Escape from Control
I wait for my husband to tell me what to do every morning. He works in one of the plants in our small town. He is always in the driver’s seat. Yesterday, it was not “We are going to the park,” like usual. Today, it is “We are not going to the park,” and it is not normal. He doesn’t say why. I want to ask more, but he waves his hand, and I know to keep my mouth shut. I bite my lip to keep from talking.
I hear the TV loud behind me as I watch him lock the door. He’s the only one with a key. He locks it from the outside, and I cannot unlock it after he leaves. He’s told me many times. If there’s a fire, I would need to pick up our two-year-old son and hide in the bathroom. If I were to break a window to escape, I would likely cut my hands and lose a lot of blood before help arrived. These are his rules.
I hear him drive off, and the sound fades as he goes away. He wants me to stop looking out the window, so I hide. Suddenly, I hear a noise in the house. It makes me jump, and my heart races. It’s an old house, and I often hear strange noises. My husband tells me I have a vivid imagination. He says it’s because I read too much and overthink. He ruffles my hair and tells me to stop thinking so much.
On Thursdays, we have chicken and rice for dinner, with just a little bit of sauce. He tells me too much sauce is bad for our health, but I love it. I always ask him…
