Fear Vs Anger "The Dance"

I'm moving soon.  In preparation, I am not only packing, but sorting through things that I may not be able to take with me.  Not everything will fit perfectly into my new apartment, so I've chosen to offer some items to friends of mine who will no doubt put them to good use.  My wooden kitchen kart is one such item.  A coworker of mine asked if she could have it and promised to come with her husband to pick it up and get it out of my way before moving day.

As thanks, she suggested that her husband take down the ceiling fan in my dining room (which I had installed myself which much difficulty) and put back up the chandelier that had hung in its place when I'd first moved in.    I was a little concerned about having her husband do the extra work, because I know him well enough to accept the fact that he's a mean spirited, abusive and angry person.  He disrespects his wife constantly.  I guess it would be fair to say I can't stand him.  When I voiced my concerns to my friend, she said that he'd been better since her mother had passed and she was sure it would be just fine.  With quiet uncertainty I agreed, and I was truly grateful for the help.

The day arrived hot and humid for my friend and her husband to come over.  From the moment he entered my apartment, I felt uncomfortable. I managed to  exchange pleasantries, showed them the kitchen kart and turned off the correct circuit breaker so that the electrical work could be done.  The removal of the fan went smoothly enough, but when it came time to reinstall the chandelier we discovered that the screws that I had were not exactly ideal for the fixture.

And so my friend's husband began to struggle in the heat with the hardware that I had, getting one screw to find purchase in the ceiling but unable to get the other one to do the same.   He said nothing, except to voice terse commands, to find a flashlight, hold the chandelier higher, and hand him his tools.  I watched as his jaw clenched,  his eyes became hard and focused and his face changed to a mask of absolute fury.  I recognized the signs of an angry man only seconds from exploding into cold hard rage.  God knows I'd seen it often enough in my father's face and in Rudy's.

His wife and I became silent partners in a dance between his anger and our fear as we tried everything we could to keep him calm and avoid the disaster that we knew was only a whisper away.   After what seemed like hours but was probably only a few tense minutes, the screw began to grab hold of the ceiling base and we all exhaled in relief.  I thanked him profusely, walked them down the hall to the front door with the kart and returned quickly to the safety of my apartment.

I closed and locked the door behind me and stood there with my back pressed firmly against it.  The tremors began then.  They started with a fluttering sensation in my chest that made it nearly impossible to breathe.  Soon they traveled down my arms to my hands which began to shake uncontrollably.  I slid slowly to the floor as my shaky legs gave way and sat their simply allowing the waves of emotions to wash over me.

All the years I'd spent being strong, taking care of myself and my children, making a life for myself confidently and proudly were swept away by one man's anger.  I was a little girl again afraid of her own father.  I was a grown woman being cursed by the man I thought loved me.  I was terrified.  And with that knowledge came the tears, unbidden, unwelcome; a liquid testament to my weakness.