Excerpt
Things weren’t the same in Belle’s house since her father was laid off from the aircraft plant where he worked for twenty-one years. He took to drinking, first in the evening while slouched in his big overstuffed chair in front of the TV. Gradually he began earlier in the day until he was pouring a drink before lunch. There wasn’t anything else to fill his time. He had no hobbies. The house needed painting, inside and out, but there wasn’t any spare money for that. The place began to take on a rundown look. Paint peeled on the outside and wallpaper on the inside. The curtains were faded and the living room furniture swaybacked and shabby. The fence surrounding the weedy yard had pickets missing here and there. For twenty-one years all his thoughts were filled with his job. He was proud of the strides he made. He worked his way up from the bottom through assembler to lead man to foreman and finally to shop manager. He knew more than those college kids about composites and Fiberglas. They could come in with degrees up the wazoo but he knew what worked. Then one day the shit hit the fan and the contracts dried up. Aeropride had to downsize they said. The higher paid employees were the first to go. An economic move they said. Nothing personal they said. But he discovered quickly that there is nothing more personal than losing your job, your identity. His temper flared over the littlest things. Belle and her mother took to tiptoeing around him. The man who strived all his life to give his family a good life now gave them little more than a living hell. Belle’s mother, who always deferred to his judgment in the past, became his target of choice. First he complained she didn’t know how to clean. He knew how to clean. He supervised a clean room at Aeropride. She tried harder but he never seemed to get the point that she was not a three shift crew. She took on a haggard look. She used to dye her hair a pretty auburn shade but there were no more trips to the beauty parlor. Her hair went mousy gray and was usually pulled back and held with an elastic band. He complained she wasn’t taking care of herself and it reflected badly on him. Most days she cried at least once.
Belle started to spend more time in her room. She would hear them arguing at night. Her mother started wearing long sleeves no matter how warm it was.
Then the hitting started in earnest. First a slap. He was always apologetic after it happened, but always with a codicil. “If you hadn’t of done that I wouldn’t have lost my temper.” It soon accelerated into closed fists. He was angry all the time. He wouldn’t see a doctor. He was ashamed but didn’t have the wherewithal or will to change.
Then came the night his anger spewed over onto Belle with a vengeance. She stayed out too late with her friends. She didn’t want to face what she knew she’d come home to. She thought he’d be passed out if she waited long enough. It worked before but this time he was especially worked up. Earlier in the day he had run into one of his former coworkers who was still with Aeropride. They stopped for a couple of drinks that turned into a whole afternoon of bar hopping. He got home at dusk and started ranting as soon as he walked in the door. His wife ran to fix his supper. In her haste she scalded her fingers when the potatoes boiled over and she pushed the pot off the burner without a potholder. He called her a stupid cow and stormed out to Luigi’s Bar to get some decent food he said. When he came home hours later he was somewhat subdued but still three sheets to the wind. The bile rose in his throat again and his wife cowered in the bedroom waiting for what was by now the inevitable. He sat mumbling to himself and downing the last couple bottles of beer from the fridge.
He was waiting in the dark when Belle came in a little after one. He slipped his belt off and swung it sharply at her shadowy figure in the hallway. She staggered backward, her hand still gripping the doorknob. He kept slashing at her with the belt, growling obscenities all the while. She crouched on the floor and wrapped her arms around her head. It seemed to go on forever. She thought he was going to kill her. Then it stopped.
“Get out of my sight, you fucking little tramp.” He waved the belt at her. “Coming home at this hour for the whole neighborhood to see. I’ll teach you.” He snapped the belt at her one more time as she tried to scramble out of range on her hands and knees. He missed and she ducked around him to the stairway. Pain shot through her body but fear drove her to run and she heard him stumble in the dark. He fell heavily but she didn’t stop to see if he was hurt. They say drunks never get hurt but she hoped they were wrong. She hoped he was dead.
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