Sidda woke to birdsong washing her room with nature’s wholesome chorale. She opened her eyes to the most joyful feeling of peace that she had ever felt. The Sidda of Yesterday, and Tomorrow, had disappeared overnight, and just like that, they had become shades of time. She took a deep breath, allowing all thoughts to cease, and felt herself as a presence in the universe. Existing only in the moment.
A sharp pain stabbed her side when she sat up in bed, and her cheek throbbed with each beat of her heart. It had been a bad night. The worst ever. Malachi’s flat, impassive gaze had frightened her more than when he raged at her.
His meeting had gone badly. It was her fault. She had been the one to suggest he wear the blue shirt. His clients had been disappointed with the presentation. It was her fault. He had been thinking about her car that morning. He drank too much during the consultation over dinner. It was her fault. If she wasn’t such a needy bitch he wouldn’t have to drink.
A rose, the colour of blood, lay over a note on her end table. She didn’t need to read the note to know that he was sorry. It would never happen again. How could he make it up to her? Perhaps they should go to that counselor. Sidda let it sit. The anxiety-ridden woman, Sidda of Yesterday, would have pored over the note, rejoiced at his repentant sorrow. Proof that he did love her after all.
However, the Sidda of Now, who had somehow been reborn overnight, shed her nightclothes like so much flotsam and padded into her en suite where she luxuriated in the massage shower. The warm jets washed away the lingering cobwebs of pain and soothed her aching body. She wrapped a thick towel, one reserved for company, around her body, and searched her closet for comfortable jeans and a tee.
The deep bass notes of the front door bell undulated through the house. “Hello,” Sidda said to the deliveryman holding a gorgeous bouquet in his hands.
He smiled shyly at the brilliant glow emanating from her soul. He shifted nervously as he gazed at the colouring bruise on her face. “Are you alright?”
Sidda smiled, and then laughed with a childlike giggle. “I’m perfect,” she said. She signed for the bouquet then had him leave it on the stoop.
The cool grass tickled her bare feet as she crossed the lawn to the mailbox. An errant breeze enticed her with the gooey smell of cinnamon and cream cheese. Erma Dixon must be baking her latest creation next door. A single letter addressed to Sidda Jones sat at the back of the box. She giggled her new innocent laugh when she read the job offer for the position she had only applied for as a lark. The universe was already at work providing for the metamorphosis of the butterfly presence.
Malachi would be gone on his business trip for four days. Sidda turned to walk back into the house, she took another deep breath and felt the power of the essence soaking into her feet through the ancient roots of the earth beneath. Her hands tingled with vitality. Those cinnamon buns sure did smell good.
In the end it was easy beyond comprehension. After all, she didn’t really want, or need, any of the gifts of guilt. The jewels, the gowns, the trinkets would only be unpleasant memories which she no longer required. They had been for the victim, the battered wife, the martyr, the barren woman who needed to be pitied, the cleaning zealot, the trophy wife, the I, the me and the my. They were for the ego.
Malachi would be gone on his business trip for four days. Sidda only needed two. She packed everything into her car and cruised the city streets giving her minks to shopping cart ladies. Her designer clothes to young mothers with dark circles beneath their eyes. Armani suits to homeless veterans. Shoes, shifts, evening gowns, jackets, blankets, towels, food and jewelry to anyone in need. And hugs for everyone.
Her remaining two suitcases were packed. She waved at Erma and paused before getting into her car. Taking a deep breath she allowed the chi within her to rejoice at this perfect moment. The only true moment of being.
Image Credit
“Terpsichre I” by Paulin’a. Creative Commons Flickr. Some rights reserved.
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I always enjoy your articles, but I must put my two cents worth in here. Very nicely written moment of “re-purposing” of a life, but I can’t help thinking, Good thing she has a car, has a good job prospect & doesn’t have a couple of small kids in tow. Any time a woman leaves an abusive relationship and takes her kids to the emergency shelter with her, she risks having them taken away by Chidlren’s Aid. It sucks, but our courts put women in a double bind in this situation. If she goes back to the abuser, the kids can be taken because she is exposing them to risk of violence; if she leaves but has too much difficulty finding accommodation, the kids can be taken because she risks adding them to the homeless population. I also wonder about whether Sidda has a safety plan, since long-term abusers who see their wives as property will often hunt them down and kill them after they leave. These men often make subtle and not-so-subtle threats that if she ever leaves, he will kill her and the kids. This is more likely to be the reason why women don’t “just leave” rather than an inner attitude or state of mind. So is she going to charge him, or what?
You are a hundred percent correct, it is a lot more difficult without money, and with children in tow. However this story isn’t about those women. Unfortunately abuse takes place in all social classes, religions, ethnicity, wealth levels, etc. But this story isn’t even about abuse, it is about one woman’s change where abuse was just the catalyst.
We all, men and women, put labels on ourselves. Depressed, sad, lonely, abused, hard done by, happy, skinny, fat, barren, mother, father, sister, brother, teacher, clerk, lifeguard, runner, coach potato and writer. But the reality is that we are none of us those things. Our past is just our past, it no longer has the power to harm us, only the thoughts which we infect ourselves with do that. The future is not who we are, it is only a time that is not now, and completely unknowable. We cannot change another person no matter how much we try. The only power we have is over ourselves and our thoughts.
Sidda was lucky, she awoke to, a brave new world, for most of us it takes (sub)conscience effort to go beyond who we perceive ourselves to be and feel the power of living in the present. I am just starting that journey……..thus the story.