Thursday, November 4, 2010
Judaye's Writing (Works in Progress)
My friend was twenty-five years old when her sister introduced her to the beady-eyed, bearded man who became her lover. He told her how he had watched her with longing as she drove her car fast and free, up and down and around the town. Although he was not her type, after a few dates she became fascinated by his superior intelligence and devotion.
She was shocked the first time he hit her in the breast. When she showed him the purple and brown bruise he stared then whispered, “Are you sure I did that?”
In his spare time he crafted beautiful furniture, while she had babies and kept the house spotless and friendly.
She was still surprised when he told her to pretend his drugs were hers because as he said, “A goody- two-shoes like you will only get probation.”
I did not understand how she could bear to have the gun cabinet in the bedroom.
Her brother told me the bed was bloody and the children with relatives.
There is no way to know exactly what happened. No one wants to talk about it anymore.