I look up, only moving my eyelids. She’s smoldering. I can smell it. Taste it. Feel it coat my tongue. I breathe shallow, so I won’t stir the heavy air hanging. I know she’s angry. She’s a bomb about to explode on me. Anything can set her off. A blink of my eye. A sound in the next room. So I play dead. My body goes completely limp. My mind stays alert. On the outside I’m still. I’m vacant. “You empty sack of shit.” She kicks me with the point of her boot. I’m listening for when the next blow happens. I want to make sure I check out of my body before she hits me again so I can roll with it. I figured out that if my body goes soft with the impact, it won’t hurt as much.
Now her anger is caught inside my body. It didn’t roll out of me. On the outside, my body rolled with the punch. On the inside it’s still caught inside kicking around looking for an exit.
Anger. Rage. Combustion. Simple one-two-three process.
My voice is an exit. I exert my anger. I gotta push it out or it will roll backwards. If I let go, the anger rolls backwards. I keep pushing. The threshold blocks the exit. This threshold is twelve inches high. It’s a block. I have to step over it or else I trip. If I roll over it, over and over and over again, the corners will eventually smooth out some. If I hop on it and stomp on it, over and over and over again…Nope. It doesn’t smush down. I’ll have to cut a wedge out of it to let the anger move through it.
I want to dismantle this threshold. I doesn’t do any good here. “It keeps spiders out and small pests. It keeps water out. It does some good here.” A fan. An exhaust fan will suck the smoke out. Anger smolders. It’s toxic. I don’t want it to linger here anymore. Anger sliding backwards is depression.