The Sky Grows Grey ~ Chapter 2

In May, a doctor told me I would never be able to have children. He gave me an ultrasound and showed me that my tubes were blocked. This news took me down a path I never thought I would be on. Before this news, I was on a good path, a righteous path. I dreamed of joining the Peace Corps, and dedicating my life to helping those less fortunate. I was a straight A student in school, and a fashion model with the whole world ahead of me. I graduated high school just the year before in the top ten of a class of over five hundred students. I also had entered and graduated from a trade school, again in the top of my class. I had just begun working as a computer programmer when I received the news.

How had this happened? What had I done? The doctor had told me that the child I had lost just the year before had caused the severe scarring, which blocked my tubes, and he told me that I would never be a mom. I hated the doctor for his words each of which stung as they escaped from his mouth. I hated his cold bedside manner that had never bothered me before. I hated that he quickly left the room as the tears welled up in my eyes. I hated that he was not sympathetic to my misery. There was no, “I’m sorry” or comforting words. When the doctor walked away, he took my hope with him. At first, I was stunned. Now I know, it must have been shock.

As I sat alone in the brightly lit examiner's room that smelled strongly of disinfectant, I began to lose myself. The hot tears spilled from my eyes, and I did not cry the way most grown people cry. Every sob that shook my small frail body rattled the paper cover of the examining table, and it took a moment for me to realize the wailing ringing in my ears came from me. I bawled as if I were a baby starving for sustenance, and the tears streamed down my face dampening my paper gown. I was dying; I could feel it. It felt as if I were being ripped in two, and I waited for my heart to stop. But, it didn’t stop, the beating didn’t slow, and the blood kept coursing through my veins. My stomach ached, and I began to feel like I was going to be sick. The dry heaves came in quick succession as the retching sound from my throat echoed in the tiny room. My head fogged, and I panicked as I suddenly began to feel closed in.

It was then that I gave up; it was then that I stopped to care. All I had wanted from the time I could first remember was to be a mom. All of my dreams came down to being a mother. Everything I had worked for, everything I had done was based upon my dream to be a mother. I was only eighteen and told I cannot be a mom, why? I didn’t understand why God had done this to me. Was it because I allowed the man that I had married to cause me to loose my child? I felt so much guilt and was in so much pain. My son would have already been born, had it not been for him. He would have been six months old when I found out. Daniel was the name I had chosen for my son; he would have been named for both of his grandfathers, for his father, and for his great uncle.

The shuddering of my sobs began to ease, and I pulled myself up from my bent position over the garbage can. I calmed and shivered as the coldness of the floor sent a chill up my spine. I quickly ripped the paper gown from my body and dressed. I washed the salty trails left by the tears from my face and left the room. The anger deep inside me boiled my blood, my heart pounded, and my head swooned. For the first time in my life, I knew what it meant to hate. I knew what real pain was and how it felt to want vengeance.

However, I also knew if I told him I could no longer be with him, I, too, would die. He had threatened that the failure to remain within his tyrannical grasp would mean the loss of my life. The thought was often intriguing, but I stayed on my path. I had to find a way out, and for a while, I spiraled into the deepest depression anyone could know. I was numb and devoid of any kind or compassionate emotion. The anger he had for me grew, but I didn’t care.

One night, I returned from work at my usual time, midnight. The walk home had been long and cold. Dogs awoke from their slumber as I passed their masters’ fences as I kicked the rocks in my path. I had not had a good night at work. For a matter-of-fact, I had no good days or nights left since the doctor broke the news to me. When I arrived home, the man who promised to be my guardian, my protector, and my love was waiting up for me. He wanted nothing more than for me to bow down before him and practice fellatio on him. Being tired from work and because I no longer cared what happened, I refused. Because of the three jobs I had, I was more than exhausted. He tried to force himself on me as I sat on the toilet, and I fought him off.

At this point, my lover, my keeper, my tyrant, grabbed me by the neck with one of his massive hands. He pulled me up far above the floor, and my feet were kicking violently as I tried to find the ground beneath me. I couldn’t. As he held tightly to my neck, I gasped for air. My fingernails were ripping at the flesh on his large wrists, but my efforts were futile. My tugging and pulling did not faze him. However, his grip tightened around my neck, and he slammed my head into the white tile wall behind me. I heard the tile crack from the forceful blow, and my world turned black.

On the bed, I awoke under the pressure of his body. From the spot where I lay, I could see high on the wall the cracked tiles and a trail of blood mixed with long strands of hair that stopped just before the baseboard in the bathroom. His bony knees dug into the smooth white flesh of the underside of my upper arm where they were pinning me down and bruising me, and his ankles were locked across my pelvis stopping any and all movement of my torso. He alternated fists as he pounded one blow after another into each smooth, soft cheek. The smell of cheap scotch invaded the air I breathed in, which was released from his grunts and pants. I began to gasp for breathable air, and still, I did not scream or cry, for I had been here many before. My mind drifted from me as I took on the blows, just as I was accustomed to. My eyes were fixated on the crimson streaks, which had rolled down the cracked white tile in the next room. The contrast between the white and red reminded me of bloodstains on the white sheets after I lost my son, and I remembered that night.

...My husband and I were taking our normal trip to the mall. He loved to spend the money I made on t-shirts and caps from his favorite professional basketball team, the Celtics. He had found one cap that was priced at thirty-six dollars, so he said that we must buy the cap. I knew we didn’t have that kind of money to spend on a cap. We were on our own now and had bills to pay. My check from the bank was shorter than usual because I had an appointment with the doctor that took more than half of the day. I had been ecstatic all day after hearing the heartbeat of my son. The doctor had said that he was a strong one and the tests showed my son would be healthy.

I walked out of the store and did not give him the money for the cap. I felt safe in that large mall full of people of all walks of life and all ages. This false sense of safety had awarded me with a sense of confidence I had not found in private since I moved in with him over a year ago. I heard him call out to me as I made my way to the fountain in the center of the mall. The sun shone in from the skylight above and the flowers in the brown smooth brick planter boxes around the fountain were in bloom. The air was sweet with the smell of jasmine and honeysuckle. The water sparkled, and the refracted colors danced across the change down in the bottom of the pool of water.

I bent down to gain a better view of the Koi as they as they swam by. Their orange, white, and black scales caught the light and glimmered. For a second, I found peace as I floated back to my memories of the bait tank at my grandmother’s grocery store. Some of the Koi in the bait tank were too clever to be caught by the nets as the fishermen swept them about. They grew big and beautiful, so Grandma would have me fish them out with the bigger nets, put them in a bucket, and take them to the pond out behind her house. I would dump the bucket full of the large Koi in the pond so they could gain the freedom they earned from being far too clever. I dipped my fingertips down in the fountain and giggled as the smaller Koi nibbled on my fingertips.

Suddenly, my body jerked forward and my head was pushed under the water. My belly was flattened up against the smooth, cold brick, and my son began to kick against the pressure upon his tiny body. I put my hands up above my head and tried to pull the hand that held me under the water off of me. My screams muffled by the water, and I took water into my lungs with every breath. He yanked my head up as quickly as he shoved it down into the crystal clear water. I coughed as he loosed his grasp on me, spewing up the bitter water. My son jerked around in my stomach, and I imagined he was crying from being hurt. My thin blue cotton maternity shirt did little to hide the movement in my tender belly.

Before he could say a word, I rushed down the hallway. The water dripping down my long brown curls began to soak my shirt, and my bra could be seen through the thin fabric. The onlookers watched but did not make a move toward my massive husband. Shouts were echoing in the hall, and I knew he was not far behind. Suddenly, my right hand was grabbed, and he squeezed with all of his might. I fell to my knees and let out a loud scream as I heard the bones in my hand pop and crack. My stomach became uneasy, and I could not hold the vomit in. Under his breath I heard him say, “You are causing a scene. Get out of the fucking floor, so we can leave.” The men that had followed him from the fountain were still shrieking as they began to catch up to us. I so badly wanted to remain in the floor so they could catch him and hurt him. However, I knew that would only make matters worse for my son and me. I pulled myself up from the floor by grabbing on to the rail of the handicap ramp we were positioned on. We quickly made our exit out the door, and I was running as he dragged me behind to our mini pick-up.

That night, I went to bed bruised and battered after being thrown out of the moving vehicle. The car that followed was going far too fast to fully stop. It only threw me about six feet, but it felt more like a thousand. The gravel buried itself deep beneath my skin as I tumbled across the asphalt. When I landed, it was hard and on my back, and the wind escaped my lungs. The doctor said I was lucky; I only had road rash and a few bruises. He told me I shouldn't jump out of cars on the busy freeway. I thought to myself, "So that’s what he told them," but I knew better than to correct him and tell the truth. Despite the blue and purple bruises on my abdomen, the doctor said the baby's heartbeat sounded fine and sent me home.

Before we left, the doctor gave my predator instructions to observe me. I was wheeled out to the small pickup, and the nurse helped me into my seat. I couldn’t recall making it home. I awoke in my own bed with the worst cramps my body had ever experienced. It felt as if someone had jabbed a hot knife in my abdomen and were twisting and pulling my insides out. I grabbed my belly and began to cry, "No, no, no! Not my baby, no!" I stumbled for the bathroom and turned on the light. A trail of blood trickled down my leg, and a large red stain lay upon the sheets. The world instantly went black...

Again, my blood began to boil, my heart pounded, and my head swooned. As I grew angry my swollen eyes narrowed, and I turned my face to him. I struggled to fight, and somehow, I gathered the strength to pull my knees up. As hard as I could, I rammed both toward my chest. Had it not been for my perfect aim, who knows what my fate would have been. He tumbled off of the edge of the bed and made a loud thud the moment that he crashed onto the floor.

As he did, I scrambled to the light of the cramped efficiency apartment. I hit the switch, and he grabbed my left ankle with his spare hand; the other was cupped on his groin. With my right foot, I stomped on his wrist, and he released his grasp. I dove underneath the table that sat in the corner, tucked safely away from his reach. I found myself crouched in the tightest ball I could manage with my hands over my head and my knees tightly squeezed to my chest. As the adrenaline escaped my body, the skin on my face began to throb. I once again allowed exhaustion and weakness overtake me. Uncontrollably, my right hand dropped from my head, and hair ripped from my scalp. The pain made me wince, for my head was very tender. I looked at my hand; and in that dark corner, it looked as if there were black stains covering my hand. Long curly strands of hair were stuck to the deep black stains. I dug both hands through my thick brown hair to the scalp. My shaky fingers searched through the tacky scalp and eventually found warm liquid oozing from a gash deep beneath my hair.

I cried out from the pain of the touch, and my quivering arms flung my hands in front of my face. As I began to cry, the salty tears burned the tender skin of my face. I touched the tight lumps and felt many crevices where the skin had split opened. My sobs intensified, and my sore body swayed. From the corner of my eye, I saw an advancing shadow crawl beneath the table with me, and my heart raced. I glanced up and saw his feet next to the leg of the table.

He cried out, “Oh God! What have I done? What have I done?” He soon began to sob as he dropped to his to his knees. His hands shook as he bowed down toward the floor and dipped his finger in one of the crimson stains on the light brown carpet. The blood enveloped the pale skin of his fingertips and ran underneath the tips of his fingernails turning them black. His body began to shudder as he turned his face toward me and reached his hand out for me. I peeked at him through the long curls that were hiding my face as he pleaded, “Please baby, please, come out. I’m so sorry...so sorry. I promise, I will get help. I will get help. I will go tomorrow and get help. I promise, I will make our lives better for us.”

At first, I attempted to squeeze tighter into the corner, but there was no escape. Reluctantly, I took his hand and crawled from beneath the table. I knew the failure to do so would only make matters worse. This was my way out, and I knew it. I had him, and I had a plan. His guilt would finally free me, and with this guilt, I knew I could get him to do what ever I wanted for at least a week. As I said, I had been down this road before. However, I did not let him in on my plan until the next day, because I had not yet decided what exactly I would get him to do. I laid awake almost all night long carefully tracing out the devious scheme in my mind. Unfortunately for him, he would never know the extent of my plan. He would never know what I had in store for us. For a matter-of-fact, he would never know that the path I took him down was born at the very moment he made that promise to me.

...to be continued...