Sometimes we need to be thankful for our own strength.
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Time seemed to shudder to a stop, rocking her back on my
heels, as soon as the drawer slid open. The mad scrambled search for scissors
forgotten in a heartbeat. Inside the drawer was a scatter of memories, each
their own small world of wonder.
Each something she’d tried to forget.
Almost by some outside force, she reached inside. Folded
papers that echoed words she’d loved. She’d believed them, too, and their
professions of love and apology, faith and trust. Some part of her heart still
burned with the embers of what they’d meant, a part she wished she could douse
with water. Reading them pooled tears in her eyes, long forgotten memories
flaring to life once more. The cinch of pain around her heart tightened down,
sure and steady in a way she’d learned to live with over the past year.
The other objects conjured a myriad of other thoughts. The
photos were the hardest. Smiling faces and far away places. Echoes from a time
when things had been so much easier. But still, it was hard to ignore the pain
that each smile covered in the images. The knowledge of what led up to those
posed scenes on rooftops in other countries. The harsh words. Those photos hid
all of that to the outside world, but today, they rushed back, impossible to
mask.
Did she want to mask them? Sometimes it was so much easier
to remember the better parts. Pretend the photos captured the truth, and not
just the careful façade. But the truth, it always leaked through.
Staring into the drawer, she couldn’t help thinking of the bits
she tried to forget. The nights of screaming fights. Of trying to escape so he
could cool off, only to be chased down, through the house, doors no obstacle to
his anger. Covers ripped back so that 3am fights could be held. Words, only
ever words, but the kind that knifed through her, hitting points only an
intimate partner knew to target.
Always, always, the truth hung heavy on her tongue during
those times. Impossible to say, impossible to acknowledge. The truth only
brought down more anger. And with that anger came fear, tears, and a desperate
feeling of her heart fighting to beat it’s way out of her ribs—a caged bird
that she could never let free.
How had they gotten there? Things had started off so vastly
different. Laughter, love, shared tastes and interests. A common base that felt
promising to build their lives on. The long walks and talks in the desert that
had cemented their relationship into something she’d felt could never break.
Oh, she knew she’d played a role in the downfall. It takes two to tango. Her inability to
trust him, the spontaneous anger, took their toll. Lies and silence resulted.
The heavy weight of the truth a millstone around her neck. She’d done wrong,
been wrong, and hated herself for it all. But how could she have done
differently? Even now she couldn’t see how, though surely it existed. The long
shadow of anger overcast their marriage, obscuring other paths even now.
It’s stranglehold left hand-shaped bruises on her soul.
The rest of the drawers in her desk carried folders of
paperwork for things she should have felt pride in. Success in her job, her
creative work, awards and recognitions for things she’d done. These, too, she’d
kept to herself. Lied about and covered up. Sharing only when she absolutely
had to with the man she’d chosen to spend her life with. Good news was never
received well. The announcement of her promotion at work—something she couldn’t
contain in her excitement—led to hours of screaming. She shuddered at the
memory.
No, not all things had been rosy in the past, no matter how
much she tried to peer at them through rose-colored glass.
Two imperfect people. Sometimes it felt like three: the man
she loved, and the man he turned into when the anger consumed him. A joke they
shared, one she never found terribly funny because it hid the horrible truth:
she feared the angry man. She would have done anything to avoid him. Anything. Lie. Bend over backwards. Turn
into someone she hardly recognized.
None of it ever, ever helped.
The strength to break away had taken forever to grow. She
doubted every move she made. Comments always followed. “Doesn’t she know how
hard it is to find a good man?” Her grandmother. “Dating is horrible! I just
want to spare you that.” Her sister. An uphill battle every step of the way.
Times when she knew her family would rather he were there, not her.
And always, always doubt.
Was she doing the right thing? Maybe it was all just a
product of her imagination? Did she really want this? Could she be alone forever?
Did she want to grow old by herself?
She shut the drawer, closing the memories within it once
again. Someday maybe she’d be strong enough to clean it out. For now, the past
could stay there. Her strength would eventually return.
For now she’d be thankful for the ability to just walk away.
***>She's a Northern California girl and now braves the cold winters in Montana.
>When she's not writing, she's sequencing dead people's DNA.
>She’s also an anthropology professor and loves getting people interested in studying humans.
>If she could have a super-power, it would totally be flying. Which is a little strange, because she's terrified of heights.
Find Meradeth Houston online at:www.MeradethHouston.com, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr,Amazon, Goodreads, and of course her blog!
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