Tom and I dared not touch the fried chicken that lie in front of us. I stated a quiet 'I'm not hungry at the moment' before audibly saying, "I'm quite weary, I'll be heading to the
bedroom now." I pushed myself up from the table with a fair amount of
lethargy, the chair legs scratching upon the hardwood floor echoing
within the room. “Good Night Tom.” I called over my shoulder as my
disappearing form made its way up the flight of stairs to the bedroom.
Anyone would have thought I was exhausted from a taxing and eventful
day, but I knew better. I was ready to make my move. I knew Tom didn’t
leave the table that night for at least thirty minutes time because I
lied in the bed waiting on tenterhooks, every shadow a forgotten
nightmare, every sound a vengeful creep. With eyes closed I regulated
my breathing, giving the illusion I was asleep to my ignorant husband.
He lightly brushed his fingers through my hair almost as though he felt
some sort of guilt in his actions. He quickly receded and I heard the
rustling of his clothes as he undressed to put on his nightclothes for
the evening. Although a bit perplexed with my sudden weary state, he
later crawled into bed as his side of our shared mattress sunk and
after a brief exhale, seemed to relax. I waited for what seemed to be
an hour or more until I heard light snoring from his trachea, signaling
me to step carefully out of bed. I made sure that there wasn't a sound
in doing so to perfect my newly thought course of action., making sure
to dress stealthily with the utmost care carrying my shoes in my hand. When I made my escape it was past midnight, yet not too far from dawn and
gliding down the stairs and out the door, hurriedly shoving those shoes
on my feet, I stole into the blackness. All I could think about were
the awful memories that plagued me as I walked, futilely trying to
clear my cluttered thoughts.
