Picture Perfect - Siobhan Enthoven (i am malala young readers edition .TXT) 📗

A sense of intense satisfaction rose through him as he sat so still at the edge of the lake looking at his life through the lens of his camera. He had risen just before the sun and quietly made his way to the lake behind their Cape Cod. His wife must have gone for her morning jog in the town because she made it out of bed before he did. The lake lay under a blanket of fog making it hard for him to see the shot he was hoping to take. He was looking through the lens, trying to capture a moment in time that perfectly reflected his life.
The breeze rushing through her hair as she jogged down the road from her house gave her immense satisfaction. The wind whistled through her earrings as her feet pounded the pavement. If it wasn’t for the whistling taking her mind off of her concerns, she would have been replaying the early morning events. She was out of bed long before her husband would have stirred to wake. Her sneakers welcomed her like they knew her purpose for leaving before the sun had a chance to greet the horizon. As she continued on the path back to their Cape Cod she began to feel guilty for leaving her husband in an ignorant state of bliss.
The lake would have been perfectly still if it were not for that light breeze, sweeping off the water with resound intent. Pretty soon the fog would let up, giving him the view he so fondly cherished. It was solitary moments like these that made him appreciate his wife and their life together. He took a moment to appreciate how perfect she was; she was everything and more to him. She ran almost every day to stay in shape, she had dinner ready every day, she looked better now than she did when they first met. The thing he loved the most was how she supported his every decision. He couldn’t help but congratulate himself on being so lucky.
The man she went to see this morning understood, he listened to her every word and reflected accordingly. She couldn’t help but feel guilty, but deep in her heart it felt right. This man took the time to understand her situation and respected her. She told him that her husband wouldn’t understand, and this man promised her nothing would happen to her. Her resolve to visit this man in town made her feel like a bad wife, she knew what she was doing after all. Every step she took made it easier to run to this man and further away from her husband.
He had his moments, of course, when he doubted her; those moments when he thought she might have been unfaithful. He shrugged them off though, she would never leave him. He had discussions with her; long talks about fidelity and the importance of trust. She understood.
The morning’s events were almost a blur to her while she ran toward the place she called her home. Her home was also the prison that confined her to the eternal pressure of perfection. She was the model wife, with the model life; maintaining that life was slowly driving her insane. Pretending to have no opinion in order to keep the peace was a sacrifice she initially didn’t mind making, but the force of his hand left a deep imprint on her heart. The bruises were no real contender for her heartache, she considered herself a professional at creating new reasons to be black an blue; the real scarring was below the surface.
Sure, he considered what he did to her in order to keep her that perfect. It wasn’t his fault though, because she knew exactly what he wanted and she knew the consequences. He thought about hurting her and of course he didn’t like doing that, but it was worth the sacrifice. As he dropped his camera a little to truly reflect on the view in front him, he couldn’t help but notice the scratch on his knuckle was starting to become inflamed. That scratch; he could see her standing in front of him again like she did the night before and he remembered the exact moment that his knuckles struck her cheek.
Her cheek still burned, but the breeze skimmed her face like a cooling silken glove. She was more relieved than she ever had been before. She had found a sanctuary; she had found someone to listen to her. Someone that truly heard everything she said, and more importantly, she found the trust she hadn’t had for years. This man had looked at her trough a lens; he had taken pictures of her almost flawless face. He saw the hurt behind her eyes and she in turn recognized his anger at her husband. As she ran down the road she couldn’t help but think that pictures did speak louder than words.
He took multiple pictures, but the lake did not offer the picture he so desperately wanted to see. The lake didn’t offer him the usual spiritual enlightenment; he didn’t feel at one with nature. If anything, he felt at odds with himself and his surroundings. Something didn’t feel right. He got out of his crouching stance and slowly turned to start making his way back up the path to their house.
She felt so much better knowing that everything was going to be taken care of. The man guaranteed her nothing else would happen to her; he said he was going to take care of the situation. She knew her husband would be so upset if he knew his fate was sealed. The guilt in her system felt like adrenaline; it rocked her to the core of her being. The feeling drove her to run faster much like every runner’s high she had ever experienced. For once, she felt empowered.
He paced around the living room as if that would give him the answer. He didn’t know why, but he knew something was off. He felt as though he was being watched while he stood in his own house. He could feel eyes burning the flesh on his back and it made his skin crawl. He turned to the window but was faced with nothing but his reflection in the glass pane. Considering the possibility of paranoia, he took his seat in the leather recliner as he used the remote to find his favorite sports network show.
She knew what he’d be doing at that moment; he would have sat in his chair so he could watch the show she despised so much. If she were there, she would have been in the middle of making his breakfast. She would have already brought him his coffee with cream and two sugars; she couldn’t help but feel anxious about not getting his things this morning. She put the notion to the back of her mind as she considered that she would never have to worry about seeing her husband again. The next time she would see her husband, he would be in a box.
He was getting angry because she should have been back already; he should have had coffee in his hands already. She should have been making his breakfast already; instead he sat in a house by himself. She should have been back already. She should be… He got up to answer the front door; maybe she lost her keys while she was out jogging. She would pay for losing her keys; he could heat the key up and burn an imprint on her arm so she’d always remember. She’d remember just like she would always remember to empty his ashtray on time.
Never again would he burn her with his cigarettes. Never again would he jab her with his fork if his dinner was cold. She couldn’t help but feel better knowing that she would never have to hear another excuse. She would never have to hear that it was her fault again.
He was confused, but most of all he was livid; livid that he was lying face down in the hallway of his own house. The man put handcuffs on him and read him his rights. He had been arrested for domestic violence and spousal abuse.
She never saw things clearer. Her life would finally be picture perfect.

Publication Date: 01-12-2010

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