Published as a limited edition chapbook for
the Juliapalooza Women’s Center Benefit
sponsored by Clifton Bailey and
Little Dready Boy Productions
August 16th, 2009
2nd printing -
Vulturefest, Makanda, Illinois
October 17 and 18. 2009
3rd printing -
Makanda Springfest,
May 7th and 8th, 2011
© 2009 Roger Dale Trexler. All Rights Reserved.
This ebook edition ©2012 Roger Dale Trexler.
Dedication:
This piece of fiction is dedicated to those who volunteer for noble and humanitarian causes everywhere.
If you like what you have read, please make a small donation of time or money to the Women’s Center in your town.
Thanks, Roger
The angel came to her in her time of need.
Dena lay in her bed, crying. Sam had gone to work half an hour ago, leaving her to the darkness of the house and the even darker place that lurked within her. The already bluing bruises no longer hurt, at least not physically. But, the emotional pain still lingered. She just couldn’t shake it anymore. It had become such a part of her existence that she couldn’t recall a time when she had felt happy.
And so, she cried.
She felt empty inside as she rolled over in bed. The alarm clock read 7:30 A.M. She should get up and go to work, but the emptiness inside told her to lie there, call in sick — sick in the heart, she thought — and sleep all day. Maybe Sam was right; she was lazy. No good. Useless but for one thing and one thing only.
She cried harder.
It hadn’t always been that way. When she and Sam had started dating, the fire between them was the greatest thing she had ever known. But, with time and familiarity, things had cooled between them. She loved him. She knew that much. But Sam wanted so much from life and, since life wasn’t cooperating, he took his frustrations out on her. They fought too often these days — about money, the way she cleaned house, her lovemaking, etc. — it seemed that everything she did was flawed and inadequate to him.
She felt that way in every aspect of her life. She felt small, petty, and insignificant.
Useless.
She picked up the telephone and dialed work. What did they need her for today, anyway?
Trisha Morgan, the receptionist, answered.
“I’m sick today,” Dena said, trying to fight off tears. “My stomach hurts really bad!” There was more than just a little truth to that; Sam had punched her repeatedly in the stomach last night. She had bruises all along her ribcage and abdomen.
“I hope you feel better,” Trisha said honestly. There was concern in her voice; she’d answered the phone far too often for Dena lately. “Get some rest.”
“Okay,” Dena said. She hung up the phone and lay in bed.
She felt like there was nothing she could do. She was trapped and confused, and she wanted to cry….
…. So, she did.
The next morning, she pulled herself together enough to get up, take a shower and go to work. Sam had gone out with the boys and come in past midnight, drunk. He had fallen asleep on the couch. Dena didn’t dare wake him; she called in sick for him.
She decided that lying at home till he awoke and took out his hangover on her wasn’t what she needed to do; she needed to go to work, be around people, and get the depressed thoughts from her mind.
Still, when she arrived at the bank, the emptiness she had wanted to leave behind came along with her. As she walked into the bank, she saw all the other tellers. They nodded at each other, a couple said “good morning”, but they quickly returned to the tasks they were working on. Dena used to stand around the water cooler with the girls and chitchat about things but, lately, she felt more and more compelled to alienate herself from her friends and co-workers. It just seemed the right thing to do: she didn’t want to have to tell people her problems. They had enough of their own, she reckoned, and everyone had relationship issues, didn’t they?
She took her seat behind the bank counter and began her daily routine.
They Walk Among Us Page 1