I Knew Better

I leaned forward, my body unconsciously fighting against the wind. I felt it tug my hat, pull my hair, untie the laces of my jacket but I didn’t realize the angle at which I leaned. I didn’t truly understand its force. Its determination. I didn’t see how hopeless my rebellion was.

The morning had been the same as any other.

“Get up,” he growled. He loomed over me. Large and angry. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t see him. I felt him. Malevolence.

I cringed under the covers. I knew he would be angry and yet I’d hidden under closed eyes and waking dreams. My mind had taken me home. I stood on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean. My toes awash in sea and salt and sand. My mother was behind me, resting, but watching too, keeping me safe. The sun was hot, and my hair danced in the breeze. My friend called to me. Come in, she said. The water’s warm when you get used to it. It was too, I knew, because I’d been there before. He hadn’t. He knew nothing of this place, and I knew nothing of him. Even as I felt safe in my dream, the world brushed against me. Anxiety flowed across my skin, raising goosebumps, stiffening muscles, demanding I rise before something bad happened. I hadn’t listened.

He yanked the covers off me, reached down and squeezed my arms tight enough to cause bruises as he shook me awake. Water from his wet hair splattered. it felt like acid as it landed on my skin. I knew better than to pull back or show my revulsion in any way.

A tear slipped out. Why would I lay about when I knew how he would react? I knew better than that.

I roused myself under his gaze, grateful to only get a few bruises. Broken things inconvenienced him more than they did me. He would have to answer questions. Take me to the hospital. Lose my wages. He knew better. But still.

I stumbled to the kitchen, head down, my bladder full and screaming its fury. I made the coffee and his breakfast. None for myself. No time. I peed. A lonely moment of joy in a bleak day. I had a shower and dressed while he ate, and my stomach growled.

I didn’t want to go to work. I hated my job. It was tedious and depressing. I was terrible at it. I was close to getting fired. I knew I shuffled around, uninterested, and unmotivated. My boss had talked to me about it more than once. Maybe today I would get fired. Maybe today, he’d beat me to death. Not my boss. Him.

He watched me go. Too often, I’d turned around and gone back to bed. I had long since run out of sick days and he would not tolerate anymore loss of income. I knew better and yet still he watched me go. He knew better too.

When I got to work, a ramshackle old house that served as an office building for a bevy of tax accountants, I stood outside and looked at it. It used to be blue, I mused. Tiny speckles of blue paint could be seen in sheltered areas. Places the wind didn’t touch. Under the eaves, below the stairs. The house was grey now though. The shutters were crooked, or missing, the stairs rickety. Inside was no better. The oaken floors worn to deep grooves in many places, their sheen and beauty lost to scuffs and time. The halls were dark and cavernous. The walls, chipped, peeling, discolored. The bevy of tax accountants had setup shop some forty years ago. I have seen pictures. They smiled widely, full of life and hope. Like the house, they were grey and decrepit now. In need of new parts that nobody had the money for. I suppose I should be grateful. They were why I had a job at all. They couldn’t afford anyone better.

I moved to the stairs, but I could not bring myself to raise my foot. I turned my head, to where the sun was rising. The east. I would go east, I thought. Surely, there was something better for me in the east.

This thought. It came from nowhere. Or maybe, it was the remnant of my morning dream. My mom’s ashes were east. I turned my body to match my head and I took a step. The wind pushed me, almost knocked me down. It came on suddenly, forcefully and I retreated a step. It dried my tears before they left my eyes. It tore away my scarf and it snatched away my wish. You know better, it whispered hatefully.

“Why are you standing like that?”

The voice discombobulated me. it was like the voice of God in an empty room, thundering from the heavens.

After a stunned moment, I turned my head. It was only Frank. My boss. He was a kind man although I had long ago worn away his patience. He looked almost as confused as I had felt a moment ago, as he stood there in his short-sleeved shirt and summer slacks staring at me. That’s when I became aware of how I was fighting the wind, leaning into its driving force. It’s also when I became aware that there was no wind.

Suddenly I was off balance, and I caught myself before I fell.

I smiled at him. I felt it spread across my mouth and my face. It crinkled my eyes and smoothed my brows. It touched my neck, lifting my chin up, and it pushed my shoulders back. My smile reached my legs. It fortified them. They felt solid and strong. Happy. Like they could walk for miles. Even against the strongest of winds. I knew my smile was beautiful because I could see it reflected in Frank’s bemused expression.

“I’m fighting the wind,” I said, “and I’m going to win.”

And then I walked east.