The Consequence of Making Chicken Chow Mein from a Can

3:30 pm on a Friday. Sara smiled because she had just finished her daily chores with two hours to spare to make dinner. In her mind she was making sure everything was just the way he liked it. The cupboards shelves were divided by items. Soup on one shelf and vegetables on another. Green beans in one row, check, peas in another row, check, and spinach in another. The laundry was complete with his shirts folded just how he liked them. His pants were ironed just right at the creases and hung neatly in the well-organized closet. The windows and mirrors were without streaks. Even the carpet had lines in it because she had just vacuumed it. Tonight's dinner had to be perfect. It just had to be.

Sara had learned her lesson from the night before. It was after all her fault. He became angry with her after he saw the Chicken Chow Mein boiling on the stove. He called her a lazy bitch and threw the boiling mixture into her face and neck. She still had blisters and areas of peeling skin. He then grabbed her hair and pulled her to the ground and kicked her over and over. Every breath reminded her of the bad beating because the severe bruising over her ribs hurt with every inhale.

4:45 pm on Friday. Sara just finished making the salad. She put on the baked potatoes in the oven so they will be fresh and hot when he gets home. She takes the butter out of the refrigerator to make sure it is soft. She sees the bacon on the second drawer and realizes it should be in the third drawer. Whew, close call. She double checks that everything else in the refrigerator is in order just the way he likes it. She sets a timer, so she knows when to start the steaks.

5:27 pm on Friday. Sara has the table set up perfectly for dinner. The shiny silver plate cover is over the steak and bake potato in order for it to keep warm. The flower centerpiece is gorgeous. The dishes from making dinner are washed and put away. The lines in the carpet were perfect after she vacuumed a second time ensuring there are no footprints.

5:45 pm on Friday. Sara became a little nervous because he wasn't home. Hopefully the salad remains fresh and the steak and potato hot.

9:00 pm on Friday. Sara puts the food away and cries herself to sleep on the couch. She is fearful that he may come home drunk and that she may endure another beating.

2:55 am on Saturday. Sara woke up because she heard a crash, to later find out it was a glass he dropped on the kitchen floor. It felt as though her heart was pounding through her chest because she knew he was drunk. She heard him come into the bedroom a short time later. She pretended to be sleeping as he lied down beside her and started kissing her neck. She was disgusted by him. He was sweaty and she could smell stale cigarette smoke and beer on his breath. He started to pull down her underwear and she flinched. She remembers screaming no, no as he forced himself inside her. She tried to fight him off, but he was much bigger and a lot stronger than she was. The last thing she remembers was his hands around her throat as he was fucking her and telling her what worthless whore she was.

She woke up to the taste of metallic blood in her mouth. She tried to pick herself up from the floor but tripped over her underwear that were wrapped around her ankles. Her thighs and pelvis were throbbing and severely bruised. But was hurt the most was her identity. She didn't even know who she was anymore.

***

That was the last time I experienced domestic violence. I was twenty-four years old. I remember the officer who responded to my 911 call. He and I talked for at least an hour. He told me the statistics of how many women go back to their abuser and how many women are killed from domestic violence each year. I am grateful for him because he listened and seem to care.

I was with my abuser for about four years. I was beaten multiple times and went back five times after I left him, even though I could financially support myself. Sadly, some women are unable to leave because they cannot afford to.

I am now fifty-eight years old. I am a wife to a wonderful man, and a mother of five children. My husband and I take turns cleaning the house. I don't care if I have laundry that is undone. My house can be little messy and it doesn't bother me at all. The cupboards in the kitchen are completely disorganized and I can't tell if I have a can of green beans in them or not. But one thing is for certain is that there will never be a can of Chicken Chow Mein anywhere in my house.

I didn't lose my identity overnight and it took a while to regain it. Now I know what I want in life. I love to ride my bike, hike, and do yoga. I love spending time with my family. But most importantly, I know who I am, and I am grateful to be me.