Something more
2004-09-22 @ 9:23 a.m.

That trip changed her perspective on a lot of things, as 1800 miles in a two seat truck will do.

It was this trip that was the beginning of the end for her. In less than 12 hours they had to start pawning off their personal items to pay for gas money, and food. Somehow, she was suprised when he forced her to start with her things, including the ring her grandmother had given her for graduation, just a month before she'd passed away. She gave up everything she had, just to make it hom. She swore to him it was okay, that they'd make it, that when they got there, or even if they didn't, she'd live in a card board box just so long as it was with him.

The pulled into her parents drive way 6 days later, starving, tired, and in desperate need of a real shower. They'd washed as much as they could, including their hair, in sinks at rest stops, always pretending it was a great adventure.

Every time she swore she'd love him forever, another piece of her was torn away.

They soon found a small appartment on the not so good side of town, but it was cheap, and the doors and windows locked. She told her friends that she loved the little place for it's history. It had been a rail road hotel in the 1800's.

The fighting started not long after that. She'd gotten depressed as he flittered from job to job. She'd found good work, and yet somehow, the money still didn't cover their bills. It never dawned on her that the reason was because he was taking it.

Their first big fight, the one she'll always remember was over a pair of shoes that she'd bought. $25, on sale. She locked herself in the tiney bathroom and mended her wounds alone, silently.

Not too long after that she seperated herself from most of her friends. She stayed home in the evenings, didn't talk much to family, and didn't have much desire too.

Two months later, just after she'd started a new job at a large credit union she found out she was pregnant. She didn't tell him for 6 weeks.

He was furious. He left the house, left her on the floor in a heap crying, and didn't come back until he was so drunk he could barely stand.

She should have left him that night, she should have seen it then. But she didn't.

Her family urged her to give up the baby, to give it to a good home. His stopped talking to them altogether. His mother swearing the only thing that would make it okay, was if they got married. So, in November of that year, they did.

It was a small ceremony, in her parents living room, less than 20 people present. She didn't get a white dress, she didn't get a dress at all.

To everyone around her, this was a statement that she wanted this to work. She wanted to be with this man, to have this baby, and be a "real" family. Little did they know she was still heavily considering putting the baby up for adoption.

Then, on December 10th she went to a routine doctor's appointment, and was told that if she didn't go to the hospital right away, they'd either lose her, or the baby. No question about it.

The next day, December 11, 2001 an angel was born. The moment she held her, was when it started to make sense, that everything else had to stop.

I read the words and they seem so trivial. They seem like nothing could be bad in them. That the fights stopped, that the words were never said to scar her so deeply. But it's not that simple.

So many things are left out. Things that are so small. Names that were called, fists that were thrown, things that were lost.

I wish her victory started here. I wish that I could tell you that she'd left him that day. That she knew in that instant what she had to do.

Things never work that way. Things have a way of taking a shape of the own.

Stories are told from the writers view and often what is left out, are things so important to the plot, to the end goal, the happy ever after. But they're left out because of the lack of being able to show other's how to look at them in a way that is okay. To show others how to see them for minor victories in themselves. To help them understand that every time he threw her into a wall, that every time he attacted her with words, that every time she refused to hit back, to say something that would cut just as deep, that every time she refused to cry, she won a small piece of herself back.

This story doesn't end here. This part of her life doesn't stop. But I can't leave you with the story of a woman battered and broken, I can't tell you about how she cried at night and still sometimes does over the mistakes she made in the people she loved. I can't tell you how it hurts to watch them love someone else, if only to spite her. I can't make you understand that inside she still screams that the only thing in the world she wants is for someone, anyone to finally be the one person she knows she can trust without them leaving her to move on to something better. I can't tell you how while this seems repetive and petty when only said, it's something that the lack of cuts her to the core.

Because for her, it's the only thing she's never had.