Intent

“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and a rage the likes of you which you would not believe.  If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other ” Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein 

I have talked about things done to me and around me. 

Very little about what I did or didn’t do in response. 

So,  confession to follow. Good for the soul right? 

The week/month/year leading up to that night had been stressful.  

If you have never lived on the south side of hell no amount of prose will make it clear.

He was high,  daily,  hourly.  

Days would go by, and life would move around me, and my son would ask for Daddy. And the landlord would ask for rent and the sun would rise.

I was in a constant state of split minds, guilt shadowing both pieces of my heart. The relief felt from knowing he was home and safe competed daily with knowledge that he was gone and I may sleep in peace. Plagued by worry that the next set of lights would be notification of arrest or death. 

I knew in my head that we were in deep. My heart didnt want to look at the truth. 

He had just dropped out of an out-patient rehab for the cocaine use. He had just threatened me with a knife because I paid the gas bill with money he had stashed. 

So many things lead up to it. 

There was a fall storm, and a leak in the old tin roof. He left on a Tuesday, to get a tarp. By Saturday I had gone with his Dad searching places we thought he may have been. And just happened on the 7mm rifle and 30.30 his Dad recognized as his at the pawn shop. 

I cried while his Dad bought them back. 

Sunday night the house was empty except for me and my crazy. Grandma in control of little boys.

I parked the car around back, turned out all the lights and just watched the road. Hours passed like this. Then I saw the headlight. 

I picked up our phone, hit speed dial before he ever rolled to a stop, his Dad answered, first ring. 

All I said was “He is here.” My voice must have sounded strange, because the old man just got up, grabbed his keys and walked out the door, racing me, with neither one of us knowing it yet. His parents lived 15 mins away, 12 if you ignore the curves. 

My recollection of it is sharp, but my perception has to be altered somehow, I am missing time. Let me explain.  I hung up the phone,  walked through the kitchen and out of the back door, grabbing the 7mm long rifle without a thought. 

Down three steps and around the corner.  He saw me. He saw a question before I could speak, or maybe just out of reflex he started to lie. Either body language or the gun made him stop.  He turns to me, just says “what.” I raised the rifle to my shoulder. He laughed “What? Gonna shoot me with my own gun?” I chambered a round and shot. 

His Dad had second degree burns across the palm,  with one full thickness burn on his thumb. I never saw his truck pull up beside me,  never heard the engine, never saw his headlights,  which had to have spotlighted me perfectly.  

I pulled the trigger with the intent of murdering this man who had hurt me. Who had betrayed me. 

His Dad,  had jumped from his vehicle,  not turning it off and grabbed the barrel of the gun and swung it up. I shot above the tree line. Into a open field. 

When the rest of my senses returned,  I could hear the truck running, the open door chime, the echo of the rifle. I could see his Dad and him yelling but the words didn’t process.  

I stood still,  watched his brother and wife pull up. Her worried face as she walked past the others and straight to me. She turned me away and spoke softly, I don’t know what she said.  

I saw her eyes widen, looking over my shoulder and I ran.  I felt his hand brush my shirt and miss. Like some sort of deranged race he chased me twice around the house. His Dad and Brother, slack jawwed at the scene.  I thought,  for a moment,  they have to see now. They can’t deny it in front of them. 

I was yanked off balance by my hair (please make note, put your hair up before you enter a life or death struggle, it can and will be used against you) as I scrambled away I saw my son’s t-ball bat. I also saw that no one was rushing to save me. I gripped the bat and swung, left leg, knee cap. He dropped, right upper arm and chest.  He stayed down. 

My sister in law walked up and took the bat. His Dad kicked him in his good leg and told him to get in the truck. She took me back inside.  Asked if I have been sleeping,  have I been eating?  

I said that he was going to kill me. She ignored it. I heard the heater turn on, I heard his Dad’s truck drive away.  I heard her make a coke I wouldn’t drink, and run water on a cloth to press on my head. I fell asleep with my head on her lap and woke alone in daylight.  Not half convinced of dreaming. Except the gun and bat lay beside me.  

Days would go by,  and life would move around me, and my son would ask for Daddy,  and the power bill would come due, and the sun would rise.  

And I would try to figure out how his father had been there in time,  and what had broken in my brain,  and what happens next. 

He came home again,  tired and hadn’t eaten or bathed in days.  He was worn down by his addiction, the real walking dead. He spoke about treatment,  and about making this work and love and forever.  

Seven months later,  he stabbed me and left me for dead.