The Meadow 83 unplanned. It must have come from all these months of waiting for his exterior to crack. All these months of living like a prisoner who wasn’t sure when a whip would crack against her back. “And so? What’s wrong with me trying to get my job back? I already talked about this-” I don’t get the chance to finish before his palm crashes onto my right cheek. It must have been a spirit that slipped into me. A demon that will not let my husband have the upper hand this time around. Because I fight. I fight like my life depends on it. A punch thrown onto my back. A kick directed at my stomach. My knee thrown up in between his legs. My hands tugging at his hair and throwing slaps whenever I can. At some point I decide I am tired. I set my legs in position and run out of the house. He is faster, stronger. Behind me in seconds. Dragging me by my braids and onto the cold concrete floor. The blows come faster than they’ve ever done. This time he doesn’t use just his hands. He tries something new. His shoe. It is heavy and adequate for the job. He slams it across my face and my head. Perhaps he over-did it. Perhaps a shoe shouldn’t deliver as many blows as one’s hands.
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