by Sonya Jesus
For someone who hasn’t slept well in days, I fell asleep right in the damn lawn chair. Konked out and probably snoring like a pet on a sunny day.
If it weren’t for the beeping of the oven telling me the self-clean cycle was done, I would have slept until morning. After being trapped for so long, there’s comfort in the open air—in the freedom I don’t have when confined within four walls. And most of all, it’s safe here.
I need coffee. The caffeine temptation draws me toward the coffee machine, which has already been pre-loaded. Before the machine finishes brewing, my mug is already full and I’m sipping it. Slightly alleviated from the nap, but still exhausted and nowhere near done prepping for breakfast and lunch, I set the cup down near the window and prep myself for a long night.
The steel pot is devoid of water, and the remnants of dried white foam stick to the sides of it, probably the result of the exploded egg on the top.
Twenty-seven boiled eggs. “One of these has to be salvageable, right?”
Again, I glance around the empty kitchen as I place the pot underneath the faucet and turn on the cold water. Being alone in here, without any eyes telling me what I did wrong or what I should have done, for once is a good thing.
But it feels weird.
The steam from the different temperatures colliding fills the air with a gross smell, and I nearly barf out my dinner. I hate the smell of eggs. I sink to my feet, away from the odorous vapor, and open a bottle of cleaning solution under the sink. It smells like vanilla and orchids, and for the first few inhales, it calms my stomach, but then it makes it worse. I quickly step away from the sink and put the fan on, hoping it will kick the stinky air out.
I close my eyes, listening to the blades whipping through the air, and hold my breath while counting the time. Sixty-nine seconds later and a loud rumble causes me to pop my eyes open.
What was that? I glance in the direction of the sound, near the pantry.
In tune with every noise, I only hear the fan and the low rumble of the fridge. Hesitating with each step, I straggle over and place my hand on the side of the old fridge and wait. The vibrations in my hand get faster, and the fridge lets out another loud grumble, relaxing me. My shoulders slump, and I rest my forehead against the white-ridged material.
She’s had this fridge since the 80s, I remind myself. Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you don’t work anymore.
“Work away,” I tell the fridge, as I lift my head up and head back to discard the evidence.
I dip one of my hands into the pot. The water is warm and the egg is scorching, so I turn the water on and shove it under the streaming water, twirling it to assess my catastrophe. My thumb glides over the charred shell before I crack it against the countertop and peel off the outer layer. Surprisingly, it’s easily deshelled.
Un-freakin’-salvageable. I growl as I squeeze the rubbery, yellow and green-toned egg. Its consistency somewhere between bouncing balls and hard gummy bears. I use my nails to split it to the yolk, which is green on the outside and yellow on the inside, and crumbly like piecrust. I discard it in the trash and pull another one out, and then another. Even the ones with no burnt sections are inedible.
I toss them all out and lean down to rest my head on the counter. If I keep messing up in the kitchen, how am I going to help Addie and pay for my place to stay? I can’t leave. There’s so much going on, and I need money to survive.
I stop myself because I’m heading down an anxious road, and I have too much work to do. Getting up, I sigh heavily and reach for the sink to shut the faucet off, but it’s not running. I snap to attention and glance around the room, peering at the old kitchen.
Maybe I shut it off, I think to myself and run my hands over my face, rubbing the tired out of my eyes with the heels of my palms.
“Can’t sleep?”
“Shit!” I scream as I face the door and accidentally kick the open bottle of detergent all over the floor. “Damnit. Addie, you scared me.” I bend down to pick up the bottle while Addie opens the drawer and hands me a few dishrags. “What are you doing up?”
She leaves the bowl of vegetables on the counter and bends down to help me soak up the liquid, cursing at having to bend her knees.
“I got it,” I say softly. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“I should, but I had my window open and I smelled trouble.” She’s in her old lady jammies, one of those long gowns with buttons down the front and frills around the sleeves and breasts. Tiny little blue flowers are printed on the white fabric, slightly tinted from age and repeat washings. I have the distinct impression the fridge wasn’t the only thing from the 80s.
“Cute jammers.” I toss the rags into one of the empty buckets and leave it for the women who clean in the morning, before standing up straight.
She glances at the eggshells on the counter and smiles. “I like sleeping in them. This was the first Mother’s Day present I ever got. She came home with it one day, after asking me for a ten-dollar bill.”
My sad heart soaks up her hurt. Loss is something we both understand.
“Every time I wear them, I feel like she’s in bed with me. I used to wake up with her feet in my face, tiny toes up my nostrils…” She chuckles softly but her tone is morose. “Or her tiny bum sprawled out on my legs, or knees right up against the curve of my back. That child hogged the space around her, like it all belonged to her.”
The idea of ten tiny toes pops in my head, dispelling any smile. Sawyer.
“There was a time when Addison made the world hers, and then she grew up and couldn’t find her place in that same world. I still don’t know how that happens.” She chokes up and looks out into the distance.
“Addie…” That’s the extent of my sympathetic plea. I don’t have any words of comfort, because I feel like that all the time. “It’s not about finding your place in the world; it’s about trying to figure out how to exist without all the hurt. Sometimes, you fool yourself into thinking that tomorrow will be better, that it will hurt less or get easier in the future, but that’s just to get over the debilitating feelings. It’s not something we believe, it’s something we lie to ourselves about.”
Addie watches me intently, concern etched all over her face. “You girls never like to sugarcoat things.”
“Never makes the hard stuff easier to swallow, Addie.”
“Now who sounds like the group leader?”
“It’s easy to explain when it’s all I’ve thought about my whole life.”
“Do you lie to yourself?”
I shrug a shoulder and cross my arms below my chest as I gaze at the old refrigerator. “I don’t know. I’m too messed up to know a lie from a truth, but I believe one day it will be different… I doubt I’ll see that day.”
She wraps her wrinkly fingers over my wrist and gives it a squeeze. “Are you saying you don’t see your future?”
I place my hand over hers, my gut twists and ushers me to lie, but she deserves more than that. “I’ve lived most of my life on a day-to-day basis. If I made it to the end of the day and woke up the next morning, then I survived. It’s hard to believe in something different, to put faith in uncertainty.” It’s even harder to wonder if living is worth it.
“Why are you so uncertain you won’t have a future, doll face?” She smiles, easing the gravity of the conversation. “Maybe not the kitchen, or the next best chef…”
We both laugh, liberating a little bit of the pain we carry inside. Secrets, lies, silence—those hurt just as much as the physical pain.
To a degree, things lighten, at least my tension eases. “Yeah,” I sigh softly. “Maybe not the kitchen. We don’t have any more eggs.”
“There’s always another option.” She nudges me in the elbow. “How about pancakes?”
“Oh…” I roll my eyes and wipe the concern off my brow before she picks up on it. The last time I tried pancakes they were flat jacks. “I’ve been mentally preparing to make those next week. Kelsie said she’d
help.”
The biggest smile flashes across her face, and she nods happily. “Progress.”
It takes me a moment to realize it’s not happiness from Kelsie volunteering, because that’s what she was supposed to do. Progress meant I wasn’t living day by day anymore. Week by week. My chest constricts at the thought, and I share her smile. “So, pancakes?”
She nods. “I bought the pre-packaged stuff this time. No eggs required.”
She has a way of easing me into talking to her, of prying without force, and it feels good to be in her presence. Knowing she was with me and helping me not to mess up, makes me feel better, but I’m terrified she’ll see me differently if she knows the truth. “You’re something else, Addie.”
She waves her hand flippantly. “Doll, I’ve been telling people that all my life. It’s about time someone believed me.”
I smile softly as I reach for the knife in the bucket. She must have forgotten it outside, so I open the drawer and grab another one. She drags the stool over and takes a seat near me, using the peeler to prepare the carrots.
“Where is Kelsie?” she asks, as she glances toward the clock on the wall. “It’s past curfew, and I don’t recall seeing her at dinner.”
My insides churn, wondering if I should cover up for my new friend or tell the truth. “She hasn’t gotten back yet,” I manage some version of the truth.
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“She had a meeting this afternoon. Job interview.”
Addie nods and drops a peeled carrot into the bowl for me to chop. “She mentioned having to go see her family yesterday.”
“Good. I told her she might want to give you a heads-up.”
“And Ivy? I saw her this afternoon, but she didn’t make it to dinner, right?” Addie’s not really asking, she’s making a sort of observation. The kind you make when you’re giving someone the opportunity to confess.
I plead the Fifth.
“How are Ivy and Kelsie getting along?”
They were both supposed to help me in here, but Ivy has been going through some things, and she snuck out. I suspected she went to talk with her monster, because I haven’t really seen her the last couple of days. I don’t want to lie to Addie, but I don’t want to tell on Ivy. “Ivy said she filed a restraining order against her monster yesterday, and the police were going to escort her to get her things.”
“Oh…” Addie rubs her neck and looks around the room before saying, “Did she ask you to cover for her?”
“Yes,” I answer meekly and stop chopping. “She said not to worry because it might take her a bit. She was going to put everything in storage.”
“It makes me nervous. I don’t want her to be all over the news tomorrow about a body found in the local storage area because she was unprotected.”
My eyebrows rise as I glance out the window.
“Don’t want to see those girls turn up like Addie.”
Panic sets in. Fear threads through me as the thought of being unguarded breaks through my calm.
“Hey...” Addie catches on quickly. In a flash, she’s off her stool, rubbing my back.
The temperature in the room gets higher and beads of sweat pool on my Cupid’s bow. Despite the heat, my skin is cool and my throat is dry. Breathing comes in short gasps as I curl my fingers around the edge of the counter and hold on for dear life. My toes feel numb, and the tips of my ears feel nonexistent.
Unprotected. My chest tightens, squeezing my lungs relentlessly. I gasp for air.
A glass of water is tipped to my lips, and a small stream pours in. I swallow hard, as if my life depends on it. As the water flows down my throat, I focus on the coolness.
Another sip.
Another cool stream, losing the cool sensation somewhere between the bottom of my breasts and belly button. Another sip, and then another, and soon my ears aren’t cotton-like anymore.
The fan, the fridge, and the woman beside me assure me I’m going to be all right. The kitchen comes into focus again and my eyes finally blink. Still unable to move my body, I focus on Addie. “Are we unprotected, Addie?”
“No one is going to come in here and hurt us. There are two night guards. The new guy started a couple hours ago.”
I nod.
“You’re all right,” Addie says softly.
“At least I didn’t pass out.” I reach for the glass of water in her hands and shakily bring it to my lips. I quench the insatiable thirst, but the water does little to help the dryness. Addie rushes to the pantry and comes back with a large bag of marshmallows. “Eat a couple of these.”
I take one of them from the bag and nibble on it, slowly swallowing it. The gelatin coats my throat, easing the raspiness. “Thank you,” I force out in a gravelly tone. “It feels like I swallowed fire.”
“You get those often, don’t you?” she asks, knowing the history.
“They’re more frequent since the miscarriage…” I clear my throat and take another bite of the fluffy gelatin. “If I feel them coming on, I use my safe words and repeat them as I remove myself from the situation, but I don’t think I know how to do that just yet.”
“Did you feel strange before I came in? Do you know what triggers them?”
“I think the being unprotected or saying she would die.” I shake my head because I didn’t think that was it. “If burning food is what triggers them, then I’m screwed.”
Addie nods her head, and I glance down at the chopped vegetables. “Did you take the knife out of the bowl?” I ask, as I think about what could have brought on the panic attack.
“It’s probably outside. It was tipped over.”
I nod. She probably shut the water off too. “I burnt twenty-seven eggs,” I confess in case it was the lies.
“Well, glad it wasn’t—”
The rest is drowned out with my thoughts. Twenty-seven. 327. I snap my attention to her smiling face, a little more relieved to have the reason. The trigger.
“Hopefully, they come back with some sort of information. But she’ll be fine, I think.” The uplifted tone at the end of Addie’s statement causes me to nod, but it takes me a moment to figure out what she’s talking about. “Her brother wouldn’t hurt her. Most of the girls here have trouble with significant others, but some have history of abuse in the home. Has she mentioned anything like that to you? She isn’t very forthcoming in groups.”
“I don’t think she’s ready to talk. It took me awhile to start sharing. She’s only been here for a minute; she’s still scared. The bruises start to lose color, but the hurt still remains, you know?” I’m still unsure of whether she was talking about Ivy or Kelsie, but it applies to both.
Addie nods and heads toward the pantry, returning with oats, sugar, chocolate powder, and some dried nuts. She places them on the table and points to the bin of jars on the shelf.
I grab them, finding the silence a little awkward. Had I not said what she wanted? “Is everything all right, Addie?”
“I’m just thinking about how she’s different than the rest of you girls.”
“Different?” I ask, as I unscrew the tops of the jars and line the tops up side by side.
She dips a measuring cup into the oats and pours it into the jar, careful not to spill. She motions for me to start on the other side, so I grab one and mimic her actions. “You all were referred to me, Kelsie just walked in off the street and asked for help. When I asked how she knew about our home, she mentioned the nurse from the same hospital you were in.”
Ah. Kelsie.
Addie sighs heavily and moves on to the measuring spoon with sugar. “I’m worried about Kelsie because there are certain criteria that these women watch out for.” She doesn’t elaborate on those criteria, but I’m guessing it has something to do with terrified women who are victims of assault, and are afraid of being caught telling on the men they run from. At least, I’ve gathered that much from my time here.
“Do you think Kelsie was running from something
else?”
“No. You could see the need to run in that girl from a mile away, but it wasn’t just from the man who gave her those bruises and broken ribs. From the bits of information she gave me when the guard brought her in, I knew I could help her. She wanted to run from life, to escape the reality she had been forced into, but something was holding her back. She wasn’t ready to be here.”
“Do you think it would have been better to turn her away?”
“No,” Addie says sweetly. “I’m not in the business of turning a blind eye to the women in need. I’ve learned my lesson the hard way.” She takes a deep, full breath and continues, “But I wish she would have stayed so I could help her.”
“You can’t help someone if they aren’t ready to be helped. Plus, she’s coming back.”
She taps my hand gently. “Everyone needs someone to save them once in a while, or at least give them the courage to save themselves.” She removes her hand and starts adding the chocolate powder to the jars. Since the jar is small, I wait until she’s done adding the dash of chocolate to each cup.
Addie talks to the jars, as if they were real people. “You girls want to survive, and you run, but you don’t know where to go. You’ve been conditioned to believe the only place left for you is by the side of your abuser, and I don’t want to offer you a safe haven, I want to reestablish your place in the world. Show you that you matter, and the potential you have is too much of a waste. So if you’re too scared to walk through those doors and ask for help, I’m the one they call to walk through those doors with you.”
This woman gives her love away, without fearing the consequences.
“You all think you love these men, romanticizing monsters and craving their love. You’re not craving love from them, you’re depriving yourselves of the value of your love.”
“You don’t think these men can change?” I ask, mostly for my own curiosity.