Devil In A Bottle

Devil In A Bottle

          It happened in mid-July, the weather was hot and unbearingly humid. There just wasn't enough ventilation in that trailer. The front door was propped open with a kitchen chair and the room behind me was golden red from the glowing embers of the setting sun. I was standing in the kitchen slaving over the hot stove where I remember, I was burning up. I was sweating like a prostitue answering the door to Jesus. I was absolutely exhausted. I'd been cleaning and taking care of his alcoholic, bedridden mother most of the day, which left me scurrying to finish his dinner. I had the hamburgers and the corn broiling. The potatoes however, were almost browned to perfection. The timer on the rolls had just sounded when he came barrelling across the threshold.

          He staggered up behind me wrapping his arms around my waist. His lips then graced the nape of my neck. I recall, chills igniting throughout my bodily system, as his lips were grossly swollen and wet. All I could smell was the budweiser seeping down against my skin. Then, he nibbled on the lobe of my ear and out of nowhere he had bitten me, and I do mean, hard. "Ouch!!" I cried. That's when he took his arms and forced me close up against him and whispered in a stern, cold voice, "Don't start nothing with me woman! I'll throw you out back and cover you over with dirt". He laughed like the devil and with a smartellic grin, followed saying, "Nobody will find you there."

          Dinner was served shortly, thereafter. He sat in front of the television watching the local news as he dipped his rolls in the butter melted out across his plate. He would soon pick up the burger and take a bite, maybe two. He'd lay it back down and pick up the cob of corn, cleaning it off one section at a time. "Sweet Pea?" he'd start by asking nicely. I'd look at him as if to say, "Yes?". With raw, uncensored hate boring through the bowels of his eyes, he'd command, "Get up off your ass woman and fetch me another beer!". Of course, I didn't have a choice but to get up and go get it. I'd bring it back, sitting it down on the stand next to him and then I would return to my seat. After dinner was finished, the dishes and pans were taken to the sink and washed. I'd spent the evening cleaning up the kitchen to later find him passed out in the chair next to the door. I cut out the lights and tiptoed my way to bed, careful not to wake him.

          The next morning, I awakened to the smell of homemade biscuits and applebutter. I could hear the sausage sizzling on the griddle in the distance off toward the kitchen, on my way to the bathroom. I had combed through my hair and while getting dressed, never once did I stop to look in the mirror. I couldn't stand the image looking back at me, so I just avoided the inevitable. I dragged myself down the corridor of doom wearing a fake smile and found my seat where he had my breakfast awaiting me. That was of course the best part of the day for me.

          Half past noon, I found myself helping him outside. The nurses had came out that day to take care of his mother. They gave her the usual bath, changed her clothes and gave her the medicine she needed. By the time they left, she was sound asleep on the sofa. So my job there was a little easier. Kind of like I had the day off, which it was nice every now and then. I was young, I didn't like being tied down to that extent. I believed that I had enough responsibilites to look after. Outside, we were building a house, so we kept quite busy throughout the rest of the day. He was out of beer and for a moment I relaxed, because the monster was under control, or at least for a while.

          The closer the time came to being dusk, the call for beer was far beyond demand on both ends. He went into the trailer to get his wallet and then he proceeded to go get his devil in a bottle. Shortly after, he returned with two cases, one for him and another for her. I can't describe the sense of disappointment that I felt, watching the door of his pickup open and seeing the bottles tumble onto the ground. I just closed my eyes and prayed for that night not to be as bad as the last. For a while, he sat oustide drinking his beer, so I managed to go in and take a nice, quiet shower. I thought that if he was actually going to go through with killing me this time, the very least that I could do, was to be presentable when the police and ambulance showed up.

          Later that night after dinner, it became clear that he was stone cold drunk. His words had become so slurred, I'm not sure that it was even english. Instead of passing out like usual, he was raring to go. He grabbed his pistol and out the door he went. I sat there in my own puddle of regret watching his mother drool as she tried to cuss me up one side and down the other, firing away with her threats. Finally, I became so sick of it that I stormed off outside to escape. I realize now that I shouldn't have. He decided that he wanted to run his mouth off on me as I entered the house, we were building. That was his little getaway for the time being. So like an idiot, I wound up storming back into the trailer. Thought I might just go on to bed and hope that things would be better when the sun came up.

          He came busting into the bedroom accusing me of messing around on him. He started ripping back the covers violently and as I got up out of bed, he snatched me by the neck and put me up against the wall. If ever I came face to face with the devil, that would have been the very moment. I was so scared, I was crying and trembling. He was shouting at the top of his lungs and his saliva was spewing ninety to nothing. He held me there like I weighed a single ounce with my feet hanging lifeless and out of my control. He continued to threaten me and he ended it by dropping me to the floor like a piece of garbage. He ran out of the back door, slamming it so hard it shook the walls and everything in the trailer. I got up shaking in a poor attempt to muster enough strength to get myself dressed. Thinking that I might live to walk to the neighbors and get away from this self-propelled lunatic.

          Before I could get fully clothed, I overheard him return. This time he came through the front door. He told his mother to hand him her gun. Panicking, I ran into the closet sliding the door closed behind me. I thought that he may realize that I had done left and maybe he would go away and sober up. However, I was prepared to sleep there until he was over his rambunctious episode. The next thing I remember was the gunfire. Shots rang throughout the silence of the house ricocheting and shaving through metal. I was terrified for my life. I could hear the splintering of the paneling walls next to me. The devil in the bottle was calling me out -to kill me. Scared, I jumped thus hitting my head on a clothes hanger dangling next to me. The last thing to be recalled that night, was the grazing of the bullet that had missed my face by a mere inch and the whimper of a young girl.. forced to become a woman.