With my head against the window, I could feel the vibrations of the train chugging along the tracks. I looked chilly outside, but the train was warm. Both my children sat across from me; my son, who was a blond-haired little three-year-old, and my daughter, with her curly brown hair, was five years old. Their toys they brought along were keeping them busy. They hadn't asked many questions over the past few weeks as they witnessed the teary good-byes from our friends.
All our belongings were on the train; three suitcases with clothes and one with their toys. That was all we had left in the world, besides the $80.00 in my wallet. My ex mother-in-law knew our destination and I was just praying that she wouldn't let him know. Hopefully, we will be far enough away so he won't bother us anymore. I still have the picture in my head as I looked back at myself in the mirror the first time he beat me up. I didn't recognize me. Both eyes were black, my top lip was swollen and almost touching my nose. My nose was swollen and dried blood was crusted in my hair. My shirt was ripped and I was partially exposed.
The last incident wasn't all that long ago. We lived in a secured apartment building, but all you had to do is wait long enough at the outside doors and someone would let you in. That is what he did. He knocked at the inside door when I was in the bathroom; I heard the knock and my heart went to my throat. I yelled out to the children but I was too late, they had opened the door and let in their father. I saw on his face it wasn't going to be a friendly visit. I sent the children to their room before he could take out his anger on them. He could be angry for any reason; most of them trivial, and it was always a guessing game to what I should apologize for so he wouldn't hit me. This time, it was for not answering the phone when he called that morning.
He pushed me to the ground. I tried to get up, but he stepped on me. I knew right away to go to the fetal position to prevent the least amount of pain. As he kicked at me, I tried to protect my head. He had boots on, and each kick increased with force as his anger escalated. I cried, I wasn't going to but the fear was too much for me. He got tired of kicking me and pulled me to my feet; he dragged me to the kids' room and told them to leave. I could see how scared they were and prayed that he would keep his attention on me. He did and then he left. It had been six long years of hell; I had tried leaving so many times, but he always found me. It was the police that told me to leave, they said they would find me dead one day if I never got out of town. They tried to protect me, but in 1984 the laws were not on my side.
We got off the train and I saw my brother. He had a big white truck and he loaded up the suitcases and then we climbed into the truck. He had brought my three-year-old nephew with him and immediately he and my son became best buddies. We settled in quickly, got an apartment, a job and for the first time I was living without fear. About two months into my new job as a bank teller I was feeling really comfortable and even thought about dating again. After being through all I had, I was really appreciating the little things in life, opening the door without worrying who was on the other side, or making a cup of coffee in the morning and sitting outside. One Friday afternoon at work, I was anxious to get the day done as we were going to the lake and it was one of my favourite things to do. For me, there was nothing more peaceful then sitting by the lake with a campfire. Fridays were always busy at the bank and it was one customer after another, I didn't have time to think much and just hoped that I would balance out at the end of the day.
I heard his voice first, saying that he would wait for me and let the customer behind him go to the next available teller. I almost threw up as I felt the burning bile in my throat. I lost my concentration completely and my customer asked if I was feeling alright. I got through counting out the money and my customer left, it was all quite blurry. Then he was there, he asked me what kind of bitch I was, taking his kids away from him. I felt every eye on me and it was a surreal feeling. I wanted to be anywhere else but there. The tears were in my eyes but they wouldn't leave, instead they just stung the corner of my eyes. He found me again.