Romantic love story

Chapter Forty-five: His Eye is on the Sparrow

They kept to Terry's plan and slept between the couches before Terry called the next day and donated both couches to charity. Two men had come in a large truck, and hauled the couches away without much comment, for they had other stops to make, and that had been it-- no more furniture in the bedroom except the dresser. For all the trouble Terry and John had gone through to get those couches in there, it felt like a letdown to see them go so easily, so quietly. In their wake, they left a room where echoes bounced off the walls like some unexplored cavern. While Terry and John went to work for their new client in Singapore, Madison set about turning the empty room into a home. The sleeping mat was laid out with comfy blankets and pillows, her verses went back up on the wall, and the new porcelain angel was placed on the dresser. She unpacked their bags from the honeymoon, caught up on their laundry, and considered moving the recliner in from her apartment so the bedroom wouldn't look so terribly vacant. In the end, she decided to leave the recliner where it was; she had plans for this room, and they didn't include more upholstered furniture. Even though the mat on the floor, the things in the corner, and the dresser didn't sound like much, she wanted to save room.

Room for something big.

As October ended, she kept pushing at her goal to get off the floor. Before she knew it, November had turned into December, and still, they were sleeping on the floor. She kept going, and didn't let herself give up, though it felt like she was getting nowhere fast. Even though previously Terry had said she was making progress, and even though reason told her it was still true, she felt like a caterpillar down there, and not very much like the butterfly she knew she'd become. Using the things she'd learned from Carol, Madison fought for her future, but she did it in private, with no one looking, for she did not want Terry or anyone else to see her struggle. The trick was, to not lose herself in a flashback.

At first, Madison could only eye the master bedroom at the end of the hall, and wish herself in there. However, wishing wasn't the same as doing, and one morning, when Izzy left to take the triplets to preschool, Madison made her move. With Terry and John in the office, the house was all hers, or at least mostly hers, for the men were usually so absorbed in their work, Madison knew she could count on them to leave her alone unless she cried for help. Which she had no intention of doing.

This was it-- her mind filled with promises from her wall, she turned the doorknob, and pushed open the door.

The Dragon did not own her. Fear did not own her. She would conquer this. She took a step into the bedroom, and let herself stare at the carpet. Her heart pounded, her hands tightened into fists, and she prayed one of her promises. A short one-- just something to hang onto while she gathered her courage. Little by little, she inched her eyes up until a dark brown ruffle came into view. A ruffle? Then she saw the edge of a matching bedspread that hung over the side of the mattress, and knew she was looking at the right object. Bile tasted in her mouth, but she forced herself to just stay there and look at the edge of the bedspread. She remembered Carol's words, their talk, and took several deep breaths to calm her breathing. To shut down her fight-or-flight response.

It was only a bed. It couldn't hurt her.

She prayed, meditated on her battle cry, and practiced her breathing. How long she stood there, she didn't know, but when she was able to stare at that bedspread edge without thinking of the Dragon's ugliness, she backed into the hall and thanked God.

The next day, when no one was looking, she went in, and made it as far as the foot of the bed. She couldn't go in until two days later, because she lacked opportunity, but when she did, Madison made the most of it.

It was just a mattress on box springs, something covered with a pretty bedspread, and yet to her, it meant a place of pain. She'd escaped, and now she wanted back in? It seemed to her to be proof once and for all that she was crazy, and yet she kept coming back whenever Izzy took the girls into preschool. Then, one weekend, when the girls were home, but the house was quiet, Madison felt brave enough to go in and touch the bedspread. She nearly passed out, but sheer will pumped into her, and she stayed put; she breathed, ran her hand over the length of the bed, and felt the weave of the fabric. Her jailer was dead. He could no longer hurt her. This bed was just an object-- an object without a jailer.