Broken Glass

-by Beau Burriola

The salt water lapped against the wooden peers and swirled around the barnacles into white bubbles before leaning back back out to sea. A toddler on the other side of the pier was chasing a ragged looking goose, murderously screaming “ducky!”’ This is my thinking spot on sunny summer days. My thoughts were roaming on Jim, who I thought would be in California by now. I looked up at the sun, hoping he was okay.

“It’s over,” he told me on the phone, his voice shaking.

“Where are you?” I said, trying to keep my voice down at the office.

“I’m at home. I’m packing all of my stuff and getting out before he gets home” he said, sounding unsure and scared. “I’m going back to Arizona.”

“I’m on my way over,” I said. I sent a quick email about some doctor’s appointment and ran from the middle of downtown up to Capitol Hill as fast as uncomfortable work shoes could get me.

When I arrived at the house, Jim was half packing and half crying. I could tell he was terrified. “I won’t let anything happen,” I said, hearing my words, but wondering what exactly I thought I would do if David got home.

He looked at me and fell onto my shoulder crying. Months of fear, sadness and raw emotion flooded out of him.

“Come on,” I said after a few minutes. “Let’s get your stuff together.”

For the last five months, I’ve listened to Jim tell me about the broken dishes, broken pictures, the burns, the bruises. There were times I felt like I had to do something, anything, but he begged me not to.

“You’ll only make things worse,” he’d tell me. Please… don’t. Don't do anything, don't tell anyone. He sounded so scared. So I did all I could do. I listened.

David controlled his money, his emotions, who he talked to, his life. There were days David wouldn’t let him leave the house.

Jim isn’t a weak person; if anything he’s exactly the opposite.

“I love him… and I want it to work,” he once told me. To me it might have sounded stupid, but there was also an air of hope in desperation.

One day Jim and I went to Madison Park for dinner. Jim was nearly frantic when we got him home just ten minutes late. “Let me come in,” I said… imagining I could try to talk reason to David. But he wouldn’t have it. I didn’t hear from Jim for three days. When I finally showed up at his work, I noticed a cut on his neck and bruises on his arms. I spent the day wondering how to help him without isolating him from me. I did the only thing I knew how to do: I sat down and wrote Jim a letter.

“Life doesn’t have to be like this,” I tried to say. “Let me help you. We’ll get you away from this. It’s your life, not his.”

There were times the ink blurred with shakiness and anger. I’ve never disliked someone I’ve never met more than David. I never knew how one person could control another. Until this whole thing, I never realized how some people live like this day by day.

Yesterday, after nearly three weeks of planning and scheming, Jim decided it was time. There must have been an awakening or spark, some event in Jim’s heart that finally made it happen. That’s when I received the call at work.

We loaded his car up and drove to a nearby gas station to say our goodbyes. He still looked unsure and I didn’t know what else to do to make him sure.

“You’ll be fine,” I told him. I knew he would. “It’s over.”

By now he’ll be in California, I thought, looking out over toward Bainbridge Island. The toddler had found a new target for her affection- an unlucky ‘doggie’ without a leash.

It looks like he finally was strong enough. Last night, one of the strongest men I know found the courage in himself to make that hard decision not to be abused. He made the decision to end the fear, to stop the bruises and to leave behind the broken glass.

Finally, it’s over.