I wish we hadn’t traveled to meet friends at the bar in Rochester this weekend. If we’d just stayed at home, I wouldn’t have gotten busted. But that was wishful thinking.
I lay on the precinct cell floor, alone in a strange city, my mouth pressed against the cold concrete.
I wonderd if I was close to death because I seemed to be drifting away from the world. Only two things tethered me to life-one was the feel of cold stone against my lips, the other was the faint strains of a Beatles tune coming from a radio somewhere in the jail. “She loves you, yeah yeah yeah.
I drifted in and out of consciousness. I remember Theresa propping me up against a brick wall in the precinct parking lot and assessing the damage with her eyes. She chewed her lower lip and fingered the bloody places on my shirt. “I’ll never get these stains out.” Indirect messages cut through my fog much more clearly then direct ones.
She held my head on her lap all the way back. Her fingertips stroked my hair as she drove. Pulled my head gently into her lap as she braked.
And then I found myself in our home again. Teresa was in the next room. I settled into the warm soapy bath water and leaned my head against the porcelain. Only my head existed, above the bubbles. The comfort softened me, but I could feel pain gnawing in my gut. Every time I came near it’s boarders I was hurled back. Fear chocked me. I needed Teresa to come help me, but I couldn’t call out to her-my throat constricted, strangling me.
My teeth ached. When I pushed against one of them with my tongue, it popped out and lay in my palm like a Chicklet in a tiny pink puddle of my own blood. I climbed out of the tub quickly, sloshing water over the sides. I slipped on the tile, lifted the toilet lid and vomited.
As I looked in the mirror I felt sorry for my reflection-bloody, bruised , lumpy. I rinsed out my mouth with tooth paste and a hand full of water. My legs quivered.
Teresa had left clean white underwear on top of the toilet tank. I dried off and slipped into a pair of BVDs I’d just pulled the T shirt over my head and Teresa opened the bathroom door. Um I just wanted to see if we had Band-Aids, she said. And then the terrifying image I held back came flooding into the front of my mind: The memory of Teresa’s face when I was arrested. In her eyes I had seen the pain of being overpowered and helpless. It was the way I felt almost every day of my life.my life.
I pushed the memory back down as Teresa stood in the bathroom searching my face with her gaze. Her eyes were red rimmed and moist. My own eyes felt dry as dust. My breath came slowly and easily, as though I was inhaling and exhaling molasses, not air. Teresa touched my face with her hand, turning my head slightly to study the swelling around my mouth.
I had no words. If I could possibly find them, I would have brought them to her. But I couldn’t find words. I watched the patterns of emotions on Teresa’s face shift like sand dunes in the wind. She couldn’t find words either. What would her words sound like, resonating in the air?
Teresa bit her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut. I sat down on the toilet seat. Teresa cleaned the wound on my lip with peroxide. I’m going to use two Band-Aids. She told me. Just to be safe, it might need stitches. I shook my head slowly. No hospital. I needed gentleness and safety. Teresa gave me both. She took me to bed, caressed me, ran her fingers through my hair and cried.
I awoke later and realized Teresa wasn’t next to me. It was still dark outside. I staggered into the kitchen. My body hurt, but I knew the worst stiffness and pain would come a day later.
Teresa sat at the kitchen table, with her head in her hands. I noticed the level of whisky left in the bottle. I pulled her head against my belly and stroked her hair. I’m sorry she kept repeating, I’m so sorry. She lurched to her feet and fell heavily against me. I felt the frustration building in her body like a storm. I heard it in the small strangulated sounds from her throat. She pounded me with her fists. I couldn’t stop them. They cuffed me so fast. I just couldn’t do anything, she cried.
That’s exactly how I felt. We were in this life together. We might not have the words, but we knew exactly what we were chocking on. There were so many things I wanted to tell her in that moment. Feelings worked themselves up my throat and stuck there, clenched like a fist.
I kissed Teresa’s sweaty forehead. Its okay I whispered. It will be alright. We both smiled with the irony of my words. I took her hand and led her back to our room. The sheets were cool. The night was filled with stars. Teresa looked up at me, her face soft with caring.
For a moment I almost told Teresa I was afraid I couldn’t go on much longer-even with her love. Emotions moved from my throat to my mouth; the words banged against the back of my teeth. And they ebbed. Teresa asked me a question with her eyes. I had no answers. I could find nothing to say. Since I had no words to bring the woman I loved so much, I gave her all my tenderness.
I lay on the precinct cell floor, alone in a strange city, my mouth pressed against the cold concrete.
I wonderd if I was close to death because I seemed to be drifting away from the world. Only two things tethered me to life-one was the feel of cold stone against my lips, the other was the faint strains of a Beatles tune coming from a radio somewhere in the jail. “She loves you, yeah yeah yeah.
I drifted in and out of consciousness. I remember Theresa propping me up against a brick wall in the precinct parking lot and assessing the damage with her eyes. She chewed her lower lip and fingered the bloody places on my shirt. “I’ll never get these stains out.” Indirect messages cut through my fog much more clearly then direct ones.
She held my head on her lap all the way back. Her fingertips stroked my hair as she drove. Pulled my head gently into her lap as she braked.
And then I found myself in our home again. Teresa was in the next room. I settled into the warm soapy bath water and leaned my head against the porcelain. Only my head existed, above the bubbles. The comfort softened me, but I could feel pain gnawing in my gut. Every time I came near it’s boarders I was hurled back. Fear chocked me. I needed Teresa to come help me, but I couldn’t call out to her-my throat constricted, strangling me.
My teeth ached. When I pushed against one of them with my tongue, it popped out and lay in my palm like a Chicklet in a tiny pink puddle of my own blood. I climbed out of the tub quickly, sloshing water over the sides. I slipped on the tile, lifted the toilet lid and vomited.
As I looked in the mirror I felt sorry for my reflection-bloody, bruised , lumpy. I rinsed out my mouth with tooth paste and a hand full of water. My legs quivered.
Teresa had left clean white underwear on top of the toilet tank. I dried off and slipped into a pair of BVDs I’d just pulled the T shirt over my head and Teresa opened the bathroom door. Um I just wanted to see if we had Band-Aids, she said. And then the terrifying image I held back came flooding into the front of my mind: The memory of Teresa’s face when I was arrested. In her eyes I had seen the pain of being overpowered and helpless. It was the way I felt almost every day of my life.my life.
I pushed the memory back down as Teresa stood in the bathroom searching my face with her gaze. Her eyes were red rimmed and moist. My own eyes felt dry as dust. My breath came slowly and easily, as though I was inhaling and exhaling molasses, not air. Teresa touched my face with her hand, turning my head slightly to study the swelling around my mouth.
I had no words. If I could possibly find them, I would have brought them to her. But I couldn’t find words. I watched the patterns of emotions on Teresa’s face shift like sand dunes in the wind. She couldn’t find words either. What would her words sound like, resonating in the air?
Teresa bit her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut. I sat down on the toilet seat. Teresa cleaned the wound on my lip with peroxide. I’m going to use two Band-Aids. She told me. Just to be safe, it might need stitches. I shook my head slowly. No hospital. I needed gentleness and safety. Teresa gave me both. She took me to bed, caressed me, ran her fingers through my hair and cried.
I awoke later and realized Teresa wasn’t next to me. It was still dark outside. I staggered into the kitchen. My body hurt, but I knew the worst stiffness and pain would come a day later.
Teresa sat at the kitchen table, with her head in her hands. I noticed the level of whisky left in the bottle. I pulled her head against my belly and stroked her hair. I’m sorry she kept repeating, I’m so sorry. She lurched to her feet and fell heavily against me. I felt the frustration building in her body like a storm. I heard it in the small strangulated sounds from her throat. She pounded me with her fists. I couldn’t stop them. They cuffed me so fast. I just couldn’t do anything, she cried.
That’s exactly how I felt. We were in this life together. We might not have the words, but we knew exactly what we were chocking on. There were so many things I wanted to tell her in that moment. Feelings worked themselves up my throat and stuck there, clenched like a fist.
I kissed Teresa’s sweaty forehead. Its okay I whispered. It will be alright. We both smiled with the irony of my words. I took her hand and led her back to our room. The sheets were cool. The night was filled with stars. Teresa looked up at me, her face soft with caring.
For a moment I almost told Teresa I was afraid I couldn’t go on much longer-even with her love. Emotions moved from my throat to my mouth; the words banged against the back of my teeth. And they ebbed. Teresa asked me a question with her eyes. I had no answers. I could find nothing to say. Since I had no words to bring the woman I loved so much, I gave her all my tenderness.