The Subtleties of Flight
Sunday, 31 July 2011 05:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wellfourthings_andalizard"It’s such a cliche, the waiting and the biding your time, the packing your things slowly, and secreting away money for weeks or months before you leave,” she paused for a moment, her eyes dull and empty, and gave a grim laugh. “But it’s true. That really is how it happens. It’s how it has to happen. In secret, in silence. You act as if nothing were wrong while you plan and wait for the moment when you might escape.”
She rose to get the tea, as the kettle started to whistle, while Bridget just looked on, waiting for her to speak again.
She did, with an empty voice, “The first time he hits you may be some time in. First comes the manipulation, and the pain of how he tells you that you’re worthless… The way he makes you cry and then comforts you. He gains complete control before he starts. And the first time he hits you, it might seem like an accident; he’ll apologise, he’ll swear it will never happen again. He’ll hold you and comfort you, and kiss your tears away. Things will be calm for a little while. He’ll be sweet, and he’ll court you as if you were just beginning again. A period of grace where he apologises before the next time. But there will be a next time. and a next time after that, and again and again. Eventually the grace period will shrink to one single day, or perhaps hours in between his rages. After the first time it never stops,” she hesitated before continuing. “Then he will begin to make it your fault. The blame is on you for it all. He begins to convince you that you deserve all of it. He says he’s sorry, but that you know you did it, you know that you provoked him.”
A moment passed before Bridget dared to ask, ” And then what? What do you do at that point where you are convinced that it is all your own doing?”
The other woman let out a harsh laugh before she answered, ” Oh, you try. You try to be better , you try to be perfect, so that he never has a reason. But he’ll always find a reason after he starts. Nothing will ever be good enough to please him. His food isn’t cooked well enough, there is a towel out of place on the shelf… If he can’t find something, he will begin to invent excuses, after he’s tasted having power over you. You took too long at the market, so you must be doing something else, something bad. You catch the eye of some other man accidentally, and he won’t stop looking at you, so you must be having an affair behind his back. You still have friends that call or that speak to you somewhere, so you must be telling them horrible things about him. So he punishes you. But you try. You try and try to please him, sometimes for months, or even years.”
She was quiet for some moments before she spoke again, pouring and serving their afternoon tea.
When she spoke again, it was in a soft, almost whispering monotone, ” One day you stop trying to please him. You resign yourself to it all. You begin to simply go through the motions. Even when he starts to keep you from going out, makes you cut down or quit at work. Even when he starts to hurt you worse…” she trailed off for a moment.
“If you are lucky, one day you begin to lose your fear, even when he threatens to kill you if you tell. Or someone comes along to wake you up. Then you begin packing, once piece of clothing at a time. You begin saving every spare dollar, every spare bit of change. You begin to wait for that perfect opportuinity. That moment when he isn’t there, or isn’t looking. You make arrangements for thsoe you love. It’s much, much harder if you have a child. But you try anyway, you try that much harder. And if you are lucky, you get the chance, and you disappear, with your child if you can…” she trailed off again, the last word so soft Bridget could scarcely hear her.
Before now, it had all been without emotion. Everything she said came with a calm impression. But now the woman’s eyes were filled with something akin to agony.
Bridget tentatively spoke, seeing the pain, but also that the story was desperate to get out of her companion. So she gently asked, “Do you… want to tell me your story? I would like to help you get it out. I want to write it for you.”
The other woman was still, but after a moment she nodded slowly, “But not tonight. Not now. Come back later. Please!” she said.
Bridget nodded, then left to gather it all in order, and type some notes. It was wisest to let it be for now. Only for now, though. Soon the story would begin to eat at them. It needed to be told. And stories were not known to take ‘no’ for an answer.
She rose to get the tea, as the kettle started to whistle, while Bridget just looked on, waiting for her to speak again.
She did, with an empty voice, “The first time he hits you may be some time in. First comes the manipulation, and the pain of how he tells you that you’re worthless… The way he makes you cry and then comforts you. He gains complete control before he starts. And the first time he hits you, it might seem like an accident; he’ll apologise, he’ll swear it will never happen again. He’ll hold you and comfort you, and kiss your tears away. Things will be calm for a little while. He’ll be sweet, and he’ll court you as if you were just beginning again. A period of grace where he apologises before the next time. But there will be a next time. and a next time after that, and again and again. Eventually the grace period will shrink to one single day, or perhaps hours in between his rages. After the first time it never stops,” she hesitated before continuing. “Then he will begin to make it your fault. The blame is on you for it all. He begins to convince you that you deserve all of it. He says he’s sorry, but that you know you did it, you know that you provoked him.”
A moment passed before Bridget dared to ask, ” And then what? What do you do at that point where you are convinced that it is all your own doing?”
The other woman let out a harsh laugh before she answered, ” Oh, you try. You try to be better , you try to be perfect, so that he never has a reason. But he’ll always find a reason after he starts. Nothing will ever be good enough to please him. His food isn’t cooked well enough, there is a towel out of place on the shelf… If he can’t find something, he will begin to invent excuses, after he’s tasted having power over you. You took too long at the market, so you must be doing something else, something bad. You catch the eye of some other man accidentally, and he won’t stop looking at you, so you must be having an affair behind his back. You still have friends that call or that speak to you somewhere, so you must be telling them horrible things about him. So he punishes you. But you try. You try and try to please him, sometimes for months, or even years.”
She was quiet for some moments before she spoke again, pouring and serving their afternoon tea.
When she spoke again, it was in a soft, almost whispering monotone, ” One day you stop trying to please him. You resign yourself to it all. You begin to simply go through the motions. Even when he starts to keep you from going out, makes you cut down or quit at work. Even when he starts to hurt you worse…” she trailed off for a moment.
“If you are lucky, one day you begin to lose your fear, even when he threatens to kill you if you tell. Or someone comes along to wake you up. Then you begin packing, once piece of clothing at a time. You begin saving every spare dollar, every spare bit of change. You begin to wait for that perfect opportuinity. That moment when he isn’t there, or isn’t looking. You make arrangements for thsoe you love. It’s much, much harder if you have a child. But you try anyway, you try that much harder. And if you are lucky, you get the chance, and you disappear, with your child if you can…” she trailed off again, the last word so soft Bridget could scarcely hear her.
Before now, it had all been without emotion. Everything she said came with a calm impression. But now the woman’s eyes were filled with something akin to agony.
Bridget tentatively spoke, seeing the pain, but also that the story was desperate to get out of her companion. So she gently asked, “Do you… want to tell me your story? I would like to help you get it out. I want to write it for you.”
The other woman was still, but after a moment she nodded slowly, “But not tonight. Not now. Come back later. Please!” she said.
Bridget nodded, then left to gather it all in order, and type some notes. It was wisest to let it be for now.
