Denes's revenge

CW: Mental health, domestic violence, substance abuse

July 18, 1993

The place where I should feel and be safe is a simmering, swirling cesspool of anger and resentment. For the past several years my home has been like watching a volcano spew smoke from its peak; everyone knows it’s going to explode, it’s only a matter of time. And the longer it smokes the more dread it produces. I dread getting up in the mornings.

James is first in the kitchen again today just after daybreak.

“Dad make it home last night?”

“Yeah, he made it. Smelling like a brewery again. Sleeping in the guest bedroom. Again. You want breakfast?” I ask pulling the pan of bacon from the top of the range.

“In a little bit. The cows need feeding and milking; I can hear them from here. Be nice if I had help.”

“I know. I’m sorry son.” I slap a bit of scrambled eggs and two pieces of bacon on a biscuit and hand it to him as he heads for the door.

The creaking ceiling alerts me when Kyle finally crawls from his bed about an hour later. He doesn’t say a word to me as he stumbles through the kitchen, his hangover obvious, and finally heads to the barn.

That afternoon I decide to fry pork chops for dinner, mimicking Kyle’s and my first date. He always likes the way I cook them. Well… at least he used to. I’m not sure he likes anything anymore. I’m hoping he’ll stay home tonight instead of leaving for a beer with his friends as he does virtually every night now. Maybe we’ll even talk. I’m so damned lonely.

I glance out the back window about five o’clock, and Kyle is already heading into the house, leaving James working by himself… again. He kicks his boots off before he comes into the kitchen.

“Hi. Got pork chops tonight. Hungry?” Even I can hear the strain in my voice, tight and pleading.

He looks at me weirdly. It’s like he is thinking, why do you keep asking me stupid questions like that when you know the answer? “No. Not really. I’m going to head over to the Farm House for a beer.”

“Again? What’s going on Kyle?”

He shrugged his shoulders and clumped up the stairs for his shower. So, I’m wrong again. It appears Kyle has no intention of spending time with me. I can’t figure out how I feel about him. He’s both my husband, according to the church, and my brother, according to his mother. I can’t have him as a husband and never knew him as a brother. What the hell am I supposed to do?

The frustration and anger feeding the volcano is building. Kyle’s, mine, his father’s, MY father’s. I’ve been fighting the cloud of anger pervading our home for years and it finally overcame me when I hear the shower start.

“AAAGGGGHHHH!”

My stomach roiling, I turn off the fire on the stove and sling the chops, skillet and all into the trash can. I stand in the middle of the kitchen glaring up the stairway, breathing hard, and getting angrier by the second. I follow him, stomping up the stairs. He dumped his clothes into a pile at the foot of our bed only feet from the dirty clothes hamper. What the hell? I stand in the middle of our bedroom, breathing deeply, slamming his clothes into the hamper, trying to calm myself but have no success. If I hurry and get these in the washer, I’ll cut off all his hot water. That brought a bit of a petty smile.

I’ve finally had enough and start towards the bathroom to confront him. And… I draw up short. I know what will happen. Nothing. We’ve been through all this so many times before. I know if he speaks to me at all, and he most likely won’t, I’ll still know nothing more when we’re done than I already know. I’ve got my suspicions of course, but if Kyle is cheating, why now? We’re still waiting for the church to make their final decision. And yes, they are taking their sweet-ass time about it, but what has changed for him?

I stop and think. They are taking their sweet-ass time. But why? This has taken entirely too long. I calm down enough to grab the hamper and head back down the stairs. Surely the church has decided by now.

I retreat to the kitchen and dial the rectory.

“Father Simmons please.”

“This is Father Simmons. How can I help you?”

“Hi Father. This is Denise Robinson. Do you have time for question?”

“Sure. What can I do for you?”

“Kyle and I have been waiting for a decision from the church about allowing a divorce for us for several years. I know he’s talked to you, and you know the circumstances. It seems cut and dry to me, and I was wondering if you’ve gotten any word from your superiors, or when you think we might have an answer.”

There is a long silence, broken only by a cough from the priest.

“Uh. Mrs. Robinson, I believe there has been a gross misunderstanding.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told Kyle years ago when he asked the first time, that since you weren’t married in the church, there was nothing for us to consider. I told him he could arrange a divorce at any time without any repercussions from the church. I thought he’d explained that to you and that it was taken care of.”

“Father… are… are… are you serious?”

“Yes. I remember vividly what he said when I told him the church would not be involved.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘I’ll never give her up. I’ve loved her for too long. There will be no divorce. Ever’.”

“I advised him that he should tell you and release you from your vows, so that there would be no encumbrances should you wish to marry again. He seemed to agree so I thought I’d gotten through to him.”

“No. Obviously not.”

“I’m sorry. I should have followed up with you as well.”

Crushed, I hung up without saying another word.

What? My vision fogs over a little and I get light headed. I stumble over to one of the kitchen chairs, and grab the back for support. It doesn’t stop the kitchen from spinning around me and I plop into the chair.

I’ve been thinking for the past few months about just leaving and trying to find Daryll, to see what happens. This decides it, I’m ready to go. Not sure what will happen to James, but he’s old enough to decide for himself what he’ll do. I have to get out of here. What a fucking mess. I can’t let him know I know. There’s no telling what he’ll do.

I gulp down a breath, hunch my shoulders, and head back down to the basement with his clothes to the washing machine. I’d been planning to do a load of dark clothes that night and only waited for his work clothes to get it started.

I can’t believe Kyle has done this to me.

I start emptying the hamper, jerking the pockets inside out and slamming the clothes into the washer, my eyes watering from hurt and anger. My mind is still working to figure out what in hell Kyle is doing and what I’m supposed to do now that I know. When I dig into the pocket of the jeans he wore today, I find a piece of paper in the front pocket. Donna and a phone number.

And I know. I know he isn’t going to have a beer. In that moment, all my fears and suspicions are confirmed. All the puzzle pieces click into place. Kyle does not want anyone else to be with me, but he wants to be with anyone who’ll have him. Damn him!

I start back up the stairs, furious. Halfway up to the kitchen, I stop and take several breaths. I sit down on a stair and put my head in my hands… I’ve got to think this through. I’ve got to get out but must do it, so he doesn’t know until it happens. It takes a while, but I finally calm down a bit. I know if I stay until he comes downstairs, I’ll confront him, my anger will explode, and the fragile, albeit stressful, peace we have lived with for the past five years will disintegrate. I must act like I know nothing to give myself time.

My anger has never been so close to bursting out, consuming everything in its path. Between what I just learned about Kyle’s treachery and his cheating, my father-in-law allowing us to marry without telling us the story he knew, and my father who started this fucking mess… I grab my neck muscle, trying to massage the ache caused by the weight of their deception. My heart hurts, and I’ve got a raging headache. The only thing in my life bringing me any happiness is James. And even James is not without his own secret.

I trudge up the remaining stairs, grab the keys to the farm truck from the key hook, and head over to talk to my mom. Kyle has known all along and not told me. God damn him.

I’m in a bit of a fog as I drive up to mom's house. It seems almost eerie. The house I grew up in still has the same almost white paint it had when I was young, along with the forest green trim on the shutters. My mother still tends to the same begonias in planters on the porch, the same hedges by the stairs leading to the front door, and the same hummingbird feeder still hooked on a stand under the oak tree in the front yard. In fact, I sit watching two of them hovering above the fake flowers, helping themselves to sugar water until they finish their treat and zip into the trees.

Sitting there in the drive, the house seems alien to me. My feelings about being here have all been mixed up since I got married. Mostly due to the edict from my father not to come back until I’m no longer with Kyle. As I mount the stairs towards the front door an approaching doom settles in my heart. This isn’t my first visit back, but mom and I are incredibly careful to make sure my father doesn’t know I’m here. If he finds out, he might really kill mom… and me. I check my watch. Daddy will still be in the barn or fields for at least another hour.

My mother is in the kitchen, fixing dinner. I always seem to catch my mom in the kitchen.

“Hey mom.”

“Hi sweetie.”

“

"Where’s dad? Don’t want him to catch me here.”

She glances up anxiously at the clock over the back door, then out the window. “He’ll still be in the barn for a while yet. We should be good for now. You okay?”

“No. Not really. Has Kyle called?”

“No. Why would he?”

“No reason. Thought he might.”

“You two have a fight?”

“No. Not a fight. I just found a note in his pocket. He’s seeing a woman named Donna tonight.”

“Honey. I’m so sorry. Damn him all to….”

“Good. Maybe that boy is finally coming to his senses and is going to end this madness,” my father said from the door. Both my mother and I whip our heads around and see my father standing in the doorway to the mud room. He’d come in and removed his boots and stood quietly listening to our talk.

I hear mom gasp as she turns to face him. “It’s not good, damn you. It’s not.” As soon as she gets it out of her mouth, she sucks in a huge breath of air and puts both her hands over her mouth. She knows what’s coming… and she is trapped in the corner between the wall and the stove.

“I’ve told you before woman not to contradict me.” He strode across the floor, and I watch in abject horror as my father swings his huge, hard fist and slugs my mother. His fist catches her on the left side of her face, crushing her nose. Bright red blood sprays over the walls of the kitchen, into the skillet with the steaks, and splatters the floor and the front of his coveralls. She slides down, barely conscious, desperately trying to grab him around the knees… knowing he’ll be coming for me next… knowing what’s in store for me… trying to protect her child. He looks at her disdainfully, then pushes her to the floor. Her eyes don’t seem quite focused, and she mews quietly in pain when she reaches the floor. I suck in a breath and stare in horror as my father turns on me.

I jump to my feet from the chair I’m in, putting it between my father and me.

“DADDY!” I scream. I’m sucking breath in as fast as I can but can’t seem to get enough air. There seems to be a huge hole where my stomach used to be.

“And I told you, never to darken my door again as long as you are married to that boy. You’re gonna learn, I mean what I say.” He growls deep in his throat and starts across the room towards me.

“DADDY NO! Not again. NEVER again,” I scream. The volcano has erupted. All my fear and hurt turn into a black all-consuming rage.

He sees my face change and slows, but only for a beat, and I see the anger harden on his face. I’ve told him no again, and I know my father will not stand for that a second time. He strides purposely at me. I slide the chair into his path as I back away slipping on the blood spotted floor, until I bump into the countertop in front of the sink.

I have nowhere to go. I scrabble blindly on the countertop behind me trying to find something, anything to protect myself with. In my panic I push one of the dinner dishes over the edge of the counter and it shatters, pieces of broken ceramics exploding across the floor in all directions. I grab the next plate and hurl it at my father who brushes it away without breaking stride. I never take my gaze from my father’s enraged face. My hand clutches the next thing I find - the carving knife my mother used on the steaks, now burning in the skillet on the stove. Just as my father reaches for me, I raise the knife over my head and plunge it into his chest. I put all my strength and anger into that swing. You son-of-a-bitch! This is ALL your fault! I feel like I am watching a movie and someone else is doing this. The knife in my hands sinks all the way to the hilt. It slides into his chest so easily, but I struggle to get it out. I need to get it out in case he comes for me again. Daddy stumbles backward and his added falling weight allows me to regain the knife. He reels, a look of utter surprise and shock on his face that both pleases and frightens me.

He grunts, gasping for air. He’s looking down, patting his chest trying to find the hole I made, trying to stop the flow of blood. I see a look of utter bewilderment come across his face, as he cocks his head to one side looking at me, trying to figure out what just happened. Eyes wide with astonishement, he blubbers, but I can’t understand his strangled words. His feet fly out from under him, his socks acting like ice skates on the bloody linoleum floor, and he crashes onto his back.

I have reached my limit. I have had enough. Looking down at my father, writhing on the floor, spreading even more blood… the years of torture, lies, and fear explode in my veins. With another scream I pounce on top of him, pinning his arms with my knees. The air from his lungs is shoved out when I land heavily on his chest and a spray of blood from his wound covers my blouse. I stab him again. My brain seems blank as if it has gone somewhere else… somewhere safe. All I can see is the man who has tortured my mother and me since forever. And I stab him again. All I can smell is the farm smell of cow shit and pig slop, and know I want to smell it no more. I no longer want to be a farmer’s wife. And I stab him again. All I can feel is the rage, and abandonment, and hurt, and I know I can take no more. And I stab him again. No more hurt from the blows. No more hurt in my heart. No more putting up with a cheating husband who won’t even touch me and won’t allow me my freedom. And I stab him again. No more being ignored as a partner and a woman. I am done taking it from this man or any other man. And I stab him again. I can not and will not take anymore. And I stab him again. And again.

When I finally regain my senses, I am in the back of a squad car, my clothes caked with my father’s blood, and with my hands cuffed behind me. I have no idea when they book me into the county jail how many times I stabbed my father. All I know is I stabbed him until I could no longer lift my arms to do it again.

Later they told me I’d stabbed him thirty-seven times.