RUTHIE
She hides in the barn, trembling. She can hear him in the yard, footsteps growing louder and his breath, heavy and labored. He makes his relentless way toward the door. She can see him through the slats and terror grips her. She races the length of the barn, heart exploding, gasping, rips open the back door and starts her count to fifteen. That is exactly how long it has always taken her to cross the distance from the barn to the wheat field. Scurrying, her body bent double, the wheat hits her arms and embraces her. Now that she is hidden from view, her body collapses to the dirt. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, she prays that once, just this once, he won't find her. She had begged her mother to let her go with her in the car, but, as usual, her mother had insisted that she "stay with her dad". Knowing, oh god, knowing what was to come, the minute her mother turns her back, she flees.
A shadow falls on her and she opens her eyes. Her father stands over her, panting, eyes shining. "Ruthie", he says. Her six year old body convulses, then goes completely limp as he picks her up. Turning back to the barn, he holds her small body close to his, moving her up and down against him and grinning. Her mind flies. She has learned to go to her dream world as soon as he picks her up. It had taken her years to learn how to do that, how to make it so she didn't have to stay there in her body. But she has learned. She had fought once, years ago, but he had only beaten her, then did what he wanted to do anyway. Her mother had scolded her and told her she must "do what daddy says". Tears flow from her eyes, but Ruthie isn't there to wipe them away.
Now, her hands are bound to the bedpost. Her hair, stringy and damp, falls over her face. Her arms ache from being tied there so long. She has to go to the bathroom. Her wrists are bruised and she is thirsty. It's been hours since he was here. She is so scared. She wonders what her mother is doing. She wonders if all nine year olds have to do this. She wishes this was a dream, and watches the blood slowly run down her legs. She listens to her brother and sisters playing out in the yard.
Now I watch Ruthie's aged body sitting in the chair by the window. Her eyes look out at the world while her shoulders curve tightly inward, as though trying to protect her heart.
I weep for my mother.
Copyright July 4, 1998 ~ Drifter
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Her Dreaming
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