Like a Lady

All my life, I have been taught to “give them a chance” and that “no one’s a hundred percent evil.” Every day, someone says that if I just look past his flaws I will see the gold nugget beneath the sand. Believe me, I have looked.

Some may say I’m the bad guy; that I just can’t settle for what I have. Well, I never asked for this. It is not that I want to be with someone better, it is that I just don’t want to be with him. I don’t want to be with anyone.

He treats me nice when we are out together, but it is all an act. At “home,” he orders me around and forces me to work as a maid in my own house. He knocks things over, sends vases and plates cascading to the wooden floor, and makes me clean it up bare-handed. I’ve had enough of “making it work out.” I want out.

“You know you don’t mean that.” replied the delicate woman after a moment of silence, “Macey, dear, you have to give him another chance!” Her name was Miss Dawn Parkerson, a friend of mine. Today she wore her bright yellow sundress along with a blue bonnet to hold back her untamable curls. Dawn believed in tradition, but I believe in choice.

“Dawn, I am done.” I stated, trying to keep my fake smile plastered across my face, “It is too late to go back anyway.” We sat under a clear blue sky, on the bench where normal gossip would be spread if this were a normal day. On the corner of Denver Lane and Watson Avenue we played the part of a lady, the police station within view. I brought my handkerchief up to my brow and let out a weak giggle.

“Henry will take you back, I assure you.” Dawn guaranteed as she glanced at a passerby, “Any man in his right mind knows the consequences of resistance - as should any woman.”

I looked at my watch, suddenly. “A quarter after five.” I noted, louder than we had been conversing before, “I suppose I should be on my way then.” Dawn smiled, from what I could tell, a real smile. “Tell Henry I said ‘hello.’” she requested, standing from the bench and brushing herself off, “I’ll see you tomorrow, dear.”

Sitting on the bench still, I waited for my friend to disappear around the corner before I dared to move. If only she knew the truth.

I walked alone, back to my husband’s home, a sense of uncertainty still wavering in the air. There was no doubt that I was in the sights of every federal organization already, but now I was actively displaying my disdain for all to see. I knew this wouldn’t turn out well for me, but at least I knew that I wouldn’t be stuck with Henry any longer.

418 Chestnut Street waited for my arrival like a coffin for its body. I made my way up the steps and put my key in the door. My heart was pounding and I wanted to check to see if anyone was watching, but I knew that that act in itself would give me away. So, as any lady of my time, I turned the key and entered my residence. All is silent, like a dead man’s whisper, just as I left it.

“Henry?” I call out, “Henry, I’m home.” I tried to hold back my grin as I rounded the corner and sauntered into the kitchen. On the cutting board sat a large brown burlap sack, the bottom dampened by the liquids of its contents. I knew there was only one thing left to do now. Looking at the bag with a widening grin, I quietly informed it, “Dawn said ‘hello.’”

###

*Note: This story is also posted on my blog, so here is a link to that post:

http://www.basilebacorn.com/thebasilanonbulletin/like-a-lady-a-short-story