We were a frowzy lot. All huddled in the waiting room. Expectant. Most of us were dressed in clothes that could have been pajamas. I was guessing that some of the women rolled right out of bed and didn’t even bother changing clothes. The red haired woman across from me. She was a mess. Hair sticking up tangled. A Budweiser t-shirt with food stains. Her eyebrows were etched in though. As pale as she was her eyebrows were probably non-existent. Eyebrows are important. Men never seem to notice but every woman who looks in the mirror notices her eyebrows.
This was my eleventh day of waiting. I had a book of Poe’s collected works. Scarcely could read. The words tumbled on the page. I was sleepy. Miserable.
The door opens. A black, thin woman with silver dangling earrings. She looks at a clipboard.
“Racine,” she calls out. I raise my hand. Relieved. No more waiting. I can feel all the women’s eyes on me.
I get led down the hallway and into a dining room. Smaller than I had imagined. There are women sitting in every chair except for one. I sit. The women are eating Kentucky Fried Chicken. The woman next to me is mopping up gravy with a biscuit. The woman across from me is tearing at a chicken thigh.
“Why are you here?” asked the woman at the head of the table. She’s got massive long gray hair. There are glasses on her face and her eyes peer out over the tops of them. She’s got on a t-shirt I saw at Walmart. The woman’s name is Evangeline. She helps women. Women like me who have been hurt. Damaged. Every woman in this building is damaged. Violent husband. Raped by a boyfriend. Abused by parents. Sexually harassed at the Dairy Queen. I was beat by my husband when pregnant. Lost the baby as the nurses have me stitches. Nobody knew if Evangeline was familiar with violence or even if she understood pain. No one questioned. She wasn’t that nice. Distant. Sometimes indifferent. But she had these dinners and women came. She told them what to do. You ate a fast food meal and she told you what to do. This is why women went to her. Church would tell you what to do but that was usually men telling you what to do. Most of us had been in therapy. Therapists never tell you what to do. They just ask questions.
Someone shoved a paper plate of chicken in front of me.
“I want to know what to do. I want to be free,” I said.
Evangeline laughed then slammed her fist on the table. All the women stared at her.
“You women are stupid,” she yelled. “Stupid. I’m surprised any of you were once active members of society. You want to know what to do? I command you. I command you to be free. Be free. I command it.”
I nodded and ate some coleslaw. That’s all I need. A command. That’s all any of us want. Man or woman. Direction. What to do when shitty life paralyzes you. I figured when I got home I would take a bath and then write out a list of things I would do now that I was free.