The Illusion

                        The Illusion

         Just an illusion; that’s what my life is. I watch my face in the mirror as the lines draw out, matching stride for stride who I might really be inside. Not the same face my friends see, nor my family, nor even my husband or myself.

         No one sees who I am, I go to church with my hair arranged just so, the same way every time. Everyone there says hi; we chat about this or that and move on, and nobody knows. When we get home, my husband slams the door and tells me everything that I did wrong. Smiled too much. Looked too sad in all the wrong places. But nobody knows, and that’s the important thing.

         There’s this other girl in church, she married young and it is very obvious when something is wrong. She is timidly quiet, always wearing the same hairstyle, and she cries openly when the sermon is about marriage, or love. I would never show my true problems because I am perfect and have no problems. Oh, we still go through troubles, I talk of the layoffs going around at his work because no one can be too perfect, but I do not speak of that which cannot be.

         The pastor commends me in front of the parish; the food, the flowers, a gift of grace. That other girl watches with a look of hope, then her husband leans over and whispers something that leaves her looking red and toward the floor. Everyone wonders what she could have done, to cause him to mistreat her so openly. He’s gotten her pregnant again, and yet she hardly does anything for the church, merely looking for someone to complain about her problems to.

         At home my husband rips up the award after splashing mustard on my outfit. I didn’t deserve to be looked at. Sometimes, I wonder if I should back off from helping so as to not set him off, but then they would know something was wrong, and nothing can ever be wrong.

         The Pastor pulls me aside and says that we must pray for that other girl, that something has happened, something terrible and ridiculous. So I pray for her. Sometimes I want to pray for myself too, but I don’t want God to say no, that I’m not worth it. How can I pray for something that is wrong when nothing is wrong?

         The congregation is so supportive when once again she stands alone with her children. How pitiful she is for being so obvious, making everyone feel sorry for her! He can beat me every night, and then I’ll fix my hair up just so, and nobody will ever know.

         My life still drags out, brief flashes of days passing by. I don’t like looking in the mirror so much, seeing the same face, the same hair, the same illusion.

         This time when her husband did something, she didn’t put up with it. Several church leaders gathered and forced him to give up her children, whom he held as hostages against her return. The man collapsed on his bed crying when they did, and my husband did too, in private. I think he got scared seeing that, everyone being so supportive of her while here I am in this life that he tries to hide.

         I fix my hair just so and go to church. The other girl still goes, looking much happier by herself. I feel jealous and angry inside; here she is using others to escape her life. I wish I too could change my circumstance, but I am trapped in my illusion and today he will beat me …