Wings of Glass Read Free

anymore.After I ran out of tears, I curled up right there on the floor, begging God to put me out of my misery.
    “Get up off the ground, Penny. The neighbors are going to think I’m murdering you in here with you carrying on like that.”
    The ceramic tiles were cold against my cheek, and a crack in one of them pressed into my skin. I sat and gazed up at him. He wasn’t that much bigger than me when we stood nose to nose, but every year, he seemed a little taller. I felt like Thumbelina right then.
    He grunted. “If you would put half the time you worry about having a crying poop maker into being a good wife, I wouldn’t be embarrassed to bring my friends into this dump.”
    His words cut deep. Maybe because they were true. Our little tar-papered house had gotten to be a bit of a mess lately. I didn’t know it back then, but it’s clear as crystal now that I was dealing with serious depression. I kept the shades down and the fresh air out. I stopped cutting flowers and bringing them inside. I stopped doing most anything except the bare minimum of cooking dinner and washing clothes and dishes.
    “I’m sorry, Trent.” My voice crackled.
    He scrunched his face. “I-I-I’m sorry, Trent,” he repeated, mocking me. “I just want a baby so bad. That way I can spend even more time neglecting you . ” He flicked the cigarette he had been smoking at me. The orange tip bit my forearm, and I jumped.
    I looked down at my arm. A small half moon of red formed right below a yellowing bruise. I licked my middlefinger and ran the spit over the sting to cool it. “You used to want a son too.” His father had neglected him to the point of pitifulness, and in our younger, better days, Trent shared his overwhelming desire to get a do-over and show his father what it meant to be a real dad.
    “If wishes were pennies, I’d have more lazy women than I could feed.”
    I hated him using my name as a pun, which is, I’m sure, why he did it. “If I’m so awful, why’d you marry me?”
    He sucked his teeth and I half expected him to spit on me, but instead, he reached down and held out his hand to help me up. I had no reason to trust him, so I balanced myself in such a way that if he let go, I wouldn’t fall. But he didn’t. He pulled me to my feet and held me against himself.
    “Penny, I don’t want you getting yourself so upset about whether or not we get young’uns. I wouldn’t mind a son, sure, but the only thing in this world I need is you.” He stroked my back.
    Then, just when it seemed like he actually cared, he started in with the insults again. I made a comment he found disrespectful, and before I knew it, his fist cracked against my temple.
    Flashes of light blinked around the room, and I dropped to my knees. My ears rang so loudly I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Slowly, he and his words came back into focus.
    His top lip curled up over his teeth. “Next time I try and offer you a little constructive criticism, don’t you dare give me lip. You thank me, understand? I’m your husband andit’s my job to look after you. If I don’t tell you the truth, who will?”
    Truth. I had no idea what that word even meant anymore.
    I held my aching head, feeling a trickle of blood snaking its way into my mouth. I knelt on the floor for the longest time listening to him yelling at me to get up. He kicked me once, halfheartedly, but I refused to budge. I was in another time and place. I was the Princess Penny of my childhood, crying out for someone to save me.
    God heard, Manny. He always does.

    The next morning I woke up early, like I did every day, and fixed your father eggs. One bite was too runny, the next overdone. I apologized for not being a better cook, a better homemaker, a better . . . you name it.
    He shoved the tail of his shirt into the back of his work pants and snatched the lunch I’d fixed him off the counter. I handed him his thermos of coffee, wondering what would happen if one day I just forgot