty water, or your choice to wear the brown pair of linen pants that you had promised your friends never to wear again.

You will see a bus coming towards you. As it gets closer you will be attracted by its graffiti artwork. You will jump into the bus despite the booming music that you do not like because it will take you far away from your home.

When you come out of the bus you will stand still, unsure of where to go. You will see a lady up ahead trying to cross the road between two buses. One bus will reverse while the other moves forward, both oblivious of the woman in the middle. You will watch as the buses crush her — her cry for help unheard.

You will want to run and pull her out but instead you will close your eyes. You will stand there, your feet glued to the ground. You will be stirred by the hooting of buses. You will take one step forward then another back and then walk back in the direction you came from.

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