Time

It’s been a long time since I’ve bought my kids some clothes. Imagine! Six kids to clothe? I mostly make due with clothes that I make, or clothes that my nephews and nieces have outgrown. They need new clothes. Pfft, they need a new life! It’s hard to manage alone. Seems impossible most times. Living on 90 dollars a week from my full time job. Plus the 10 from cleaning the garbage cans for the landlord. Oh! And that nice lawyer lady that my nephew is dating- she gives me 20 a week to wash and fold her clothes. But it’s still not time to escape. Soon. For now I’m stuck in a home with no phone, with plastic curtains, with hardly any furniture and a husband that uses us as punching bags.

I wake up every morning at 3 a.m. to clean and make sure breakfast is ready to be made. I layout school clothes, get myself ready and catch the bus at 5 a.m. to be at work by 7 a.m. I can count on my oldest daughter to get my younger ones ready for school. I wonder if it's too much for her at times. I prepare food all day for an airline; one meal, after the next, after the next. I get home by 3 p.m. and after the youngest children are bathed, I put all their uniforms in the outside washroom and start to clean the garbage cans around 4 p.m. I don’t hose them down, I scrub them with bleach and Fabuloso! They look like new when I’m done by 4:45 p.m.; I think it’s 4:45. I have to check the time. All my kids are fed and ready for bed by 7 p.m.

When my kids sleep, I finish washing their clothes. I iron each individual garment, carefully. Once all is clean and crisp, I tip toe in their room, hang their clothes, and tuck them in with a kiss and a prayer, one by one. I pray for their safety and peace- I pray that he won’t come home. But I know he will come back. He comes home eventually. Last night he wasn’t happy. He’s never happy when he drinks, he’s been drunk for years now. I vowed things would change. It’s time for change.

Before I can lay down I have to shine scuff marks off their school shoes and make sure all the book bags are wiped off from the current days' germs, I check that they have all they need for tomorrows day. I'll shower and sneak in my girls room to lay down by 11 p.m. I have time to sleep a few hours before I start again. But sleep doesn't come easy. It never does. I lay in silence until my eyes focus on the clock, yelling at me to get up.

---

He didn’t come home. Today I work extra fast. I finish my quota early. I asked to leave when I’m done so I can catch an earlier bus to the flea market. I rush to pick out some clothes with the money I saved. I have a hiding spot now. I’ve been saving for 16 months. I should have enough to make my move. I would have been out last year; my best friend was secretly holding my money before I found out she was giving it to him. She shared her indiscretions with him, he shared her bed. I start over and trust no one.

In time I’ll be able to get my kids out and they will be free. Today I’m coming home with their new clothes. A small step closer. Dresses and pants and shirts; the works! Imagine! I'm running with the bags in hand, I need to catch the 3:10 p.m. bus home. It’s a little later than usual, but it’ll be worth it. There are so many kiosks, so many options. What time is it?

---

I took too long. The bus broke down and I anxiously wait for the next one. I have to check the time. It’s dark now, but I’m home. I walk to the door, insert the key with excitement. I call them to the living room. My oldest children gather the others all around, they’re all smiling. My littlest one is deaf. I look at her and memories flood back of when I go into labor with her.

It’s in the midst of a storm. I walk two miles to get to the hospital, her head crowns, I’m barefoot, walking through a flood. I get to the entrance of the hospital and I reach down for her - pull her to my chest. She squirms in my arms while I make it to the floor- using the wall to help me. The nurses rush to us. I look at her and see she’s a fighter. Her big smile brings me back to the moment. She smiles the hardest and pushes the youngest boy to get in front. They know it’s a special day. They feel it. I reach in and hand out the clothes. There goes my middle girl, so prissy, yet elegant. She hides her excitement behind a smirk and it melts my heart. How can I love so many little people so very much? I watch my oldest daughter help her youngest sister zip her skirt, they both look at me for approval. Nothing can feel this good! My boys all joke around and laugh. My middle one is ready to model. He’s finished tucking in his shirt and says he’s ready to go. Go where? We are all laughing now. Inside I cringe, knowing they wish they could be anywhere else but here. For now we enjoy this moment. I reach to bring them all in for a hug and then we hear it.

Everything stands still. In seconds the air feels like a thousand sharp knives stabbing at my lungs. I grab my youngest and rush her towards the room, my oldest boy and girl start ushering the others in a panic. It’s too late the key has turned. What time is it? Did we lose track of time? Did I take too long to get home? Shoot! I forgot to check the time when I got in. I was so excited. Oh my God please be with us. The door swings open, and he storms in. Okay, so think! My youngest kids are already in the last bedroom, they are safe, I can say they’re already sleeping. But what time is it? Am I shaking? Stop shaking! I have to calm down! Breathe! Am I breathing? No, I’m not breathing! It hurts to breath.

My girls are gone but, oh my God, my middle boy and my oldest one, they're still out here. Oh no, my oldest! He's already on the edge. He's already on the verge of leaving. This can’t happen. Not again. Calm down! Maybe it’s too early for him to be drunk. I never checked the time. I stand by the sofa, closest to him, I can already smell the liquor. That liquor, so pungent. That goddamn liquor! My blood boils. He knows I won’t let it happen again, not to my boys, not to any of them. It just happened the night before last and I fought back! I have the bruises to show for it. He stands there, looking at them like a lion ready to pounce on its prey- I see the fear in both their eyes.

My terror tries to choke me, but I cut through it and I walk towards him to block his line of sight. I ask him to leave and in the same breath he slaps me. Is that my earring flying across the room? Was that my voice screeching or the boys'? Oh God make them run to their rooms. I slump by the sofa, holding my ear. I try to see them but something is wrong, I can't focus, I can't see out of my left eye- that jerk hit me with the back of his hand! Or was it a bottle? I try to see what is on my hand. Is this blood? Did he rip my ear off?

I still hear the screeching, it sounds like pure bloody panic from the pits of hell. I turn to see my boys in a corner, my oldest is guarding the younger and I lunge towards them. I catch the belt buckle to my back before it hits them. I absorb the shock of the impact and brace for the next. I hear the sound of the crackling skin before I feel the burning. I go numb after the third hit. I'm still hovering over the boys. He tries to pull me from the boys, and swings as he spits at me, the belt buckle blows follow us until my screeching boys are running to their room, finally they didn't get hit. I get a shoe to my stomach. I can’t breathe; I think I am losing consciousness. The room is spinning now. Is that sweat dripping thick and hot down my eyelids? I need to sleep.

---

I open my eyes and try to focus. My oldest daughter is crying and wiping my face. What happened? I remember and jump up to search for him; ouch! I think something is bruised on my side; something is definitely wrong with my face, I can’t feel half of it. My middle boy comes through the door and tells me not to worry he already told his dad that he called the cops from the pay phone down the street. The coward left. My oldest boy hands me my earring with tears in his eyes, he says he looked for it so I would have them for work. He knows I only have one pair. He places it in my hands and walks to his room. I know he is already taken by the grips of his darkness. It wont be long before I lose him, and the rest will follow. There's no time, I need to move.

I stumble to the kitchen and fix a bag of ice. I think I hear the police sirens approaching. I put the kids in bed, put a robe on over my bloody mess, and wait in the living room. My thoughts start stirring, I make a mental checklist of what I have done, and what is still needed. I’m holding the pack of ice to the left side of my face while I stare at the corner where my boys huddled in fear, searching my brain for motivation; I'm so sleepy.

The knock startles me. I ask who it is and they announce themselves, I open the door to let the police take my statement. They take the report. Again. They take pictures. Again. They tell me that if he comes back to call them and they will arrest him. Again. And I agree. Again. I thank them for coming and lock the door. I pray that God cover and bless my house while we sleep. I go to the bathroom, I don’t want the light on. I can’t face myself. I stand in front of the mirror, I see the shadow of a disfigured woman. I stand there for a moment. What time is it? Have I lost my mind?

I’ve been planning our escape for over a year. This has to be the last time. He’s coming back tomorrow. Or tonight. He’ll grab one of the boys by their hair, while they sleep like he does, and drag them to the kitchen table, like he does. He'll sit them at the table while they cry, like he does, and demand that they eat the ice cream he bought for them. Ice cream he buys to make up for the chaos that he causes. He'll sit there and slap them awake while he drinks. And when they can’t stay awake, he’ll beat them with the buckle until they bleed, like he does. That can’t happen again.

I walk to the boy’s room and look to see my oldest is gone again. He’s left through the window. I shut the window and whimper, praying for his safety. I’ll leave the window unlocked so he can sneak in when he knows it’s safe to come back, I pray he stays sober. My tears hurt my face, I wish he wouldn’t leave me. I wish I could take this pain from him. He’s my heart out in the world and I have no idea what time it is. I grab my other boys and take them to the girl’s room we push beds together and make pallets on the floor. I lock the door to the room. I make a bed right in front of the door. My girls are asleep. My boys are tucked in, although my heart is not all here. I will lay awake all night, whatever time it is. This time they did not get hit. This time I made a stand. This time will be the last time.

---

I missed work. I count my money, and I finally have enough to execute the last step. All the kids are getting ready for school. It’s 6 a.m. I catch the bus to my nephew’s apartment and ask him to take me to the store. I have no time left, I’ve already made all the arrangements. All I need is to buy some food. At the store, we fill two carts. It’s a little more than $200 worth of groceries, it should last for more than two weeks with my 6 kids. The boys eat a lot, but I should have help by then.

My nephew tells me it is 2 pm, I start shaking. I have to rush! We get to the house and pack the refrigerator, make sure the lights are working and the phone is connected. My nephew takes me home, he packs up the furniture and leaves me to get the rest. I get the boxes I’ve been hiding in the laundry and start packing all the new clothes. I hear the kids getting home and I meet them in the living room. I make them something to eat. They tell me about their day.

We sit at the table, chatting, when the door opens. He’s here? So early? It's only 4 p.m. He’s in a good mood. He brought groceries. The kids look at me before they say hi. He hands them the bags and tells them to put them away, he announces he’s cooking with a big smile. Does he expect an applause? I sit watching him as I feel my heart racing. Can he hear it? I think the sound is bouncing off the walls.

I see my nephew from the window, he’s back with the moving truck. Finally! I get up and tell the kids to start packing the truck with the boxes of clothes I packed and left in their rooms. I try not to stutter. I think my voice is shaking. I’m not scared, I’m determined. The time is now. He looks at me and asks where I think I'm going. I tell him I’m leaving. He tells me that it’s not with his kids. My heart pounds in my chest, it may explode. He couldn’t possibly think I would leave them here? I call the kids back and they line up with boxes in hand. I look at him straight in the eye.

“You ask them if they want to stay with you” I say.

He looks at them and tells them to get the food ready for him to cook. My oldest son turns and heads to the truck first, the rest follow his lead, one by one. I keep my eyes on him. Are those tears in his eyes? I hold my purse by my side, ready to swing, with a brick inside. I’m not taking any chances. Not this time. Not ever again. He makes no attempt to stop us. Thank God. This time it will be different. I turn to leave, following my children to the truck. As my nephew backs out of the driveway, I hear my kids in the back of the truck laughing, I watch them each one with their head back, wind in hair, enjoying the time we made our escape.