Dancing with the Scars

O what a bee-you-tee-full morning!  Teresa Smithson is starting a great day!

Teresa starts the day fresh, her husband already gone to work, and she has the time to enjoy a fresh cup of coffee, sitting in her favorite chair, looking out the bay window of her living room.  She sees the other houses on her cul-de-sac, and detects no creature stirring, not even Florence Sprouse, who is often up early trimming the shrubs and tending to the flowers in her yard.

Her husband Jimmy has gone off to start his day at Compton Paper Mill, where he is a day shift supervisor.  Things had not been going well at the mill, the paper industry being in a bit of a flux, but Jimmy was still getting the hours in.  He mumbled something last week about a Chinese mill undercutting them, but that was all she heard.  He was up for a promotion six months ago, and didn't get it.  He seemed very unhappy with the Compton boys that were running the mill for their daddy.

But she wasn't going to worry about it.  Jimmy didn't share much, not verbally.  She just had to read his moods.

Coffee finished, she dressed in her yoga clothes, black long sleeve yoga tee with black shorts and black leggings.  It was her Dark Night outfit.  Yes, it would generate some sweat, but sweat was good, wasn't it.  She was in pretty good shape, firm and fit for 35, but sometimes Jimmy would complain that she was developing a little pooch.

At 9 AM her yoga class started at Rhonda's Dancing Machine, operating in a small storefront just off of Crowley Circle.  It used to be the Video Haus until most video rental places went belly up a few years ago.  Even farther back it was a small general store operated by the Swain's, the family that eventually started the town IGA.

She got into the music, and the slow change of position, the concentration and effort it took.  In her mind, it was a beautiful ballet, and she envisioned herself dancing at Carnegie Hall in New York City, an enthralled crowd watching her every move, ready to burst into a standing ovation as soon as she finished.

At the end of the routine, it wasn't cheering crowds.  It was just Rhonda McQuaig, the yoga instructor, coming over to her.  "Teresa, honey, I know its November, but you know our workout can be quite intense.  You might want to consider dressing a little cooler in the future."  Rhonda was short, a wiry woman with closely cropped black hair, someone who had tried to break into Broadway fifteen years ago, but was now settled back into the town she grew up in.  Her dance and yoga studio wasn't a booming business, but people liked her, and she did well enough.  Especially with her husband, Bill McQuaig, being a Vice President at Okefenokee Bank & Trust.  It allowed her to do what she loved, and it was almost enough to make her forget about missing out on the Great White Way.

"I'm fine, Rhonda.  Really, I am," answered Teresa.

"Well then, how about some water?" asked Rhonda, putting her hand on Teresa's shoulder.

Teresa yanked away quickly, a flash of something Rhonda wasn't sure of crossing Teresa's eyes.  But as suddenly as it was there, it was gone again.  Teresa smiled brightly.  "In a minute, Rhonda.  I'm really into this now, and just want to get a couple of more routines in."

Rhonda smiled and backed away.

When the class was over, Teresa left for her car and although smiling and greeting everyone she saw with a big smile and kind words, she had to admit she was feeling a little woozy.  But sometimes you just had to see things through if you wanted to stay strong and make progress.

She came home, and decided to just have a lettuce wedge, drizzled with raspberry vinaigrette dressing.  She washed it down with eight ounces of tap water.  She would have rather had a bottle of Otter Springs Water, but Jimmy did not abide having it in the house.  He thought it was foolish to spend money on bottled water when you could just get it from the tap.  He didn't want to have a filter on the water, either.  Probably not a big deal to him as he consumed most of his liquid refreshment as beer.

She spent the afternoon cleaning as aggressively as she could.  Teresa wanted the house spotless for when Jimmy came home, with nothing to distract or anger him.  She started to prepare one of his favorites, Shepherd's Pie, when she realized she didn't have enough ground beef to make it.  She put on her long sleeve jacket and her best blue jeans, and left to go to Swain's IGA.

At the store, she wanted to pick out a leaner cut, but she knew Jimmy would fuss if he knew.  She would just have to sit and pretend to eat it with him.  He never seemed to notice that she wasn't really eating anything.  She also picked up some new razors, designed for a Lady Schick.  She passed by a drink cooler that had a cold Otter Springs in it.  It was bad of her, but she just couldn't resist. 

She stood in line.  There were two ahead of her.  The first was a fairly well-dressed woman whom she had not seen before.  The second was Dotty Mathers, a large framed woman with a strict, Calvinistic air.  She was huffing as the woman in front of her was using a food stamp card.  The woman turned to her and smiled.  Dotty said, as cold as ice, "Nice jewelry and clothes for somebody using food stamps."

Teresa was infuriated.  She wanted to apologize to the woman, but the woman was gone before she could react.  "Dotty Mathers," she scolded. "That was a mean, unfair thing to say!"

Dotty just looked at her as if Teresa was a bleeding heart liberal Satanist.  "That's my hard earned tax dollars going to some lazy, good for nothing who doesn't want to chip her nails!"

"You don't know anything about that woman!  You don't know anything about her life or what she's been through or what led her to need that support!  You...you... just don't know"  Teresa was losing her coherency.  It had been a long time since she had gotten that visibly upset in public.

Dotty just huffed and said, "Hmmpfh.  Well, we certainly miss seeing you in church."  And then Dotty left, her nose held high.

Back in her car, Teresa nervously held the water.  She drank it deep and too quickly, almost forgetting to enjoy the pleasure of its taste.  She came home only to find Jimmy's car already there.  His shift must have been cut short.  That would put him in a foul mood. 

She quickly gathered her purchases and brought them inside.  As she unpacked, she realized she still had the water bottle.  Jimmy came in to the kitchen and she hid it behind her back.  She smiled broadly and asked him about his day.  He grumbled and said he wanted supper as soon as she could get it ready.

When he left, she disposed of the bottle and breathed a sigh of relief.  She fixed his dinner.  When they ate, she asked how his day was and he just grunted.  She wanted to ask why he was home early, but she didn't want to chance aggravating him.

She got out some vanilla ice cream for his desert and was going to put some canned peaches on top.  "Peaches?" he screamed. "I don't want no stinking canned peaches on it!" 

It startled her so much that she dropped the stemmed juice glass she used to serve him ice cream, and it fell to the floor, shattering into a dozen pieces.  He came over to her, stared into her face.  He was angry, and she could smell his hot, liquored breath.  "Clean that up!  Then bring me some 'nilla ice cream topped with chocolate sauce."  He stalked out to the den to watch NASCAR. As he left he mumbled, "Stupid bitch!"

In the bathroom, while Jimmy was in the den snoring, she took off her jacket and shirt and blue jeans, and looked at herself in the mirror.  Under her upper arms, on her stomach, on her inner thighs, the scars were there.  Jimmy never noticed, because he never saw her unclothed anymore, not in the light. 

She grabbed the razor blade, and started to put an end to her bee-you-tee-full day