The Elephant
She had to tell him. Was the bed the right place to do it?
She stared at the ceiling. There was this one section of semi-raised paint that made a shape similar to that of an elephant’s head, ears and all. She didn’t know why she always looked to this exact spot when she needed a place to rest her open eyes. That elephant-shaped plaster had seen her through some of the best and worst times in her 6 years in this house.
She heard him walking up the stairs. Her heart picked up its pace. She couldn’t see well in the light of the candle whose wick was down to it’s last few millimeters. That was fitting for this night; The last burning of a candle that had been lit only over the course of their 2 years together.
She looked back to the elephant and thought of the first time she noticed it. She was 9 months pregnant with her second child. She had just moved in. This place was a magical rope tossed to her in the deepest part of her depression. She latched onto it and was finally able to pull herself out.
She remembers staring at that elephant on many restless nights of breast feeding the youngest and placating the oldest. Between hungry kids, bad dreams, thumping air conditioners, and never-ending coughs, that elephant had probably seen more of her awake than asleep in those first few years.
Then came the peaceful, still years. These were the years that--it would take her years to find out--were going to be the most boring of her life in the best ways. The kids began to sleep. She finished school and got a good job. She settled into this new life, elephant plaster and all. It is an honor and a privilege to be bestowed a boring life. She wouldn’t have had it any other way in all areas but one.
Her silent conversation with the elephant was interrupted when she heard the door open. She could only make out the widening blackness as the dark hallway stole the room’s light. She could finally see his outline as he got all the way through the door.
As usual, he undressed entirely—something she did not particularly love. She valued clean sheets, and underwear was a clean sheet’s best friend.
He lifted the blankets and slumped into bed next to her. The back of the bed was lifted so they could spend a few hours watching TV. Even with the elevation, he still held his head at an unnatural tilt forward. He would be kyphotic before he knew it, she thought.
She turned back to the elephant before speaking. She remembers the nights in her past relationship where she went to sleep by counting the numbers of reasons she should stay with that man. It was easier than counting the reasons to leave; those were endless.
She silently told this elephant every secret she kept from family and friends about their problems. She liked to think it really listened to her. What else was that big ear for?
She remembers the first time she added “cheating” to the “leave” column. She remembers that day well. She had never broken down like that over anything before. It’s the kind of heart-dropping, falling out of your own body feeling that you don’t experience with many other things. To think the person you love and know better than anyone could love and know someone else more is devastating. Your heart recovers, but it’s never quite the same after that. It’s like the door on your heart is large and inviting when your born, but the more people who come in and out and damage it, the harder it becomes to open it wide enough to let all of someone in.
On the day she found out about the cheating, the door on her heart was officially shut. Maybe that was why this new relationship has taken the turn that it did.
“What’re we watching tonight?” He asked without turning his head.
“I feel like we should talk, first.” She said, terrified for his reply. She still wasn’t quite sure if she could do this.
“Well, that’s never a good sign.” He said, his voice changing like it always did in times of conflict—or anything he perceived to be conflict, which was everything.
She can remember all of the mornings where her youngest son went from toddling to walking to running into her room with his head bobbing up and down as he ran to her side of the bed for a morning hug. Every day, she could see more and more of his blond hair until she could see his whole face and soon, the rest of his body. It was the best part of her morning. She’d call down to the kids right when she woke up. She would hear the thumps of their feet up the stairs. It was one of her favorite sounds. Now, a thump up the stairs at any time other than the early mornings means an adrenaline rush and a whopping dose of fear.
He was tense next to her. It was getting late and she had to work the next day. A knock-down, drag-out, hours long fight was not on the menu for tonight. It had never been on the menu before for her in any relationship, but it was the only thing this man seemed to serve.
Was it worth it to do it now? Should she wait until the morning so she can sleep peacefully? Could she stand having him in her bed for one more night?
She stared at the elephant for guidance. She thought about the times after the first break-up when she thought she had found the man of her dreams. She remembers coming home the night after they first kissed and staring at that spot for hours as the excitement kept her awake. It would take her no time at all to step back and see it all from an out-side perspective.
She looks back, now, and sees those first few months as exactly what they were; a lost girl clinging onto an idea of a person. She had built the perfect mold and squeezed someone into it. Even with pieces poking out and holes left unfilled, she could only see the mold for what it was and not the un-fit man bursting out of it.
She remembers the many nights that she laid in this bed and wondered why he wasn’t able to communicate with her. She wondered why he wouldn’t put his hands on her outside of her making all of the moves. She blamed herself for looking different or not being good enough. She went from not being able to sleep out of excitement to not being able to sleep out of fear and shame. At one point, she stared at this elephant and wondered if she was even worthy of living this life at all.
“What did you want to talk about?” He was revving his engine. She could feel it.
“I think, maybe, we should take a break for a little bit.” She said gently. “Maybe you should sleep downstairs for a few nights while we try to work through some of our communication issues.”
That was it. The voice changed, the posture changed, HE changed. He went off onto one of his many monologues about how this was his house and room, too. He did enough to be worthy of sleeping in this bed. She didn’t give him any credit for anything. This was poor treatment of him, and oh, and by the way, he was the one who was upset at her for something she had done 3 weeks before, so SHE should be the one to leave.
She stared at the elephant while he spoke. His words began to drown out in the hum of the white noise machine as she thought about the recent months. She has had a wonderful and blessed life. She came from a toxic household, but she was able to create an environment for her kids that was healthy and loving. She had worked hard her entire life to maintain her own mental health for herself and her children. She worked hard to build up her own self-esteem so she could be strong enough to build up those around her. She was a sturdy house with a strong foundation that could withstand everything necessary to provide the best life possible for her children, and she would be damned if someone tore it down, now.
She remembered the time a few months ago when her youngest didn’t run upstairs for the usual morning hug. She remembers asking him about it, and him saying that he had been instructed not to. She can’t remember how many times she had explained this morning hug process and its significance to her boyfriend. She made it very clear that the first faces she always wanted to see were her kid’s. When he was confronted with this information, he fought it. He made some excuse to skate around it and make it seem like it was somehow a favor to her. That was it. That was when she had made up her mind.
“Get the fuck out of my house.” She interrupted his rant. “Get. The fuck. Out. Of. My house. Right now.”
“Excuse me? How dare you spea..”
“Get the fuck out of my house right now. Get. Out.” She said, forcefully, but without raising her voice enough to wake up the kids.
He flung himself off the bed, threw on his clothes, and stormed out of the room. He slammed the door behind him.
She got up to lock the door before getting back into bed. There will be no fear-inducing stair steps tonight. However, she would be sure to unlock it before the morning so her kids could run up to greet her.
She went back to staring at the ceiling, and, once again, her gaze landed on the elephant. So many memories were held in such an insignificant chunk of dried paint. People who came before her probably never even noticed that spot. Even if their beds were somehow in the same place, and their pillows were also right under that part of the ceiling, would they have thought to look closely enough at that shape to even see how much it had the potential to look like an elephant? Will the families that come after her see it and wonder what it has seen? Would it share her secrets? If it had been a confidant in the lives before hers, then she was sure it would keep her secrets just as safe.
The candle had almost died out. She hadn’t heard any ruckus from downstairs. This was it. This was the last “get the fuck out” that she was ever going to utter. This was the end of this story, as far as the elephant was concerned.
She looked to the spot once more before putting on her eye mask.
“Thank you,” She whispered into the dark, “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
And then, she fell asleep.
