BLOODONME

                                          BLOODONME
                                              by
                                          Janet Richie

    I am sitting at my dining room table in an out of the way town called Dessert, Arizona watching the rain pour after an unusual bout of dry weather.  My family is sleeping and the phone rings.  I answer it and my heart flutters.  It is my best friend Sarah Harp on the line, and I am thinking to myself, she has probably taken her husband, Bob, back in after kicking him out a week ago.  I think, ‘not again, Sarah.’  I was just about to join my family in a good nap, but I cannot tell her that because she will feel put off.
    She knows what I am thinking about her, yet she is breathing into the phone and no words have come out yet.  I visualize her flat, blonde hair, and her petite body, as she grips the phone waiting for me to give her advice because I know the story very well.  I am not her advice column anymore-- it's too risky; the last time that I gave her advice, I wound up with blood on me.
    I remember our good old high school days, fifteen years ago when she was popular, and in control.  I liked seeing that.  And now, nothing's left of Sarah but sad stories, a sunken chest where Bob has stripped her of confidence.  She seeks to please him and he sets out to destroy her.  She
makes him hot breakfast every morning, looking at him with her piercing blue eyes-- thirsty for a thank you or you did a good job, Sarah.
    Though she waits on the phone for a hello, I know she can't tell me what I want to hear that is in her best interest.
    "Are you there, Jeanette?" she finally asks me.
    Though my throat is clogged, and words are running away from me, I say, "Yes, Sarah, I am here." Then I light up a cigarette and wait for her to speak again, but she is not ready.  She may cry still.  I inhale plenty of smoke because I feel anxiety loom.
    "Listen to me Jeanette, I'm going to leave Bob instead of trying to put him out."
    I snap at her.  "You were going to leave him last week. Then you decided to put him out, and from the sound of things he's moved back in."
    "Don't criticize me," she bawls violently. "I try my best for Jenny and me."
      Her cries of rage and anger are cutting to the depths of my heart and soul. I want it to stop.  I want the best for my friend, Sarah and her true love, Jenny.    Now I cannot hear her breathing because she is holding the receiver away from her mouth.  She does not want me to hear her crying.  I hear her anyway because it is the sound of a broken record that played for me so many times. If Bob were home, he would just as soon backhand her as to look at her.  Her thin lips would tremble; her hands shake while her long hair envelopes her reddened face and the redundant pain of helplessness and indignity.  Then Jenny would cry and squeeze the bottom of her mother's dress for dear life.
      Now I get so mad I see black and streaks of light. I grab Bob, knee him in the groin, chop him in the back, and when he looks up throw double fists somewhere in his face; but Sarah wouldn't appreciate it, if I did. She would hate me.  How can I help her anymore?
      "Jeanette, are you there?  Please don't turn your back on me no matter what happens.  I don't want you to ever think badly of me.  I just don't know what to do right now."
      "Let it out, Sarah."  I can tell the tears are building up again.
      The bellowing rips through me.
      There has been a physical fight.  She has black and red rings around her eyes.  Her skinny arms are bruised; possible fingerprints are on her throat. I know her spirit is lower than the ground she walks upon, and she is barely aware of little Jenny's existence.
    "Jeanette, he tries.  Monday and Tuesday he was really good to Jenny and me but then he had a bad day at the office on Wednesday.  I forgot to pay the gas bill Friday and they shut off the lights. I’ve had so much on my mind lately, Jeanette. I don’t know what’s happening to me."
    "So he beat you up?"  I light up my seventh cigarette.
    "I have made more mistakes.  I haven't been thinking of Jenny, now I really don't know what to do."
    "Damnit Sarah.  I am so tired of this. How many times have I told you that beating someone up is a bad thing? Bob is doing a bad thing to you and if you continue to take it, he will continue to do it.  Understand?  Please understand, Sarah.  Your value as a person is so much more than that."
    " Tell me what you would do if it were you?  That isn't the same as telling me what to do."
    Damn her to hell. I want her to lead her own life, make her own decisions and to stop dragging me into her dilemmas.  I want to keep watching the rain massage the bald spot on my lawn
and not worry about how much I love her.  I can't help her!  I won't stick my nose into a mess that will come back and haunt me, because every time that I do, it feels like blood on me.
    I remember the time when we were at a Christmas party and the jerk Bob is, he pinched this young brunette on the behind.  Sarah saw it.  I felt the heat from her fumes as she gripped me by the hand and pulled me into the ladies room.
    "You see that?" she asked me.
    "See what?" I pretended.                           
    "Him pinch her ass?"
    "Well, yeah---I did."                                   
    "I guess I would have slapped him.  I would have slapped him so hard he would have seen stars."      Then we both laughed.  I advised her not to let it ruin her night.  We went back into the party when not a minute later, she slapped him so hard, the party grew quiet.  I felt so funny.  I had his tingling sensation all over my body; I liked what I saw because so many times he had done it to her.  Suddenly he grabbed her by the throat and began choking her.  I jumped on his back and started pounding him in the head, and still, he wouldn't let go of her. 
    "Somebody help," I cried.  Then I was thrown from his back and the men managed to get him off her. Now I say to Sarah, remember when?
    I am thinking and say to her silently no more advice, Sarah. She is still quiet, waiting for me to forget and overstep my new promise.  She knows my refusal to give her advice is justified.  There was another time when her youngest sister came to visit for the summer.  She was confident, spunky and proud like Sarah used to be.  Sarah complained that Bob was paying her a lot of attention and I told Sarah to send her home.  But no-- Sarah missed her sister, which is understandable, and believed Bob would look but he would never stoop low.  For suggesting such a thing, I felt her rage against me.  She didn't talk to me for over a month, and I was missing nothing but heartache.  When I finally heard Sarah's voice I knew I called it correctly.
    "Jeanette," she says softly. "It’s too late to see a counselor.  They want money and that’s something Bob isn’t going to give me."
      "You are right that I care, Sarah.  But I cannot give you any advice.  I don't like the feeling of blood on me."
      "If you say blood one more time I swear. . . "
      "Okay.  Please understand Sarah.  It was my fault you were choked at the party.  Maybe if I would have said it was no big deal we could have had a great time."
      "I want you to forget that Jeannette.  Please, Jeanette. Will you come over and talk?"
      "Sarah, I would rather not.  I feel like taking a nap or something."
      "Please. Please.  Please.  It will make everything better for me. I feel like I’m losing my mind."
      "No, Sarah, and if it did make you feel better it would only be temporary.”
      "Please, Jeanette."
      "Okay. Okay. Okay."
      I grab my car keys and race to the car trying to escape the huge raindrops that could turn my straightened hair curly again.  I surpass the speed limit by ten mph until I spot a Dairy Queen ahead of me.  I slam on the brakes and make a left turn.  I think if I take Sarah her favorite Strawberry Milkshake, and little Jenny a Dilly Bar it would cheer them up.  I get myself a Mr. Misty.       
      While I am there I meet up with an old friend I hadn't seen in years.  I am so broken up.  I talk to her about Sarah's problems--- careful not to mention her name.  She suggests that I pick Sarah up and take her for a drive to the Battered Women's Shelter.  I lavishly spend an hour talking to her because I feel all I have to look forward to, are sob stories from Sarah, and my endless strategies of avoiding suggestions.  I end up feeling as though I have failed my friend by not suggesting this shelter sooner.
      Back on the road again, I remember the advice given to me about Sarah, and I am comfortable thinking that it is the right thing to do.  When I make it to Kachina Des, I find it isn't raining on the eastern outskirts of town.  I pull into Sarah's yard.  The first thing I see is Sarah leaning against the garage door with the telephone in one hand, and little Jenny clutching the bottom of her sun dress bawling for Sarah to pick her up.  Sarah lifts her head to look at me.  Matters are far worse than I expected.  Sarah’s silky hair looks matted, and I can't see her friendly blue eyes underneath the black and blue marks.  Her once small cherry red lips are purple like ripe swollen plums. Blood is all over her dress and little Jenny.  I drop the ice cream, noticing Bob's car is gone.  I pick up little Jenny and run into the house and call the police, the ambulance, and another one of my friends to come and get Jenny.  I hurry back outside to comfort Sarah.
    "Jenny, you, and my mother are the only people in the world that really love me," she said.  "Thank you for coming. Call my mother to pick up Jenny."
    "Now you stop talking that way.  Just--shhhhhh.  You will survive this, but you must be strong. Be strong for little Jenny."
    My throat is hurting and I hold back my tears. I am rubbing little Jenny's back and rocking her side to side.  I stop to kiss Sarah on the forehead, and I am certain there is blood on me.  The ambulance comes flying up with those loud sirens and Jenny starts screaming and clinging onto me like a cat.  A neighbor intercedes and volunteers to watch Jenny until Sarah’s mother arrives.  I ride in the back of the ambulance with Sarah.  She is so weak she can barely speak.
    "Sarah, you listen here.  I don't want you to ever go back there again.  You understand?" She grunted, and turned her face to look at me.  "Sarah when you get out of the hospital we're going to the Battered Women's Shelter; do you hear me?"
    "It won't be necessary."
      The tears welled up in my eyes and I couldn't stop them from streaming down my cheeks.  "I won't let you go back to him, Sarah.  I personally will never let him hurt you again . . .I will kill him first."
      "It's too late for that,” she said, with her bloody teeth showing, "My God, Jeannette, I killed him.  I killed that bastard, and I don't care.  Remember when you said I ought to kill him, remember?"