The Middle Ground

Trigger Warning: Some hints at domestic violence

There was no sound besides the low, constant clacking of my feet on the stone brick paving. I didn’t remember how I got here, or why I had come. I look behind my shoulder, expecting to see the passageway continue in the opposite direction, but after every step I took, the bricks faded into blackness. As I walked, I recalled my most recent memory. The darkness of our bedroom broken by the light from the hallway, the smell of stale booze, the sounds of his angry shouts. Fresh tears replaced the dry ones on my face, rolling over the cuts on my cheeks. I wanted to stop, sit, and cry, but my feet kept going forward. Slowly moving onward into the darkness, like my life. 

As I continued, I saw the story of my life portrayed on the walls, riding my bike for the first time, my graduation, being forced to marry a man I didn’t love. I rubbed my forehead as I remembered the day that my father had told me the news. “Catherine. I have a business deal for you. A proposition.” He said. My father never talked to me this way, excluding all of the times I got in major trouble. “Yes father?” I asked, looking up to him from my chair. “You have graduated from high school, and are now ready to become a wife. I wish for you to marry the Barrywell boy.” I gasped, “Father! I have plans for college, career! I don’t even love him!” My father turned on me, “No talking back! You will marry this man, and be the wealthiest woman in town. Of course, if you don’t marry him… I will disown you, and you shall live on the streets for the rest of your short life!” I burst into tears, and he sent me away. “It’s your decision!” he said as he slammed the door in my face. 

The noise still rang in my ear, as the hurt from that conversation still pierced my heart. But my troubles were as endless as the passageway that continued to stretch out ahead of me. For a week after our marriage, I saw very little of him, that I thought I could live life without hardly having to interact with him. But unfortunately for me he lost his job a few days later, and every night afterwards, he came home in a drunken rage. Though the cuts and bruises faded away, the memories of my experiences still lingered in my mind. I spat in anger at the person I had become. A quiet cleaning girl, who served as a part time punching bag. The fiery rage in my heart was quenched by the hopelessness in my mind. What could I do?

The images on the walls faded to back into regular bricks, and I hoped desperately for the end of this tunnel. “Oh surely you don’t want that!” A voice said, and suddenly I was in a dark room, with more of the same bricks. On the walls, torches flickered and spit, the shadows making the room appear to move. Behind me was the same darkness. A clapping noise resounded through the room, and two doors appeared in the back of the room, followed by two men in sophisticated tuxedo’s. Simultaneously the two men opened their mouths, and they created the voice I had heard moments before. “Hello Catherine. I am Janis, keeper of gates, guarder of doors.

” Together, both men turned and pointed at the door behind them. “Through both of these doors, the passageway continues, but through one of them is a path wrought with danger and wrongdoings, and the end is nearer. Through the other door though, you will find that the way is safer, and the end of the tunnel is much farther away.” I nodded, understanding what they, or he, was saying. “One man is a liar, and the other tells the truth, but both will claim that their door is the correct one. You may only ask one question to the men. Choose your question, and your door wisely.” Wind rushed through the room, and blew out the torches. Very quickly, they roared back to life, and illuminated the men before me. 

The man on the left spoke first. “My door is the correct one!” Then the man on the right shot back with an angry rebuttal. “No I am the correct one! The other man is a liar!” The man on the left growled at him. “No he is the liar, I always tell the truth.” Of course, I knew I could trust none of them. The two men argued for a few minutes, but after a while they became quiet. I started to focus on my single, important question. 

Naturally, the first thing I wanted to ask was who the liar was, but they would both say it was the other man, so I would have to think of something more unique. I thought through ‘what do you think about the other man?’, which door do you like the best?’ and of course the most obvious, ‘which door is the right one?’ but each question could be thwarted by the dilemma at hand. 

Finally, I realized what I had to ask to the two men. The question that had plagued me my whole life, which I had also given up on answering. My face grew hot, as the words sat on my lips. Finally, I opened my mouth, and let them loose. “W… Who am I?” I said to the men. Together, they turned their heads towards me and smiled. The man on the left spoke first. “You are Catherine. You are a housewife, cleaner, servant. You are weak, and don’t have the nerve to stand up for yourself against those who push you around.” Then the man on the right spoke.” You are Catherine. You are a woman, fierce and strong. You have so much power over your life, though you ignore it. In your heart, you know what you need to do, you’re just waiting for the right time to do it. 

The men had given their answers, but the question still remained. Who am I? All of a sudden, I had made my decision. 

“Janis. I choose the door on the right.” Wind blew through the room once again, the men stood aside, and the door on the right swung open. I looked through the doorway, and only saw darkness ahead, but I trusted my decision. With determined smile on my face, I strode through the door. 

My eyes flew open, and I sat up in bed. Just like the man on the right had said, I knew what I had to do. I leapt off of the covers, grabbed a bag, and threw in everything I owned. Then with the same determination that I had felt going through the door on the right, I slipped through the front door.