A Kodak Moment

We had our family Christmas pictures taken today. Pan dishes of pressed powder and smiles hide abuse well. The powder hides the bruises on my skin and the smiles hide the bruises on my soul. I worked the powder in until it felt like it was a part of my skin. I was careful not to get any on the black top of my dress. That dress cost a lot of money. The skirt is golden coloured. Maybe it’s made out of real gold? I wondered what I had done this time. All he told me was that “I knew.” Did I? I can’t be sorry for something I did or feel the repercussions of punishment if I don’t know what I did that was so bad. I have ideas, ideas of why things have to be this way. He told me some day my husband would know. He told me I couldn’t keep things from him forever. I think he’s planning on telling him.

The photographer said I was “absolutely beautiful”. I am? Since when? I guess I looked presentable on the outside. I didn’t feel beautiful. Normally when I get my new Christmas dress and I pose for the seasonal pictures, I feel so much better than I did before. It puts me in the mood for the season. This year? It’s just going to be a constant reminder of the fact that I did something wrong, I don’t know what, and I was marked for it. There’s hidden pain in that picture. Pain in my heart.

I didn’t just let this happen. I tried to reason. I asked what happened. I asked what went wrong. He wouldn’t tell me. Today he was more open, after the pictures were taken. He said his love rejected him because he couldn’t father lots of babies for her. They’re not spring chicks, they’re in their forties. They should be planning their retirement, not a family. I laughed. Is that what he’s going to tell about me? That I’m that much less of a woman and wife because I’m sterile? Does he think my husband will leave me because I can’t make anymore babies for him? We’re done having babies. We have a concept of reproductive responsibility and we knew when enough was enough.

I’m ok with what happened. It’s something that sucked when it happened but it’s over now. I told him eventually he’d feel better too. He didn’t have to hit me repeatedly because I sent his love a Christmas card. I send lots of people cards. She used to be my friend. She used to brag about liking me better than him. Was that what I was punished for? Sending a card? He didn’t have to hold onto my arms until bruises appeared up and down them because I wouldn’t get my friend’s tattoo removed. Was I punished for not getting every single tattoo on my body removed? I kept one. The one my friend gave me the year before he died. The one that he said would keep us connected for the rest of our lives. I miss him too much to get it removed. I got all the others taken off. I submitted to “not being white trash”. I played the game as best as I could and I still wasn’t good enough to get the high score.

My husband doesn’t believe me. He asked what happened to me and I said I ran into a door. A large door. One that towered three inches over me, and outweighed me by 20-30 lbs. He laughed and said that must have been one big door, and I needed to watch where I was going. I wonder if he would have shrugged it off so much if I had said the doorknob to the door unwillingly ended up in my vagina?

It’s ok though. It really is.

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