Life After Punch

**Trigger warning: Mentions of domestic violence.**

Things were never the same after Punch moved to Acapulco and left Judy in Florida. She didn’t know what to do with herself without the daily beatings Punch gave her.

Now all he gave her was a series of cheap postcards. This one of a sunrise over mountains. That one of a toucan standing in a banana tree. Another of oranges painted with faces. All of them with the same message:

I’m finally happy
Fuck you,
P.

But what about Judy’s happiness? Does she count for nothing? Her therapist Dr. Hand tells her she must find her own happiness, and that her life with Punch does not define her. But those are words on a couch in a sunny office. It’s much different in a hazy kitchen with moldy toast on the table and rotting burger meat on the floor.

Here in this Punchless house, without daily abuse, it’s hard to find meaning or identity. 

But the mirror on the wall tells Judy a different story. It’s the one place in the dingy house that catches the sun. It halos around Judy’s head when she looks in.

The mirror shows her the Judy that could be. It blends the dark circles under her eyes such that her skin looks normal and healthy. It shows her lips and teeth smiling, glistening like she’s the star of some chewing gum commercial. Most of all, it smooths out the creases and worry lines of her face, so she sees a young Judy. The Judy that existed long before Punch infected her life.

On the really sunny days, if she tilts her head and squints just the right way, Mirror Judy whispers:

This young Judy, this potential Judy is still you. She still lives here. She’s just waiting for you to stop beating her down. You should take her to the back yard and let her grow things, like those orange snapdragons you bought on clearance at Wal-Mart last week.

Every day, when Judy turns from the mirror, she finds herself closer to the back door. She can’t wait for the day she finds herself with her hands on the doorknob.

Domestic violence is a daily fact in the lives of many adults and children. If you believe you are in a dangerous situation, use caution and reach out to the helpline nearest you. There is help — there is hope.

You’ll find more encouragement to choose joy and life here. You are not alone!

• “Dear Pastor Who Blamed Me for Being Abused” – Things I Wish I Had Said
• Domestic Violence Awareness Special Issue of the MockingOwl Roost
• Helpline – Poetry
• Divergent Memory of a Burning Heap – Writing Memories
• To Be Seen – a Poem
• Thank You God, I’m Leaving Here – Personal Essay
• Smiles – Protest Poetry

Steve Bowman

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Steve Bowman’s work has previously appeared in The Legacy, Amarillo Bay, The Zen Space, Last Leaves, Southern Arizona Press, and Wicked Shadow Press. When not writing, Bowman seeks inspiration in the trees and hills of Southern Indiana with his little dog, Grummle.

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