The Domestic

She had been sitting on that particular bench, dubbed the lovers seat by the locals for the last four hours, over looking the pacific ocean. She did not know why or how she got there; but she does recall dropping her son off at school that morning. Like every Tuesday morning, she awoke to find him fast asleep, hugging his bear that her brother brought him when he was here last year. The thing was so cute when they brought it home, a demented version of Yogi bear covered in black spots. It has a red ribbon around its fat neck. And did he love it, that dirty looking thing. She had tried to wash it so many times, but he would start to scream the minute it went into the hamper, he would throw one of his tantrums and she like the good dotty mother, would then retrieve it out of the hamper and place it back in its position next to his bed.

Now she sits here like a vagabond with nowhere to go, waiting for her watch to tell her its time so that she could go and pick him up from school, then her life would be hers again. A week ago, she was happy. Her husbands erratic behavior did not unnerve her, rather it consoled her and made her feel normal. Then it happened, she awoke with the horrible memory of what had happened to her when she was nine. All she could think about was the blood soaked sheets that she lay in and the dark voice telling her to go to bed. It was like a dream and the dream now seems like a reality. She had no clue before that this was an intricate part of her life. She had left the village when she was 16 along with her sister to go study in the land of the billions. Her father’s promise of betterment never came, only failures and mediocrity. The nuns used to tell her that if she tried hard enough and prayed enough, then she would pass her O levels.

But these days, all she has are those memories that haunt her beyond belief. Never in a million years did she think it were possible that she was the subject of such a brutal act, of such violence. Now it all makes sense, her rage that she used to unleash on him, the child’s father for leaving the dishes in the sink. For not filling the hamper with the dirty clothes and leaving it for her to pick up off the closet floor. She used to think that he was doing it on purpose but now in hindsight, the two jobs and all the bills must in some way distract the poor guy. She could not understand herself and slowly the anger creeps its way back into her heart: like the way it used when she was young. She would go and hide in the Palmyra groves from her sister and her endless chatter about school, how the nuns loved her so and her pathetic little brother whose existence was in itself a sham. Her mother had him when she was nine and when she was delivering her pathetic little brother, she was soaked in blood.

She despised that little fucker and his cuteness, his very existence disturbed her to the core. He epitomized everything that she hated in the world, from her father to her no good uncles and she prayed that one day, that little fucker would end up like them her uncles, on the street with the stench of toody oozing out of his pours for all to see. This hatred fueled her need to escape, throw up everything she had consumed and jump right out of her skin. For this sole reason, she would run and hide in the groves where none would find her. Here she would create her mystical realm in which she ruled as the gentile but firm Princess of Vlan. From the day she had started this foray into the groves, she had instituted a very nuanced ritual of sorts, which may shed light on her current neurosis; the incessant need to clean and keep up the façade that everything is clean as a sanitized hospital.

The ritual started with something quite simple: she would move the rocks into position and sweep away the debris with her make shift broom. She would then, remove all the Palmyra leaves and the bird droppings, one by one. Then she would polish the rocks that she had named until her little fingers would turn red, almost to the point of breaking the skin. Then she would create her realm, where she felt fortified. Deep down inside, she knew that she had about an hour until she head that voice beckoning her back to reality where she would have to face another miserable day.