Reflection

Josephine had spent the last 20 years of her life alone following an abusive relationships with her husband, who'd left her before their second child was born. He was a misguided man, troubled by a life of repressed inadequacies and fears. He compensated by exercising an assumed authority over Josephine, usually physically, but emotionally too. The stress of his job and his inability to cope with the expectations set for him led him to drink. He'd get mean when he drank and he'd project all of his fears and insecurities onto her, blaming her for his problems. She loved him dearly and devotedly. Her love blinded her and she made excuses for him, helping to enable him through continued forgiveness and an undying belief in his capacity for change.

One night she had come home from work a bit later than usual, and she found the front door open. Inside the lights were on, illuminating the battered kitchen, which had inherited the full brunt of his outrage. The refrigerator door was ajar and half hanging off its hinges, broken glass and bleeding condiments littered the floor. The counter dripped with tomato sauce that had half dried and crusted, making it look like a giant oozing scab. Dishes had been ripped out of the cabinets and hurled across the room; pieces of broken ceramic and glass were scattered all over the floor. Scared, she moved quietly toward the bedroom, hoping to find him asleep. As she approached the door, also ajar, she heard muffled cries from inside the nearly darkened room. Josephine peered around the doorjamb and saw her husband sitting on their bed with his back to her, weeping and rocking back and forth with his head in his hands. Beside him were photos of her that he had taken when they'd first met. Some of them she had forgotten, others she remembered well. One from a time they had gotten dressed up to see a fancy play - she was wearing a black dress that he'd bought her for the occasion; another one of them together with Jim's dog that had died; a vacation in Vermont; the time they went to Disneyland. On the floor an empty bottle of whiskey lay lifeless and hollow. Looking up slowly, through his tears he saw her in the reflection of the mirror. She froze as his eyes me hers in the glass. Her heart leapt fearfully up into her throat, full like a frog's.

The silence swelled around them like a rising wave. Staring at her reflection his lip started to tremble below his wet face and his hand reached toward the mirror weakly. A remorseful sob choked him as he tried to speak. Her hands raised to her mouth to cover her pity while her loving eyes welled up with tears. I'm so sorry, he said, his voice cracking, wet and mired with blood from his conscience's dagger. Now both arms reached at her reflection in the mirror and she thought he looked like a terrified baby. She entered the room and sat beside him, taking him in her arms. He clutched her and sobbed against her and repeated the words: I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Later, when she was pregnant, he'd told her if he was going to have a kid he wanted a son, so when Sarah was born he told Josephine he was leaving her to find a woman who could give him what he wanted. She begged him to stay, shamefully pleading please don't leave, please. After weeks of much abuse she'd convinced him to stay and they tried a second time to have a boy. Months later, when the sonogram showed it was another girl, he told her to abort it. When she refused, he left.

Sarah remembered her mother telling her that story. She couldn't believe she was racing to the hospital. She always wondered why her mother had been dealt such a dreadful hand. She'd always admired her for her perseverance, for raising her and her sister all alone.

Just let her be alright, please. Please.