Enemy

In my peripheral vision I see the beady eyes in the shadows. They glow as if lighted by some independent source. I know he is there, but I don’t want to look directly at him, or let him know in any way that I know he is watching me. I feel a shiver; reach for the hood on my jacket with which to cover my head. It feels safer that way. I turn to join the conversation near me and awkwardly stand next to my acquaintances. I don’t quite fit in and the conversation isn’t directed at me so I stand half-turned away and look around the room. Take a sip of coffee and look back toward the girls for an opportunity to join in the talking. They are engaged with each other so I just stand there. Over the shoulder of the girl across from me I see the eyes again. He is whispering now; so quietly no one but me can hear, “You don’t belong here.” I look to the face of the lady standing across from me and she flashes a welcoming smile.

“Does she like me? Did I do something to upset her once? Maybe it was that one time at that party when…” I think to myself, running the list of our interactions through my brain.

I know what is happening. It’s not her, but him. I know his tricks. I’ve fought them before. He is relentless. He knows my triggers.

I stand sipping my coffee, trying to pretend my enemy isn’t there too. But I know he is. I focus on how to interact in this group, what I can say, what I can ask.

“What are you doing for the holidays,” a friendly voice to my left queries of me.

“Oh just staying home this year, making a family dinner,” I reply. He slinks back into the shadows. He is being weakened. He cannot stand against me anymore right now. I relax, keep sipping my coffee.

Soon we must move on, so I pack the kids into the car and listen to an audiobook. The beautiful writing of Miss Louisa May Alcott reminds me of a simpler time. I wonder what it would have been like to live then and only concern myself with household things. My circle would be much smaller than it is now.

Upon arriving home I am flurried with the list of to-dos. Feed the kids, feed myself (I am bordering on feeling so hungry I could pass out), sweep the floor, and get the kids into quiet time. I mindlessly check my phone.

I see those beady eyes once again. He is crawling closer now, like the snake he is, squirming along the floor and trying to sneak up on me. He knows this is a place in which he can trap and devour me. Pretending he is not there, I scroll. Santa and Mrs Claus beam from my phone, it’s a picture of my mom and dad dressed in festive wear. She is wearing a pretty red and green silk dress with holly leaves along the bottom. It complements Santa well.

It was my dress when I was a child. A fat child. A child who had to have that dress specially made.

I hear him whisper. The hissing of his lies tempts me to fear and shame. He is harsh and ruthless in his accusations. He is nothing but a vault of lies and hate. There is no end to the depth of his depravity. He won’t waste any more time. He attacks with full force, “You’re nothing but a fat girl who nobody wants as a friend.”

I look up from my phone and see a reminder I have written on my wall for times like these: “My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand.”

That’s right, Enemy. You will not snatch me from my Father’s hand. He has a grip on me that will never weaken.

The house is quiet; my kids are in their rooms for an hour of peace. I sit to write.