by Deborah L. Robinson

Created on: November 12, 2008

The three washtubs of hot, steamy water emitted a vapor that dampened Margaret's bangs to her forehead. She bent over the old fashioned wringer washing machine, careful not to let loose strands of her long red hair fall into the grip of its rotating spindle. She'd once lost a clump of her locks that way when the greedy machine had ripped them away. Her hair had just grown in from when Harold had drug her with it wrapped around his rough, hurtful hands. Those hands frightened her, made her flinch when he lifted one to rub his nose or adjust his cap.

He'd refused to buy her a modern style washer; said his mother had done laundry for seven kids that way and she wasn't no better than his mother. She hated laundry day. Harold insisted that it be done on Fridays, the day he always came home from work drunk. He was bound to be in a terrible mood and the laundry was never done good enough. Impeccably clean laundry was just one of his many rules. And when it wasn't done to his satisfaction, Harold would yank all the wet clothes off the line, rub them into the dirt, and make her wash them all over again.

Margaret heard the leaves behind her crackling under the weight of his steel-toed boots, and imagined him walking like a drunk bear across the yard. The off-balance cadence of the boots came to a sudden halt behind her.

"What the hell are you doing bending over with that skirt up your ass?"

She impulsively jerked towards the sound of his voice.

"I'm in the backyard, Babe. Nobody can see me." She glanced up quickly, tried to smile, then glanced back down again.

"Goddamn slut! That's what you are."

A gust of wind suddenly whipped the sheets on the clothesline into a frenzy. They snapped and popped in the wind like protective white angel's announcing danger. Margaret reached back to smooth down her skirt that had kicked up wildly with the wind.

She cautiously turned back to the laundry, settling her hips and belly plush against the machine. The leaves stirred again behind her, and then Harold was right up on her. The bear had pounced. He grabbed her hard around the waist and pushed his full weight into her body, crushing her midsection into the unrelenting metal.

"Did you get my damn beer from the store like I told you to?" he growled into her hair.

"Yeah, Baby," she replied nervously. Why don't you go in and get yourself one and relax?"

She had made a mistake. Harold didn't like it when she told him what to do.

Before she could get "I'm sorry" from her throat, he had hooked his arm

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