Lessons From the Past
by Adele Vogt
Lesson One:
Hide how you really feel behind a wall of bricks, of bones, and of blood. Lock it all away, so no matter how hard they try to break you, they can’t reach the girl you used to be. Not anymore.
You mutter to yourself, as you tighten the blue laces on your shoes, making sure to double knot them this time. No, you will not be telling people you tripped and fell again. It’s not up to you to protect someone who has hurt you. No one here knows him anyway. You straighten your back as you take one last look in the mirror. Your lip split, your eyes sullen, and a tinge of a bruise still paints the underside of your left orbital. You tilt your head and are glad to see the finger-shaped bruises on your throat are finally gone, your own fingers tracing there subconsciously.
This is what freedom felt like. Anxiety, laced heavily with a false confidence. But you could breathe. You grab your keys and walk out the door, locking it with precision, but for once not turning back to make sure he would be fine without you. A week into this newfound freedom and you are finally starting to relax, even a little bit, into this new life.
Lesson Two:
Remember to breathe, you aren’t there anymore.
Work itself is a confusing battleground of people who know, without asking, and those who think they know something when they don’t. The anxiety doesn’t cease even though you put your bag down and head toward the front house, where you know everything like the back of your hand.
Your hand... the one now without the ring on it, but bruised knuckles all the same. The regulars will surely notice, and the whole town will talk about it. Who walked out on who? Did he really cheat? What is her story really? You know the truth in your heart. It’s the reason you came here, where no one truly knows you. A fresh start, away from the danger.
Ching! The bell on the door rings out happily, pulling you out of your thoughts, and you jump at the happy sound. The doctors said you probably have Complex PTSD, and you’re pretty sure they’re right on the money. You tuck a loose strand of auburn hair behind your ear and smile at the newcomer who has entered. They are the first patron of the day; looks like he could use some caffeine, or a scone. Maybe an upsell if I sweet-talk him enough? About 6’ tall, a beard – but a well-kept one, not like your ex had – glasses, and a friendly smile. You notice he has a bag with him, a medium sized one. Probably a gym bag you tell yourself as he steps towards the clean countertop, taking a centering breath.
“Hi there, welcome to the Tea Pot, I’m Rhea. What can I get started for you?” you ask the strange man with kind eyes. “Morning,” he says with a gruff voice, still obviously laced with sleep, stepping closer to the counter, “I’m Adam, what do you recommend?”
After some explanation, and taste testing, Adam gets set up with a honey scone, and a black tea with half and half, sugar on the side. He goes to sit at one of the smaller tables, with smooth oak top chairs, his back to the wall and able to face the door.
The phone rings, and you answer. “Hi, thanks for calling the Tea Pot, how can I help this morning?” you answer chipper and in a customer service voice. “Hello Rhea” a chill runs down your spine, as the voice continues “glad to know you’re working today. We should… talk.” The phone clicks before you can respond, but you know it’s your ex, Steve. The one you just left and tried to get a protection order against. You aren’t even sure how he managed to find you, you put nothing on any social media, no notices.
You are driven immediately back to all those nights, and days, and captive moments. His fake voice in public, the nice one, could smooth over any disagreements. But his real voice, the one he didn’t hide anymore, that one still holds fear within you. And you are taken instantly back to when he held you against the wall by your throat. The scent of the whiskey on his breath, the blood rushing to your ears, panic in your lungs. “I own you, and no one else can have you alive,” his voice so loud in your ears you forget for a moment where you are. Deep breaths, you’re safe you tell yourself, even if it feels like a lie. Your fingers trace the grain of the hardwood countertops instinctually, as if to help map out an escape route from a place you thought was a sanctuary.
The shaking hands aren’t easy to hide, but you feel your pulse racing, vision going blurry. No one else is coming in for a shift until this afternoon, for the after work crowd. “Shit” you curse aloud, without meaning to. “I’m so sorry sir, there’s been an emergency, we have to close -- now,” you say it with a smile, but the rapid pace of your words and constantly shifting eyes say a far different story. The tea pot in your hand rattling softly against the platter you support it with.
“Emergency? What kind?” You fumble for an answer, not making any actual words. “I’m a firefighter, I can probably help” Adam says softly but with a slight edge of authority, in that tone where your body relaxes ever so slightly, looking around for what could possibly have happened in that short instant.
“A... personal one, my ex... I’m the only one here is all right now, and... I, I need to get out before he gets here” Adam looks you over closer than before, noticing all the bruises and faint scars on your face, hands, arms and neck. He grumbles to himself, “did he do all that to you?” and without giving you time to speak he pulls out his phone and dials.
Lesson Three:
You do have people who actually care, even if they don’t know everything.
Not even ten minutes pass and there’s not one, but three members of the local Fire Department in the Tea Pot now. You make another few pots of hot water and bring them out, not sure how else to keep control of the situation. “Hi, I’m Rhea, welcome in, how can I help?” One of the newcomers looks over and smiles at you softly, she seems to be about early 30s, tattoos, and a friendly face. “Hi Rhea, I’m Sophie, I’m an EMT who works with Adam. He said you had a nasty bruise on your eye, mind if I checked it out?”
You tilt your head at the question, not being used to this kindness for a long time, and not having been seen by a medical professional in any capacity for at least 3 years – Steve’s orders, no doctors or worse pain – but you suck down the fear that aims to paralyze you and nod your head.
Adam comes and sits beside you, but not too close, for a moral support during the basic exam. Concussion protocol, description of injuries, and a description of Steve too. His friend, who you learn is named Jake, take notes of what you say, his thick rimmed glasses sitting on the tip of his nose, and rubber wedding band on his left hand.
Another car pulls into the gravel lot, the tires crunching as the wheels turn, with a broken taillight and Pennsylvania plates. Sophie automatically clocks the spike in your anxiety, even without needing to check your pulse.
Twenty minutes later you’ve now met the entire police force, and firefighters from house 222. Steve is being arrested for attempted murder. You pull the Mylar blanket tighter around your shoulders, shielding your body from the chaos and confusion, nursing a bottle of cold water. Adam sits beside you, giving a statement to an officer, ice on his knuckles and sporting a bruised cheek bone. His number already in your phone and plans to get drinks set for this weekend.
Another officer is pulling out weapon after weapon from the trunk of Steve’s crappy four-door. Rope, cyanide, knives, shotgun, enough shells to stock an armory, and a video camera.
You can’t help but feel like things might finally be okay now as you see him get loaded into the back of the vehicle, cuffs on tight, officers reading him his rights. That you’re safe, no matter what the future might hold for you. The cop car door shuts with a definitive thud and it’s almost as if the door is being closed on your rough past.
Lesson Four:
You can be free. Now go live your life how you want to live it. No one can ever hurt you like he hurt you, not again.
***
Adele is a lifetime lover of all things writing. When she doesn't have her nose in a book or a pen in her hand she is helping to bring the love of reading to those at her local Public Library. She lives on the Eastern Shore of Maryland with her parents and 3 dogs.
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