Sleeping

I never thought I'd have the chance to use my acting skills again. He said acting was a stupid career, that it was a useless skill, but it was certainly coming in handy at his funeral. The crocodile tears that rained down my cheeks were more than enough to fool his family and friends. They all looked at me and shook their heads with pity. The poor, grieving widow, a single mother now.

It took everything I had not to jump for joy. Ten years, ten miserable years I had spent with this man, and now I was free. No one else knew the way he treated me. I guess he didn’t think acting was so dumb, considering how well he did it. 

The classic drama. The perfect little family in public. Husband and wife, happily married. An intelligent, polite little boy of their own. However, behind closed doors, he became a violent monster who constantly beat and belittled his wife. I could sell this story to Lifetime. So why did I bother to stay if he was such a terrible husband? Again, the same classic story. He was a good father. 

I wasn’t sure exactly when the love died between Chris and me, I couldn’t even be sure if it was ever there to begin with, but over time he loved me less and hated me more. He wasn’t afraid to show it. The beatings didn’t start until about four years ago. It started out like most. After he hit me he apologized, I chalked it up to a one-time thing, and it turns out it wasn’t. By this point I just expected them. Still, no matter how much we hated each other he always loved Terry.

Terry was his everything, and perhaps the true love of his life. Terry was five now, but since the day he was born Chris worshipped that little boy. He would do anything for him. No matter how bad things were between us he never said a sharp word or raised a finger to Terry, he never even touched me in front of him. I’m ashamed to say I used this to my advantage more than once.

I kept Terry close at all times because I knew I would be safe. It took Chris a few months before he realized what I was doing, but when he did he was furious. I got one of the worst beatings he’s ever given me. He called me a pathetic excuse for a mother, to use my own son in such a selfish way. Maybe he was right, but it didn’t matter anymore. I was finally free.

The police were still asking some general questions, tying up loose ends, but “heart attack” was the official diagnosis. I wasn’t surprised. After all, Chris’ heart had been giving him problems the past few years, he was on about a dozen pills and supplements to regulate it. More than a few times I thought about throwing his pills in the trash or replacing them with sugar pills so he would die sooner, but I never found the courage to do it. Every time I felt the urge I would see Terry’s face in my mind-- crying, heartbroken-- and I just couldn’t do that to him.

Terry was handling Chris’s death better than I imagined though. I expected wailing, a river of tears, and the constant questions of “why, why, why?” But he wasn’t like that. He certainly seemed upset, of course, but he was surprisingly calm. He stood by Chris’ casket, looking down at him. He didn’t speak, he didn’t touch him, only looked. I couldn’t begin to imagine what he was thinking.

The funeral proceeded without any incident. His casket was taken to the graveyard, he was given a proper burial. The wails of friends and family could be heard all around. Even I hammed up the tears and crying when they lowered him, but Terry remained stone-faced the entire time. He stayed that way when we finally returned home, he stayed that way as visitors came in and out of the house, he stayed that way all the way until bedtime. 

I had spent my free moments packing up Chris’ things. I just can't stand being reminded of him right now. That was a good enough excuse for packing them, but I’d wait a few months before I finally trashed them. Still “refusing to let the last part of him go” or whatever other crap I needed as an excuse. The truth was I was giddy.  

I saw my bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand. I said it was insomnia to my doctor, but the truth was it was nightmares. Even in my dreams, Chris would beat me senseless. They were so vivid I would wake up screaming. Of course, waking Chris only made my nightmares a reality, so I got the pills to help. The bottle felt surprisingly light, had I really taken that many? Oh well, it didn’t matter anymore. I wouldn’t be needing them. I smiled and dropped the bottle in the trash. Everything was about to change. 

No more scheduling my day, no more ten o’clock curfew, no more walking on eggshells in my own home, no more fighting, no more crying, no more using makeup to hide bruises, no more lying to Terry about the ones I couldn’t hide. I was finally free and I was going to live like it. I would start up my drama classes again and Terry and I would go a bunch of fun places together. 

Chris always wanted to be the favorite parent, so he limited what I was and wasn’t allowed to do with Terry. I was never allowed to take him to the park, I was never allowed to buy him treats, I always had to be the one to discipline him, I always had to be the bad guy. Well, not anymore. We’d go to the park and the ice cream shop, we’d watch cartoons until late at night, we'd make cookies together and eat the raw dough. I’d finally be the mom I’d always wanted to be to him.

As if reading my thoughts Terry suddenly opened the door to my room. My room, just the thought was almost enough to make me smile, but I held back. I still had to be sensitive to Terry’s feelings. I was sure he missed his dad. To me the heart attack was a blessing, it took away my monster, but Terry? It took away his best friend, his hero, and I did feel bad about that.

“Is everything okay, Sweetheart?” I asked.

“I can’t sleep,” he said softly.

Of course. Another thing only Chris was allowed to do was read Terry a bedtime story. Well, my independence started now. I knew it would take adjusting, but little by little I would try to mend my little Terry’s heart. I went over and picked him up. I carried him back to his room and tucked him into bed.

“There, there,” I said, smoothing his hair. “ I know things are difficult now, but Mommy’s going to do her best to make everything better. Would you like me to read to you tonight?”

Terry shook his head. I was a little heartbroken, but I understood. I couldn’t just replace his father like nothing happened. I knew Terry loved me, but this had to be difficult for him. He needed time.

“Mommy,” Terry said cautiously. “Can I tell you something?”

I was sure he wanted to talk about his father. I didn’t want to think about Chris anymore, but Terry deserved the right to. I reached out and held his little hand.

“Of course, Sweetheart. What is it?” I asked.

He hesitated a moment. He seemed scared to say it. Poor thing, did he really think I wouldn’t listen to him.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart. You know you can tell Mommy anything,” I assured him.

“Mommy…” he trailed off a bit. “I’m glad Daddy can’t hurt you now.”

I froze. My body went cold. What was he saying? How did he know about that? I forced a smile, I couldn’t let him see me crack.

“Sweetheart, what are you saying? Daddy’s never hurt me,” the lie hurt my stomach as I forced it out.

I felt sick. It was for Terry though, I was doing this for Terry. For him, I would lie about anything. He got out from under his blankets and crawled over to me. He threw his little arms around my neck and tears welled up in my eyes. I had to be strong.

“Mommy, I saw it,” he said gently. “Last week. I played in your room but you said not to. I heard you, so I hid in the closet. I saw Daddy hit you. A lot. You cried.”

No, no. This couldn’t be true. He couldn’t know, I never wanted Terry to know.

“And you lied, Mommy,” he said, his small voice quivering. “You said it was a accident, but you lied. So I know you lied before too. Daddy's hurt you a lot.”

I couldn’t help the tears as they flowed from my eyes now. Terry knew everything. I felt a lot of things. Anger, shame, guilt, but mostly relief. Living with this secret for so long had been killing me, I was glad he knew.

“Mommy,” he said again, cautiously.

“Yes, Sweetheart,” I could barely choke out the words.

“Secrets are bad, Mommy,” he said quietly.

“Yes, they are,” I said, laughing a bit

“I don’t like secrets. Can I tell you a secret, so it’s not a secret?” He asked.

I smiled. “Of course.”

“I took some of your sleepy pills,” he said guiltily.

My heart stopped. Is that why the bottle was light? When did he do this exactly? I grabbed him desperately.

“How many did you take?” I asked, terrified. “Those aren’t toys, Terry! Oh god, we need to take you to the hospital!”

“No, no, no!” He said tugging away. “I don’t eat them, I just take some.”

I calmed down a bit. My heart was racing. So he just stole some? I let out a sigh of relief. I stroked his face, he looked worried.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad. You scared Mommy, that’s all,” I said softly. “You shouldn’t take those. They’re dangerous. Where did you put them?”

“Daddy,” he said.

“We’ll talk about Daddy later,” I said firmly. “First, tell me where you put the pills.”

“Daddy,” he said again, exasperated. “I gave them to Daddy.” 

That couldn’t be right. Our son getting into my meds? I definitely would have gotten beaten for that. So, what did he mean? He looked at the bed, he seemed guilty again.

“I didn’t want Daddy to hurt you again. You don't wake up after you eat your sleepy pills. I wanted to help,” he mumbled.

Things didn’t feel real. What was he saying? Chris died from a heart attack. Right? My pills. What did they have to do with anything? All I could do was stare at him, he kept his eyes on the bed.

“I took Daddy’s pills and gave him sleepy pills. I gave him a lot, so he won’t ever ever wake up and hurt you,” he admitted. He let out a big sigh before looking up at me and smiling. “Now we have no more secrets. I love you, Mommy.”

Terry got up and hugged my neck again. Terry took Chris’ pills and gave him mine. To put him to sleep, so he wouldn’t wake up. So he wouldn’t hurt me again. Well, I guess it worked.