TWO OF THREE------part 1”

My hands quivered as I stared at my husband. He pushed me out of his way as he staggered through the open door. Different thoughts buzzed through my mind, my hurting heart pounding recklessly against my chest. Charles was drunk. Again, He pushed the adjoining door into the room and fell on the bed like a log. I waited. I knew it was not over. I stood by the door ready to bolt if whatever triggered Charles insanity went off. Nothing happened. I left the living room door and made for the bedroom on tip-toes. Peering between the doorway and the curtains. I could see Charles sprawled on the bed. His jacket was on the floor. His shoes were still on. His shirt was soaked with alcohol.

Just one floor up, I could hear the frantic screams of Sophie.

You are useless, gutless, spineless, namby-pamby excuse of a man, came her shrill cry. John stood as Sophie slapped, cursed and scratched. She picked one of his shoes and made to hit him across the head. He lifted his arm to shield his face. Sophie continued with the railing and the screaming. All the neighbors were used to hearing them scuffle and fight. They did not actually brawl though. Sophie did the shouting. Every night, I wondered why John ever came back home. But there he was.

I went back to the living room, shut the door and picked up Charles’s suitcase.

I wasn’t sure how long I was going to take this.

I did not know if I could even take it anymore.

As I dropped the suitcase by the settee, my eyes caught a glimpse of our wedding picture hanging from the wall. I had begun to avoid it. It brought back many memories and I always ended up crying. I fought the urge to look. I made for the dining table and glared at the untouched food. Every night, I prepared dinner. Every night, I had laid the table. Ever night, I hoped Charles would come back sober. Every night, I was disappointed. I began the painful task of clearing the dishes from the table. A tear dropped on as spoon. I broke down and began to sob. Lord, why me? Why?

Just then I heard the sound of John’s car as it revved. He would be gone till morning. I couldn’t be bothered with whatever happened with John at this time. My own life was in shambles and I was sick and tired of keeping up the false image of a healthy marriage.

As I wiped my runny nose, I heard a knock on the door. Before I could say a word or wipe my face properly, the door swung open. Standing in the doorway was a woman in her mid thirties, holding the hand of a little boy. He was barely five years old.

How can I help you? I asked, miffed at the woman’s impudence.

I don’t need any help, she replied. Where is Charles? His son wants to see him.

I froze.

To be continued on next part………

EXTRACT FROM: JOYFUL NOISE PUBLICATIONS,,, A PRODUCTION OF COZA, ABUJA