Marriage as a Jungle

I wait in the quiet of our garage for what seems like hours. I spend the time reflecting and remembering. When I said my wedding vows I agreed to be a helpmate to my husband not his punching bag. Each time he violated me, it caused one more flaw in the total person born Valerie Ann Cheney.

Our relationship appeared like my parents from the beginning. Mom let Dad take the lead in almost all decisions. If Paul and I went to a movie and out to eat on a date, he decided. If I really didn’t want to see a particular movie, I voiced my opinion and we made it understood that he would change but I felt resentment. That should have been a clue.

“Paul, honey,  that movie is supposed to be very violent.  That kind of thing makes my stomach queasy. Could we pick another please?”

“I never heard that. Besides, real life is violent. You’re being a baby. Because I love you so much, this time, we will go to something else. Since I really do want to see this movie, Bobby and I will go next weekend.”

So I would pay for my mistake by sitting home next Saturday night while he went with his buddy.
I told myself that I liked it this way because a real man made the decisions and took care of his wife and family. It was written in the Bible.

Can you imagine, I saw this as taking care of me? Like Daddy did with Mom. They did discuss important decisions but it wasn't ever a violent altercation. Dad made the final decision and I was taught that was the biblical way.

Paul crossed the emotional line of abuse when he were dating. When we were engaged, I spoke of expectations from a marriage. He had a small apartment and I knew he had enough saved to make a down payment on a house. We would ride around town with a paper and look at houses. We discovered a small home on a two acre lot with huge oak trees for kids to climb. The house had a porch with a swing. It was three small bedrooms, a combination family room and country kitchen with glass cabinets. The fireplace was huge and I loved the whole place. It had character.  I could hear the laughter of children and the soft whispers of lovemaking at night in the bedroom that had two closets. There was only one bathroom but someone had put a shower in on the back porch next to the washer/dryer connections.

This house was perfect and I began to furnish it in my head.  Paul agreed with it as far as not saying anything. He let me talk. We didn’t do anything about it but I figured it was a matter of time. The wedding was expensive but my Dad paid for almost all of it. Since Paul was an attorney and my Dad, an assembly line worker, I thought Paul would help more. I had paid for my own college.

The wedding ceremony was lovely. I have that short memory. Then it spun out of control. Paul drank too much and acted out at the reception because an old boyfriend danced with me.  Paul thought Sammy had touched my breast.
He knocked over the wedding cake first, then grabbed Sammy by the neck and cussed him out.

“She is MRS. Paul Morrison now! You keep your dirty paws off her or I’ll make you wish you had never been born! Get the hell out of here and never come near her again. I will file a restraining order.”

Sammy had been my knight in shining armor all through school, a gentleman. In grade school Sammy put his new jacket over a mud puddle because I had new Mary Janes on.  He used to give me Valentines asking, “Will you marry me?” One time a guy in high school made fun of a poem I was reading out loud and Sammy told him off in class. Guess who I should have said yes to?

I believe that is how I got the house though. I think Paul felt guilty about his conduct. My father broke the fight up and got his nose fractured.  He was furious.

Paul had been trying to get out of the house with excuses about keeping the apartment to save more money.

Daddy cornered him one week after the wedding.

“We sure are looking forward to visiting our daughter in her new home.”

The next week Paul signed on the dotted line. The mortgage was in his name but I had my house. I wanted to teach kindergarten part time but Paul didn’t want me out of the house. That is what I meant when I said we had talked about marriage. I had talked and made plans.  He never really answered. I assumed life would be wonderful.

Paul wanted to keep me as a canary in a cage, let out at his will. Suddenly, my car didn’t run and he made no effort to get it repaired. We lived out in the country now and I did love the place but I was totally dependent on my husband. He took me to the store.  I didn’t have any money.  I took fabric from my Mom and used her old sewing machine to make curtains and slipcovers.  I got books from the thrift stores and stayed busy. I loved my home.  It made up for the cruelty. I dreaded six in the evening when the key was in the door. Dinner was never tasty enough, the house wasn’t clean enough and sex was painful and caused me to bleed.  Those things were the beginning of the black eyes, choking and cigarette burns.

Then I became pregnant. Paul seemed happy about having a child. He was actually willing to share me with a “son. My prayers were answered. For the duration we were both excited. He didn’t make a mark on me and was even nicer.  He took me to the OB appointments and when he found out it was a girl, he was very disappointed but still toed the line. I thought we might have turned a corner and although I couldn’t forget the meanness, our marriage might have a chance. He even agreed to getting me a car since the baby might get sick and he wouldn’t always be around.

I was in heaven painting a soft white nursery with a border of Raggedy Annes, making tiny pink outfits with ribbons and knitting blankets and sweaters. I loved being pregnant watching my nipples grow full and dark and the shape of that precious child inside me. Paul never touched me.  He was disgusted by my ugliness and told me so.

“You won’t get any sex from me until you get your body back in shape and I expect you to take care of that. You do understand?”
“I want that too.”

The night Cindy was born I almost died.
Paul had a bad day in court and came home very angry. He slammed the door and then put his fist into the china cabinet glass door breaking my Grandma’s glass pitcher. I kept my mouth shut. He began to drink bourbon. He eventually passed out at the table when I began to have contractions. They were coming strong and about ten minutes apart. I didn’t dare drive. My parents didn’t answer. I was due in one month. When I called the OB, they said call 911. I did and then Paul woke up. 

The beast rose foaming at the mouth, angry because he didn’t want anyone to see him like this.

“You stupid fool, what did you do to cause this to happen now?”

He was swinging and made contact with my abdomen. I  felt like someone was ripping my abdomen open and then thankfully, I lost consciousness.

When I woke up, I was in ICU with a tube in my throat hooked up to a ventilator. I found out later I almost died. The EMT’s worked by speaking with the ER trauma chief. Cindy was in The Neonatal ICU in critical condition.  A strong little girl deserved a brave mother to protect her.

After being given many packed blood cells, my uterus was removed and a lot of repair for the damage done. The story given out by Paul is that I fell outside against the concrete step by the door. Everyone accepted the story. I would have no more children.  There would be no son. Paul was always angry about that one. I should have told the truth and Paul would have been in a cell. My daughter and I would have been safe.
                                                                                                                                   
When I threatened to go to the authorities, he reminded me of the pull he had as a prominent attorney in our small town. He knows what goes on with everyone before I hear it as gossip or on the news.

Life is a crazy roller coaster. We don’t seem to realize when we are at the top until we take that plunge and hit the bone crunching bottom.  Can we recover from devastation to stand up, take back our dignity and live again?
It feels like I have let hate and resentment build to a point of no return. I have discovered pain and fear drive a person to retreat and self destruct or resort to the unthinkable to make it go away.

So here I am, taking back what I believe has been stolen in the way I must.
I am speaking to an imaginary monster but with each word I feel stronger. It is like the things in the garage. I am a hammer, then a drill and finally, I look at the chainsaw. It is going to take something major. Perhaps these thoughts mean I have finally lost my mind.

I begin to have an imaginary conversation with this man I have lived with for eighteen years.

"Paul, when you finish taking out your frustrations on my body, I wait until you fall into a drunken sleep, then I go out to the shed. Sometimes I stay there in the cold until two or three in the morning, just to make sure you are still asleep. The pain from the bruises and cuts are just numb."

"Paul, I have appointed myself both the judge and jury. The evidence, your sins, results in a fair sentence.
A voice in my brain tells me I am the only one who can fairly judge you. After all, who knows you better?
Looking back I count up your sins. Of course the worst was causing me to almost bleed to death, Cindy to have to struggle to live and the loss of my uterus. I still stayed for another sixteen years. I never told anyone how you really almost killed me."

"Sin one was the chair you sent flying through the air that shattered my nose. It was never set and I was once an attractive woman. I can’t recall the insane reason you did it but your brain declared the punishment fair."

"Sin two was Grandma’s crystal vase you shattered the night you tried to kill me. That vase held roses from my parents’ anniversaries, birthdays and Valentines. One of the few things I could leave for Cindy, how much that meant to me. A symbol of family love. “

"The real pain comes from my shame. Paul, how can our daughter ever want to marry? What does she know of the tenderness between two people who share their lives? You will not destroy our daughter, the only truly wonderful gift I have."

"Sin three was nights of dishes crashing to the floor because you didn’t like the meal I spent hours planning and cooking. I had to start using paper plates. Cindy would help me clean up. It was a game for you. If I asked what you wanted, you yelled, 'Guess and make it a good one!”

"Sin four was the slices you made in my tender skin from the knife used for gutting fish."

As I count, my hand tightens on your 12 gauge shotgun. I will do this completely.

"Sin five is the numerous cigarette burns in the sensitive skin of my buttocks and tummy where they wouldn’t be seen. This was punishment for flirting with Cindy’s boyfriend. Your warped imagination is amazing."

"Last night, I decided our bedroom would no longer be a torture chamber. You stuck a gun in my mouth, and hot tears traced the lines of lost love and terror on my face. That all brought back the night that you punched me so hard in my abdomen with our baby girl and didn’t even care that she could die. I can’t take any chances."

"You warned me never to leave. To seal the bargain, you raped me with savage rage. I lay quietly, your hand over my mouth, and this plan took shape."

"I now have a burning desire to live. There is hope and I must free Cindy. My brain is running on one track. I cannot jump the rails."

The garage door opens. You emerge from the safety of your truck. As your cowboy boots hit the concrete floor, my mind sees a snarling animal that doesn't deserve to walk this Earth.

I shoot, blasting open the face of a beast.

By Kathie Stehr
Revised 2010









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