Chapter 2 - THE FIRST PERSON WHO CALLED IT ASSAULT
The first person to say the word assault was not me.
It was Cynthia’s neighbor.
Her name was Denise Caldwell.
I barely knew her.
She came through the side gate after hearing the crash and found me sitting on an overturned cooler with my burned hand beneath cool running water from the garden hose.
Not ice.
One of the guests, a nurse, had stopped somebody from pressing ice directly against the burn.
Denise looked at my hand.
Then at Ivan.
Then at the grill lying sideways in the grass.
“What happened?”
Cynthia answered first.
“Megan had some kind of episode.”
Denise ignored her.
She looked at me.
“What happened?”
Ivan stepped closer.
“She burned herself and started smashing things.”
I laughed once.
The sound was ugly.
Denise looked at him.
Then at my wrist.
Finger marks already darkening.
“Megan?”
“He put my hand on the grill.”
Ivan raised both palms.
“No.”
A guest said:
“I saw it.”
Another:
“So did I.”
Then silence again.
Because saying you saw something privately and saying it in front of the man who did it are different acts.
Denise pulled out her phone.
“I’m calling 911.”
Cynthia moved toward her.
“This is family.”
Denise looked straight at Cynthia.
“You have thirty people standing around a woman with a burned hand.”
Then she dialed.
The panic fob had already contacted the monitoring center.
Police and EMS were coming either way.
I learned that later.
At the time, all I could do was keep my palm beneath running water.
Pain climbed through my wrist.
My teeth chattered though the afternoon was warm.
Ivan paced.
“You’re all overreacting.”
Greg Lawson said:
“You held her hand on the grill.”
“I was trying to make a point.”
That sentence stopped him.
Everyone heard.
Ivan realized.
His mouth closed.
I stared.
Trying to make a point.
There are moments when abusive people accidentally describe themselves with more precision than any prosecutor can.
Cynthia snapped:
“She destroyed my property.”
I looked at the fallen grill.
“My grill.”
“What?”
“I bought it.”
Cynthia blinked.
Not important.
Still satisfying.
Sirens approached.
Ivan looked at me.
His voice dropped.
“Megan, come inside.”
“No.”
“We need to talk before they get here.”
“No.”
“Stop doing this.”
I almost asked:
Doing what?
Then understood.
Creating witnesses.
Leaving the private rules.
Allowing strangers to interpret his behavior without his permission.
He hated that more than the broken grill.
Police arrived through the side gate.
Two officers.
Paramedics behind them.
One officer immediately separated us.
Good.
Ivan tried following.
“Sir.”
“That’s my wife.”
“Stay here.”
“She’s upset.”
The officer looked at me.
“Ma’am, do you want him near you?”
My mouth opened.
For nine years, people asked:
What does Ivan want?
What happened between you two?
Can you both calm down?
Nobody had asked the simpler question.
Do you want him near you?
“No.”
The officer nodded.
May you like
Then moved Ivan farther away.
I almost cried from the ordinariness of it.
