The Long Journey Back - Chapter 1
Mar 13 '08
The Bottom Line © Copyright 2001. No part may be reproduced in any form without explicit written permission. This work is mainly fiction … bit and pieces though were culled from real life.
Chapter 1
Morning, she awoke to the alarm blaring next to the bed. There was the sound of bird song outside her bedroom window but in the midst of exhaustion and pain she didn’t hear it. Shuffling through the blur which was her world sans glasses she made her way to the bathroom and started the shower. Once the water was nice and hot she reached out to move the shower curtain and saw the first bruise. With a sigh of resignation she stepped in, relaxing just a bit as the spray hit her tired body. Soaping her body she reflected on the prior evening …
She fussed in the kitchen. Paul was due home at any moment and she wanted it to be a nice evening. They had been having so few of those of late. The meal was simple, homemade pasta sauce from the freezer, ziti, salad, and garlic bread. But it was good.
She lit candles about the living room for ambiance and decided to forgo the incense, allowing instead the smells of a home cooked meal to serve in its stead. Suddenly she felt the floor vibrate as he slammed shut the front door.
"Oh S$!+" she whispered. She knew that the slammed door meant a hard day, after what had been an especially hard week. Then forcing a smile she turned to welcome Paul home.
Dinner was a disaster. He barely touched any food, choosing instead to dine on a 12-pack of beer. After dinner (if you could call it that), it was obvious that the alcohol had taken hold. He came up behind her as she washed the dishes, a touch here a kiss there. It was obvious what he had in mind.
Taking a hold of her wrist he moved to turn her away from the sink.
“Honey, can this wait a bit? I really should clean up the kitchen first.”
With that utterance his grip around her wrist shifted from a light touch to a death grip. And his kisses grew more intense.
“Honey please …”
It was no good. When he drank there was no reasoning with him. In fact, her reluctance seemed to act as an aphrodisiac. It wasn’t that he meant to force her, he had no idea he was eve hurting her, she was sure. Or she hoped she was sure. He just wanted her, then and now and not knowing what else to do, she never seemed to know what to do when he got like this, she submitted.
But as his kisses deepened and he started to remove her clothes she drifted off inside her mind. There had been times when their lovemaking was spectacular. There had been moments in bed when they seemed to connect in soul as well as in body, but not for a long time. Not when he was like this. Not when booze had clouded his mind so that he either became unable to comprehend the words “not now” or “no”.
So she left. She closed her eyes and slipped off to the silent place in her mind. The sacred spot she used to go to in trance, in meditation. And so she wasn’t there when he thrust his fingers between her legs. She wasn’t there when his kisses, sometimes so soft and gentle turned sloppy and harsh. And she wasn’t there when he climbed on top of her disregarding the fact that she was obviously not ready. Disregarding everything but the pleasure which rose and crested leaving him spent on top of her.
She shook off the memory and clean and somewhat awake she turned off the water. She dried herself off gently and moved to the mirror. She looked at the person looking back at her and wondered how it had gotten like this. But time waited for no man, or woman, and it was pointless to waste time thinking about things that would never change.
She got dressed a pair of denim leggings and a lose and soft turtleneck. Twisted her still damp hair up into a bun and went off into the kitchen. As she expected it was spotless, the coffee was made and there was a note on the ‘fridge.
Morning Joanna! I know its Saturday but they called me into the office. I shouldn’t be home too late. Love you, Me
As if nothing had happened. But then what had happened? He had hurt her, but he hadn’t really meant to. And as for the sex? Well she supposed that if she had really wanted to stop him she could have. And goodness knows she wasn’t the first woman to just “lie there” when the mood hadn’t struck them. With a shrug she made a cup of coffee and headed downstairs. The home she and Paul shared wasn’t overly large, but it did have the luxury of a basement. Every time she went down the stairs she was always struck by how much stuff they had managed to cram into such a small space.
The room held the computer desk they shared, a number of bookcases, and an altar. She laid her coffee mug on the coaster she kept on her desk and on a whim she went over to it. The low table which was bedecked with crystals and candles. On the left was the chalice that Paul had bought her, a lovely hand blown piece in shades of purple. On the right the blade she had bought him at Ren Fair. In the center lay their wands, crafted from fallen branches which had been sanded with love and care. She hadn’t intended to do any ritual, her heart has been too sore for that lately. But suddenly something called to her.
She stood for a moment to collect her thoughts and a familiar prayer ran through her head. But, instead of continuing with the prayer of self-blessing she instead recited one line over and over again first silently and then aloud.
“Bless me Mother for I am Your child”
It was her mantra. It was what she was trying so desperately to remember, to feel again. When she had met Paul she was already a witch. After practicing on her own for a couple of years she had yearned for the company of others. So when she saw a notice at the local bookstore that a Pagan Study Group was forming she jumped at the chance. When she walked in that first night, the first person she met was Paul. She liked to say it was love at first sight. But in actuality she, they, didn’t know it was love until almost a year of friendship. What she experienced was more like remembrance. It was as if her soul and his recognized one another in that first instant. And from that moment on they were simply bound to one another, destined to be together.
During her early years as a Witch, as a Priestess, she was keenly aware of the Lady’s presence about and within her. It was at once the glow of moonlight shining down upon her and a warm coal within her. It was something that made magical the flicker of candlelight and the soft rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze. It was something that made sacred all the mundane acts that make up a life. That had made up her life. But, the last 2 years and the disappointments which had come with it had robbed the world of some of its beauty, had robbed her heart of some of the magic which once resided there. While she had once reached out for her faith in times of need, in times of despair, recently the more she hurt the less she felt able to turn to the trappings of her religion. And the more time that passed since she had held ritual the more she felt ashamed. Ashamed to call herself Witch, ashamed to call herself Priestess, and ashamed to call upon the Divine, her Lord and Lady. As a result she had practiced her religion less and less. She had grown more distant from her faith as evidenced by the puff of dust that rose into the air disturbed as she reached for a lighter.
She lit the central candle on the altar and sat before it. Trying to center herself and to feel again that connection to the Divine.
“Oh Goddess I ask that you send your blessings down upon me.” Her voice crackled with unshed tears. “I know I don’t deserve the privilege. Who am I to ask for anything? But please? I’m not sure where to go or what to do. Please help me find a way out; transform my life, transform me if that be your will. But, I can’t live like this anymore.”
With those last words her shell cracked and she began to cry. She curled up on the floor as the sobs wracked her body. They were the deep wrenching sounds of grief. She grieved for herself, for the memories of the prior evening, for the soreness in her body and mind. She grieved for the lack of meaning in her life as well as for the other losses of the past years. And finally she grieved for the man she loved, for whom their losses had been devastating. Finally she cried over the alcohol which was changing him into someone she didn’t know. Gradually her sobs turned to softer cries and finally spent in body and soul her breathing slowed and she fell asleep.
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