How I wonder what you are…

I always wait until five to pick my son up from pre-school. I don’t have to; I don’t work, but when HE is home (my husband – we’ll call him Derek), I dread coming home. Sometimes I just drive around with my two kids in the car: Dillon, 3 ½ and Ella, 18 months, listening to music and meditating on what our lives will be like one day when we finally get away from this person.

As the children ate, things were okay and then He came down, in a mood triggered by I don’t know what. I never know what. It could be anything or nothing, but one thing is for sure, it’s always something. Tonight it was a tomato. “Sit up straight, you bum!” he yelled at Dillon, “What’s the matter with you! It’s like you’re in a lounge chair!” I was making some chicken for Dillon’s Easter picnic at school the next day. Derek peered into the fridge and snapped: “So you’re just wasting money, is that it? Hmmm? Just wasting money like it’s water, you stupid, idiotic person!”

As I learned to do a long time ago, I tried to play dumb and keep my eyes on my work, but when he’s on the attack, there’s nothing that will stop it. “I demand an answer, Stacey!” he bellowed, startling Dillon. “You are the most selfish, decadent, useless person I’ve ever met!” The yelling continued and it eventually became clear to me that he was angry because I used a tomato that had a later date on it than another tomato in the fridge. He knew this because he had surveyed all the tomatoes, checked the dates, and had discovered this terrible and unforgivable infraction. As he yelled, he worked himself into a greater and greater frenzy, screaming that I was a “useless bitch” and that I “ruin his health.” “Don’t ask me for any more money, Stacey, never again, because I’m not giving you any! You can rot like you deserve!”

And on and on he went. With Ella on my hip and Dillon clutching my leg, we stood in the kitchen as Derek screamed at the top of his lungs from the living room: “Just leave, Stacey! Get out of my site! You’re useless! You’re a useless, stupid, selfish person who is ruining our kids!” “Okay,” I said, trying to usher the kids away from this scene, “Come on, Dillon, let’s go to bed, sweetie.” But Derek was unstoppable, still screaming: “Get your hands off of him! Dillon, go! GO!!!!! You stupid person! You just baby them! You don’t know anything!” Dillon clung to my leg and like dodging bullets, Dillon, Ella and I made the dash to his room to seek cover. As I do every, single day, I tried to put on a smile and get on with it. But even at three, Dillon isn’t stupid. “Mommy,” he said, “Daddy’s yellin’ again.” “I know, sweetheart,” I countered, “but you know what, the way daddy acts is not okay. We don’t yell at each other like that, do we.” “No,” he said, “it’s not nice.” “That’s right,” I added, “are you okay?” “Yes, he nodded, his huge eyes fixed on me.

With a hug, I left Dillon to watch tv in his room, the safest activity he can do, sadly, while I put Ella to bed. But even now, with all of us gone from the room, Derek’s rant was far from over. As I turned out the lights in Ella’s room and tried to relax her, we could hear Derek’s screams in the background to everything else. “What a stupid, stupid person!” he yelled, “Never, never am I taking this anymore! What a shit life! Bullshit!” and on and on and on, all directed at me and my inadequacies as a wife, as a mother, and as a human being in general.

Still, I got on with it, holding little Ella in my arms: “Should we sing our song now?” I asked, “Yeah,” she whispered, “Song,” So as we did every night, we went to the window and stepped inside the curtains, looking out at the giant, white moon hovering over the banana trees. His shouting in the background never ceased as he worked himself into a bigger and bigger frenzy.

But the night was beautiful, my baby was in my arms, and even though I can’t sing well, I sang anyway: “Twin-kle, twin-kle, lit-tle star, how I won-der what you are…” “No way am I taking this bullshit from this stupid bitch anymore! I just had it!” “Up a-bove the world so high..." “Wasting food like some Queen! From now on you get nothing! Do you here me?! You can starve!” "...like a di-amond in the sky…” “What a selfish, disgusting pig! Just a total piece of trash, this bitch!” “...twin-kle, twin-kle lit-tle star..." “Just a useless, money-grubbing piece of shit! No more! That’s for sure!” “...how I won-der what you are…” “Nice,” Ella sighed when we were finished, “Bitch!” crash, clang… “Mommy?” Ella said, pointing toward the door, “dad a da daddy??” “Yes, Ella,” I sighed, “That’s daddy. Now it’s night-night time.”

With Ella down I checked on Dillon and made sure he was okay, and then tip-toed past Derek back into the kitchen. He was silent now, beginning the next phase of punishment; the phase after he’s shot his full load of ammunition and he’s spent. I’m only able to write any of this now because he’s so angry at me that he’s ignoring my existence. But believe me, there will be a price to pay for that later.

Words don’t translate the pain and terror that such a scene makes me feel. This monster thinks it’s okay to just unleash his poisonous venom on me and my babies and then leave us to feel like pieces of garbage, which is what he thinks of us. To him, we’re just objects to own and control. I’m strong, but even so I feel shaken, like I’ve just been slapped across the face over and over and couldn’t do anything about it.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I truly wonder what you are. Goodnight, little star, and goodnight, dear friend…