The Sky Grows Grey ~ Chapter 5

Before my warden arrived home, the buzzer at the security gate of the apartment complex buzzed. “Where is he?” I asked aloud to no one in particular, for I was alone. I knew I could not handle my family by myself. He was good at lying to them, not me. No matter how hard I tried to lie, someone always saw through my deception. Where is he? Why hasn’t he made it home yet? It had been at least three hours since he left to get the shampooer for the carpet. I was certain that he was either out with Jessica, a girl we met at the dance club one night and swore was only his friend, or out with Ricky, his friend from the junior college back home.

Although Jessica was pretty, she was rather plain. She looked a lot like Stephanie, his ex-girlfriend. Jessica was a teenaged mother, who was unsure of the baby’s father. Jessica told me once, “Her father could be one of seven different guys. When I go to the bar and go dancing, the mix of the alcohol and the movement of my body against a man’s usually gets me in the mood. I just wish I would have asked at least one of the men his last name, so I could get child support.” She neither worked, nor did she plan on working. Jessica was always looking for someone to take care of her and her baby instead of thinking about taking care of herself. Her government-subsidized apartment was shabby and had the barest of necessities for both herself and her lovely daughter, because most of her money was spent on partying.

After my husband learned of her situation, he took pity on Jessica. Had my husband not been so obsessed with me, I am sure he would have taken to a relationship with Jessica. She gave him something I could only pretended to give him, admiration and reliance. Jessica depended on him in a way I never could. He relished the power that he held over her and only fantasized he held over me. To Jessica, he was a god and she his follower. He spent every spare dime we had buying clothing, diapers, formula, and other necessities for the baby. I can’t say that I hated him spending the money on the child. I was happy to help her to grow strong, and I often babysat when Jessica was out with one of the men she met at the bar. After all, the child couldn’t help to whom she was born or that her mother never seemed to care about her wellbeing.

I was pretty sure that my husband had concealed a sexual relationship between Jessica and him. He had often tried to convince me that sex can be isolated from emotion, and he could very easily love me and have sex with someone else that he had no feelings for. However, my protests kept him from being completely forthright and honest about his extracurricular activities while I was at work.

The night before, when he divulged that he had quit school, my blood boiled from the anger I felt toward him. In order to marry him, I had given up my fully paid four-year scholarship to the university in which I had planned to attend since grade school. He had convinced me that his final two years in college would be too difficult to complete if he was working full-time. My husband also promised me that making this sacrifice for him would mean I could take my time going to school once he found steady and permanent work. For the last six months, I toiled away both day and night at three different jobs I worked to help pay for his non-existent college expenses. These three jobs consumed my weeks and segregated me from my peers.

At four o’clock in the morning, I awoke to prepare for my first job, which started at four-thirty on the dot. I would drive to the warehouse for the vending company, unlock the doors, and perform my duties. First, I was to start in the large warehouse area of the building. The break room had to be cleaned for the day, the trash had to be taken out, and the coffee pot had to be prepared for the employees. Next, I would clean the bathrooms. I usually started with the men’s room, which had something I had never seen in my life, a trough like urinal. I would snap on my thick rubber gloves, remove the urinal cakes, sprinkle the scouring powder on the trough, and scrub the yellow piss stains from the urinal. I took a big bucket of steaming hot water and used it to rinse the powder/urine/water mixture down the drain. I would return the urinal cakes or replace them as needed. Then, I would then clean the trough like sink, the two toilets, and mop the floor. Soon after, I would clean the ladies room, which was much easier to clean due to the low number of female lumpers and truck drivers. I would take my mop bucket back to the mop drain and sink, empty my water, rinse the mop, hang up the bathroom mop, and prepare my mop water for the rest of the building. Next, I would mop the break room, and then I would mop the warehouse. The warehouse floor was massive, and the tire marks left behind by the forklifts took a lot of work to remove. I would work around the pallets of beverages, chips, cakes, and candies while I listened to my dance music playlist on my mp3 player. The music helped me work at a quick, steady pace, which kept my mind from wandering. The final chores were to dust the executive and secretarial offices, clean the main entrance’s glass door and windows, and vacuum the dark plush carpeting.

I usually completed my job around seven to seven thirty in the morning when the employees first began to trickle in, which gave me enough time to return home, shower, dress, put on my makeup, and fix my hair for my second job, the one at the bank. I worked in the mortgage insurance department. In other words, I contacted people who had allowed their insurance policies on their properties to lapse. I really hated this job, but it paid the bills. The only enjoyment I would get during the day was when the new fast food sandwich shop was being built across the street. There was one construction worker that would work with no shirt on, and his tanned muscles would glisten in the sunlight as he bricked the building. I found that most of my days were spent watching the man while I spoke to the clients on the other end of the phone droning on and on about the importance of keeping insurance on the property and how the failure to do so could mean the loss of said property. I always heard a stories in my time with the bank, and nothing took me for surprise anymore. I began to loose compassion for the clients as they complained about how hard it was to keep up with the elevation in property insurance cost. I would drone on and on throughout the day with a smile in my voice and a happy disposition. However, what the people on the other end only heard was a lie. My heart was broken, and I had become numb. I didn’t care much about myself and had very compassion and understanding left for anyone else.

As four o’clock approached every afternoon, I was more than ready to leave my job. My mind was weary and my body would grow restless. I was ready to burst out into the world, and at eighteen years old, I was way too worn to spend my time enjoying myself. I returned home from work just long enough to change into my uniform for my job at the local pizzeria. I had grown accustomed to waiting on other teens who were enjoying their college careers, and I couldn’t help but think that I belonged sitting alongside them instead of slaving away to support my husband. I enjoyed the camaraderie between my regular customers and myself, because they helped me feel as if I were really living opposed to making a living.

I did, however, find time for an adventure or two on the weekends. I never once got to spend my weekends without him by my side. He kept close to me and made sure I answered to his every whim. Most Saturday mornings were spent at the lake down in the bottom of the canyon outside of town. The winding road snaked through the large, expensive lake houses as it made its way toward the water. The canyon was an oasis of green shrubbery, large trees and luscious green grass. The canyon floor was the wide crystal clear lake that we so often enjoyed. The water smelled fresh and was more refreshing than most other bodies of water I had visited. It is said the minerals deep within the rocks bonded with the water and white clay which gave the water healing properties. My body often needed a healing touch, so a visit to the lake was always welcomed. My achy muscles would relax in the warm waters of the lake, where the pain was released and floated away with the tide. My wounds would seem less swollen, less infected, and less tender to the touch. Even the time I cut my foot on a sharp rock far beneath the surface of the water, the pain did not shoot through my body as it had the night of our biggest fight. When I sat on the sandy beach of the lake, very little blood flowed from the wound. Regardless of the fact that the rock almost removed my tiny pinky toe, the wound was not angry or red; it was not swollen and did not ache the way I had expected.

Not all Saturday mornings were spent at the lake. Once a month, his family would arrive for a day of ‘fun.’ We would go shopping at the mall, and often, his mother and I were on watch as the three men, his father, his brother, and him, stuffed their pockets and clothing with items they wanted but wouldn’t spend money on. To lower suspicions from clerks and employees, other items in the store were bought. Clothing shopping was the most difficult for me. He and his father picked out the clothes for the women. His mother didn’t mind so much as she had grown accustomed to it and liked the lack of responsibility in the relationship. However, I had a major problem with the clothing I was forced to wear. What his father bought for his mother was also bought for me. I had been dressed in the clothing fit for women of forty and fifty years, yet I was only eighteen. My frumpy clothing helped to place me in my subservient role to my master and stifled my soul. The visit often ended with dinner at their favorite burger joint for burgers, fries, and ice cream. Sometimes, after the night had approached, his mother and I would stand watch at a car dealership or two while the men removed parts that they wanted for their cars from cars in the lots of dealerships. Soon after, his family was off to his hometown.

Our Saturday nights were filled with either a party or a visit to our favorite club, The Planet. He had taught me how to apply a thin layer of wax on my hand in which the under twenty-one stamp could be applied. The stamp was easy enough to remove by peeling off the wax. He would then rewet the ink on his stamp with his tongue and press the back of his hand onto mine, thus transferring the over twenty-one stamp to my hand. He loved for me to drink with him; and the more I drank, the more I fell into the rhythm of the music.

…With our bodies close together, our hips rotated in perfect unison. The intoxication heightened my arousal, and I was no longer myself. The flashing lights made my head spin and the sound of the music was all I heard, all I felt. The beat resounded within me, and pumped through my veins. The laughs and conversations of the other bar patrons were muted by the beat of the music. The rhythm enveloped my soul, and I would drown within its beat. I let it take me, surrendering myself to the music. My body swayed to the rhythm, and I was one with the music. The color filled lights danced around me, and this was the only time I really felt free and at peace. I was lost in pure ecstasy, numb to all the other emotions but euphoria.

As I looked into his eyes, I felt his power slip away, while I gained power with my seductive moves, my shape, and my eyes. He transformed from a domineering tyrant to a timid young man, and I knew the night would be a good one. It would be a night that he worshipped me, a night where I knew I wouldn’t be injured, tortured, or hurt. My energy shifted in my body and I found the strength that I gained when I stood up to my mother, but now, I was more powerful. It was as if I had cast a spell on him, and I was in control. I was once again his dream girl, and he was once again my partner. As I touched his biceps, felt the sweat beading up on his skin. As I moved my fingertips on his arms, I could feel the excitement within his body, the electricity that stirred deep down inside his soul. The goose pimples on his muscular arms felt rough, and I knew this was my night. This was the one night I would be able to rest without fear and sleep a peaceful slumber. This was the night; I could keep him entranced as long as I didn’t speak my mind. I danced into near exhaustion and fell into a trancelike state…

Every visit to the club meant we danced until the club closed. He would lead me out of the club, help me into the car, and take me to the local IHOP. Sometimes, we were not alone. Some nights Stephen and Shane would be at the club together, and they would leave with us. We would talk and laugh as we ate pancakes and drank coffee. We visited with other bar patrons and would leave as dawn began to break. We returned home and slept most of our Sundays away. These were the good times that were sprinkled into the bad. These were the nights that I felt free.

Still, the buzzer buzzed, and he was nowhere to be found when I needed him the most. I wasn’t in the least surprised, but I thought that maybe he would be here when they came. I can’t lie to my mother. I have never been able to, but he could because he had that way with people. He could get anyone to believe each and every word that he said. Where is he? I can’t face them alone.

...to be continued...