#11 China Cat (You are an Indian!)

The place was a mess. The moist, wrinkled cranberries were stuck where they landed. Some were even on the fridge. She thought of his member, shivered, then jumped up, and ran down the hall in bare feet. She winced in more pain, this time from her foot. One of the glass bowls had broken. In the bathroom, she found bandages and put them on her foot. She looked in the mirror and recoiled. Her face was a chaos of bruises, blood, and swelling. She dabbed at it with a wet cloth. It hurt so much. It took a while to clean herself up.

When she got back to the kitchen, some of the cranberries had fallen down, leaving red splotches where they had been. She thought of her marriage. She had better get this cleaned up before he got home. The large pieces of glass would have to be picked up first. Maybe she could glue it back together. No, so she stooped, picked them up, and put them in the paper garbage bag. She found a piece with blood on it, and looked at her foot. The blood had seeped through the bandages. Never mind that. After picking up the large pieces, it occurred to her to shut off the tap, then she started sweeping the tiny pieces, and dry flakes. She dumped it from the dust pan into the paper bag, and the cranberries, she put in a plastic bag first. She wiped up red splotches with a dampened paper towel then put it in the plastic bag which she put in the paper bag. She hoped he wouldn’t come back too soon, before she got a chance to clean up. She wanted it to be shiny. She thought of her marriage again. Should she leave him. She would try harder from now on.

He let himself in through the garage, finding her very pretty sitting at the table, even though her face was broken. She couldn’t see which vehicle he drove, because the fence around the whole yard was too high. He looked around, smiled, then looked sideways and saw something he didn’t like. He grimaced as he stared down the hall, so she jumped up, ran over, and saw it too. There was a path of blood all the way down the hall where she had stepped. He was fuming. She immediately wet several paper towels, and stooped to clean it up. She had to rub, because it was dried, but it came off the cold ceramic flooring. She disposed of the wet, and now pink, in the plastic in the paper. The wet towels were all the same colour. He watched her and finally spoke, ‘…you are Indian…’ He said it rather than asked it, but China answered anyway. ‘…yes…’ She felt dirty, ugly, and ashamed; the words seemed to be synonymous with the being, yet she was defiant. ‘…I dyed my hair for you…and I am Native…I really have brown hair…’ He had a comeback for her. ‘…and you’ll keep dying it blond…I’ll tell people you are Italian…and that you are shy and only speak to me…’ ‘…it’s kind of true…’ she said bravely, ‘…you have me locked up in here…’ He took three steps toward her.

She regretted it as soon as she did it, but she ran. She bolted up the stairs. She looked around, there were two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a middle room, but she was trapped, so she slipped into the shower, behind the curtain. He knew his house, and he knew he had her trapped, so he just walked. He walked around downstairs for a bit, then started up the stairs as he slowly got closer. He stood right outside the bathroom. She stayed still. Her heart pounded. A long time went by that there was only silence. Then his footsteps got further away, so that was when she made her move. She was already committed to the act. She made a run for the stairs, then he chased after her, but she didn’t know the stairs, and her shoe fell off. There was a struggle, and China crashed down the steps. For a few agonizing moments, she tried to right herself, but then gave into the fall. All he could do was watch.