Narrative

Free Bird

He spit in her face.

The sudden warmth of his saliva stunned her. He had her cornered in their bedroom, both hands bracing the walls on either side of her, trapping her. Instead of addressing what he’d just done, she tried to think of why it had happened. What had they been fighting about? A half an hour earlier she’d been up and preparing for work. She’d been able to get up without disturbing him, but maybe it was her opening the fridge for some orange juice that woke him. She sincerely wished it hadn’t.

Trying to make sense of any part of their long relationship was numbing and pointless. She’d stayed with a man that had brought her lower than dirt, feeling doomed that she’d be stuck with that dumb decision for the rest of her life, until he killed her or she killed herself, anyway. She’d given up her friends and family, hoping to deal with her drama on her own. But in that moment, the very act of spitting had done what all his abuse hadn’t been able to. It brought on an epiphany. The prospect of fight or flight had been dormant in her, but it wasn’t gone. She tore away from him, dug her phone from her pocket, and ran to the window for better reception. All the while, her eyes never left him.

“Take one step closer, and I’ll call the cops.” She said, her grave tone surprising herself. She wondered if her expression was just as steely. It certainly seemed to get his attention.

He looked astonished at her bravery. Perhaps he thought he’d beaten that out of her a long time ago. But then his lips twitched and he looked amused, body relaxed and confident in his ability to keep her from the only exit.

“Really?” he said. Her eyes narrowed at his disbelief.

         “You bet.” she said coldly. It was hard to keep tremors from overpowering her hands. She had dialed, and now her thumb rested on the send button.

“Just let me leave.” she said.

He seemed to weigh his options. It was one of those moments where time seemed slow. Her body ached as if she’d been standing there for hours, when a meager thirty seconds had passed between them before he took a step back and cleared a path for her to the door. Apparently he cared more about keeping his butt out of jail than holding her hostage. Like a super villain escaping the clutches of justice while shouting at the hero, “I’ll get you next time!”

She didn’t wait for him to change his mind. She kept her phone out and visible while she grabbed her bag and coat and moved for the door.

“I can promise you’ll never see my face again,” she said as she passed him and  walked out into the hallway.

She didn’t know exactly when she’d started running, but she was pleased that her normal clumsiness had decided to check itself that day. She bolted out of the apartment as if the devil himself were nipping at her heels. It was a pretty solid metaphor for that man when she’d think on it later. As soon as the cold autumn wind greeted her outside, she headed for her car at a solid run, her footfalls echoing off the buildings that surrounded the parking lot. Her keys came out and found the door in perfect execution, like she’d actually planned it. Her heavy breaths came out in frantic sobs, heart thrumming against its cage as she hopped into the driver’s seat and locked herself in. She panicked even more when she saw his body press against the hood, face staring in at her and screaming unintelligible profanities. It was cruel and humorous to think that she would experience something she thought only happened in the movies. The difference was that she didn’t hesitate to start her engine and put her car into reverse, throwing his safety to the wind.

Years passed since she’d gone through that, and sometimes his face still likes to greet her in her dreams, but it doesn’t scare her anymore. Being a reflective person, she would think back on that whole situation often. In the end, she’d be thankful that she went through it. It made her realize a strength she never knew she had. And in the coming years, making new friends and connecting with people as this strong person, she would hope that she’d help others going through something similar, by example or further support. Maybe it would save them from finding renewed self-respect through a gob of sputum. If asked what lessons she might have learned in it, she’d stress the value of knowing no one has the right to bring another down to make themselves feel better.