An Exercise in Contrast

I remember buying the wedding dress, and knowing it was the right one by the way your eyes glittered with sudden and unexpected joy as you sat, humoring me, in a reupholstered chair to the side of the dais.

Later, much later, you told me at which point you would begin to remove that dress on our wedding night. Then you showed me.

I remember fumbling in anger and terror with the key and wondering how much time I had as I tried to retrieve that dress from your apartment, leaving everything else. What a sight I must have been: walking alone in the middle of the night, wearing a Stetson, and carrying a wedding dress with a full cathedral train.

I remember our first night together, how you raged and rutted and sobbed and shuddered; how our bodies fit like puzzle pieces and how, at the end, I was wrung out like a washcloth and had nothing left to give - but my ear- to your gutteral croak of "stay."

And when I finally did, you were afraid to leave me; making excuses to come home from work to make certain I still slept soundly in the big bed I sold my soul to buy. You laughingly chided me for not waking fully enough to challenge you upon entering; I could only shrug sleepily and yawn, "Who else would it be?"

I remember our last night together: my terror and helplessness as I lay pinned beneath you, your once-beloved body now the warden of my tiny and effective prison, your breath hot and thick with rage. Each time my head hit the floor I heard a new word: You. Are. Mine. You. Can't. Go. I. Won't. Let. You. Go. You. Fucking. Bitch.

I remember the boyish boldness with which you escorted me to the finest establishment you could afford for our first dinner together. I struggled to hide my amusement - after all, we could have gone anywhere had you not insisted upon taking the financial burden upon yourself - as you opened doors for me, seated me, ordered for me, and orchestrated an amazing dessert that I could find nowhere on the menu.

Later, much later, I sat impaled by your frighteningly hot length as you burned with fever, feeding you orange slices and singing you lullabyes. Drenched with sweat, you murmured incoherently, but would not allow me to move even long enough to call an ambulance.

I remember making an excuse to get out of the house so we could share a Thanksgiving dinner. We sat in silence, you shaking with anger so violently it made the silverware rattle on the table. I moved to stand, to escape the horrific silence long enough to wash my hands, and you yanked me back by my hair. My head hit the table at the same time that my backside connected with the floor; through the explosions of fireworks in front of my eyes and the roaring in my ears I heard, "Get up, stupid."

I remember decorating a pathetic little tree with odds and ends and bits of ribbon, splurging only on the string of lights that created, in the dark of that miniscule room, an ethereal space. We lay on the floor, entwined, faces upturned toward the twinkling branches. Your breath in my ear, "I love you, you are my only," your scent filling my nostrils, commingled with old carpet and seeping pine.

You left message after message on my voicemail, crying out my name randomly in the midst of strings of polysyllabic gibberish punctuated by sounds of flesh striking metal. Knowing I would look at the Caller ID, you called from every pay phone you encountered in that all-night drunken excursion. Fascinated and frightened by the intensity, I dared not turn off the phone.

I remember seeing your truck as I exited the auditorium through the back door into the parking lot that I had thought was safely hidden from the street. Already knowing that the effort was futile though I could not yet see you, I ran at full, panicked speed to my car only to realize that you were sitting, hidden, against the driver's side door. As you stood to greet me - like nothing had ever happened!! - I dived into the relative safety of my car. I turned in time to see your fist shatter my window, pelting my face and body with broken glass. You dragged me partially out of the window to within centimeters of your face, shouting and shaking: You're! Dead! To! Me!

I remember seeing you for the first time and thinking, Oh, there you are!

You walked casually into the hospital room and said, "It's all right now. Here I am."

I tossed the deed to a dream now dead onto the Formica tabletop. You pushed an envelope, fat with money and regret toward me, almost mockingly. "There you go."