26
Turning
Point
by
JAMIE STARKEY
I
t was Tuesday afternoon at
three o'clock. Sheryl* sat on the
side of her bed clutching a tiny
cellphone as if inside it held a
magic key that would unlock the
door to a whole new world.
The world
she imagined was free of demeaning words
and hard fists, a place where she could play
outside with her kids and wear that pretty
yellow sundress with the butterfly sleeves.
Sheryl felt like she was inside one of those
cartoons with the angel on one shoulder
and the devil on the other, each arguing
about the pros and cons of calling
the number for the Salvation
Army shelter she'd found on a card
in the gas station restroom. She
pictured the look on the faces of her two
little girls the evening before when her
husband had her pinned to the couch as he
spewed vulgarities about her inability to
cook a decent meal. When he let her up, he
spun on his heels and caught the bridge of
her nose with his fist, leaving her with a
noticeable L-shape at the top and two
blackened eyes.
* Name Changed
The War Cry |
SEPTEMBER 2014