They say God laughs at you when you make plans. Which is ain't so bad, really, when you think about it.
Because at least someone cares enough to pay attention.
Because at least someone cares enough to pay attention.
By Nightfall by Mike Loniewski
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She stood at the bathroom
mirror that was flecked with dried spit. Through the streaks of grime, and lit
by harsh light, Crystal could see the map of purple and black that seeped under
her swollen jaw. She stared coldly at herself, wrinkling her young face to feel
the dry pain of the bruising. She slipped her tongue over her lip, tasting the
saltiness of the wound and crooked her body to one side to feel the nob of pain
in her ribs. She needed the conformation.
Crystal grabbed her
daughter’s Dora toothbrush out of the stained sink and walked into the
cluttered living room where her night bag had been packed. She stuffed the
toothbrush inside, along with pajamas and underwear, sweatpants and socks, T-shirts
of kittens and cupcakes. She zipped the bag tight, the sides stretching at the
seams.
When she went into the
bedroom, Tim was lying face down in the yellowed sheets, the bristles of his
wiry back hair rising and falling with each drunken breath. Crystal pulled the
space heater over to the edge of the bed, dangerously close to the dangling
sheets.
In her daughter’s bedroom,
Makayla was sound asleep, dreaming of puppies or candy or soft teddy bears.
Crystal remembered those kinds of dreams. She slipped her hands under Makayla,
trying her best not to wake her. The girl stirred in her arms.
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“Shhh. You’ll wake the
Sandman.”
Makayla squeezed her eyes
shut and held tightly onto her mother.
Through the rusted storm
door they walked into the biting cold of night, their breath wreathing around
them like halos. The cold gouged a dull pain into Crystal’s hands, the hands
that had blocked her husband’s punches.
She froze when she saw the
figure in black. Robbie. He stepped out of the shadows, a young man, tall and
slender. He stared at her battered face with broken eyes, his lips pursed. She
swallowed her heartache and shook her head. He could hold her when it was done.
“There’s a lighter by the
dresser,” she said.
Crystal moved to the
dented, sky blue Corolla that sat next to a rusted pickup. She placed Makayla
in the back seat and buckled her in. She tugged on Crystal’s coat.
“Was that the Sandman?”
she whispered in fear.
“No,” answered Crystal. “It’s
the angels, baby. Close your eyes.”
The car was cold and stiff
and started with a struggle. Through swollen eyes, she stared through the
rearview, watching Robbie disappear inside the house. She focused on the dark path
in front of her, a thirty-minute drive to her mother’s trailer. She drove in
silence.
As Crystal drove she
watched the walls of craggy pines envelope the road. She thought of the days
that would come, when she could feel the touch of Robbie for the first time.
Her Robbie had stayed true, a real man. Her knight. A smile struggled to grow
across her swollen lip.
In the rearview, two
headlights rose up from the road. They glowed like hateful orbs, growing closer
with purpose. It made her uncomfortable.
