BANG!!! … BANG!!! … BANG!!! …
I just jumped out of the shower and was in the closet (which was located in the bathroom) looking for what to wear the following day, when I heard the pounding.
It was deafening. It sounded as though someone was throwing their entire strength at the door! You could see it bending and flexing with each raging pound against it.
And, I froze.
Immediately thinking some intruder had somehow made it past my husband and was now trying to break in —
“OPEN THIS DOOR!”
With a huge sigh of relief, I opened the door to my very angry sounding husband. He was a quite a few steps away from the door, as though he were preparing to run at it again.
In my mind, I was thinking, “This Man Has LOST IT! Something BETTER be wrong!”
But instead, looking him in his eyes, without an attitude, and trying to give the benefit of the doubt, I asked gently, “Are you okay?”
And like a father to a child, whom he had told once before not to do whatever it is they’ve been caught doing, he gripped my wrist and replied sternly, “Why is this door locked Keanna?!” —
(Let’s pause here)
I remember the first time he asked me not to lock the bathroom door.
It was in our first apartment which was a one bathroom studio, and he had to pee…
I was in the shower at the time when I started hearing a hip hop beat being made on the door. (You know the one you’d make with your pen as a kid with aspirations to be a DJ…”Ba-BOOM BOOM Ba-CHIK, BOOM Ba-BOOM CHIK” x3 Lol!)
I have to admit, it annoyed me a bit to hear him interrupting my bathroom time. Since I was a child, I have loved taking long hot showers, where the steam engulfs the room and the mirror is a thick blur. Which means, the door can not open or else this effect does not happen successfully.
Now I tried when we first got married to leave the door unlocked, but he’d come in and leave without shutting the door!
Or, he’d crack the door!
And now, I’m either yelling from the shower, “CLOSE THE DOOR PLEASE!!!” or I’m getting out of the shower (another pet peeve of mine) to close it myself!
(I’m hoping I don’t sound crazy! I just like the door closed lol!)
Therefore, considering the scenarios above and trying not to make a conversation out of it, I began locking the door.
Seemed like the best solution at the time.
But something had obviously happened between the times of the cute hip hop beat and the thunderous bashing…
Because this time, he didn’t have to go to the bathroom, he just hated the fact that the door was locked.
By this time, I had been locking the door for a year and it was hardly ever a problem before; I just couldn’t understand why he was so upset!
(Let’s continue the story)
With an uncontrollable shaking in my voice, I replied to him, “I was taking a shower, babe”.
(Notice the strategic placement of the word “babe”. That word usually calmed him. I used to think that its usage in conversation would clear his vision a bit and remind him that he was speaking to the woman he gave his name to.)
Tightening his grip on my wrist, I could feel my pulse against his palm and showing the pain on my face, I tried to use my safe word again, “Babe, what’s wrong?”
And with an unexpected yank, I hit the floor–
Hearing my shoulder pop and breaking the fall with my elbow, I immediately grabbed my arm and felt the deep carpet print within it.
Feeling the tingling shooting through my arm, I could taste my tears that were falling without permission.
“Protect yourself!”, I thought. And as I tried to prop myself up against the wall, I watched him step over me and walk to the kitchen.
I thought a knife could come next! So I quickly scooted into the bathroom and locked the door!
And hearing nothing but my heart that was beating out of my chest and the race of my breath that I couldn’t seem to catch, I sat in the closet with my cell phone in hand…
I sat there for a few hours and he never came back to the bathroom.
I watched lights turn off from under the bathroom door and waited until I felt he was asleep; then I came out slowly, quietly crawled into bed and eventually went to sleep too.
Thinking About Leaving