It was nearly impossible.
It was hard enough trying to come up with a perfect phrase or a snarky comment on a good day.
Just some words strung together in the right order perhaps, but a baby’s breath whisper of her soul went into every word she wrote him.
It flowed out of her with or without her permission and she’d end up naked and exposed on a piece of paper or the soon-to-be-not-blank screen of her laptop.
He was her sanity in a world gone mad.
Her few precious minutes alone, when she could put herself onto the page and be taken away.
That was the glue that held her together.
So that she could be the glue that held everyone else’s lives together.
It was easy when she had silence and calm and her cat Drusilla curled at her feet.
That’s when her thoughts came fast and furious. Sometimes it seemed as if her fingers could barely keep up with her mind.
She turned into a wordsmith and was happy and alive and smiling.
And she sat down to write.
Tonight, it was impossible.
She was good at tuning noise out but when she heard the footsteps on the stairs and saw her husband lurching toward the bed, the unmistakable stench of rum surrounding him as he tried to walk straight, she knew what was in store for her.
She also knew concentrating on which words to use while trying to evade the groping sloppy-drunk man, once the boy she married many years ago, was impossible.
She sighed and closed her laptop which led to a fight which he forgot about 10 minutes later when he began again to grope her and prod her.
She gave in. And hated herself a little bit more for it.
He fell asleep. Snoring loudly of course..
She went back to answering her last note from someone else’s husband.