Storytime: The Time My Husband Beat Me!

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No, no. This post isn’t about a black eye. It’s a funny recollection of a situation my husband and I went through, around the time we first moved in together.

It started when I had 3 courses to finish my degree. We weren’t married at the time, and I decided that I didn’t want to be in school the following September. I hadn’t been able to take all three because of a time clash, but I thought that one would be better than 3.

So I made the decision to go to school that summer, taking those two courses. I worked part-time at the call centre, and in addition to school took on a summer role in a government organisation.

So the statistics were:

• Working 7 days a week.

• Weekdays Work 7am-4:30pm. Then classes 5pm – 7, 8 or 9pm. Then work at the call centre at 6, 7 or 8pm until 12 or 1am.

• Weekends were a little less hectic with single shifts at the call centre, but I still had to wash clean, do assignments and study.

If you see more than a few clashes in time there, don’t worry, that’s exactly how it was. My husband (then boyfriend) told me that he didn’t think doing that was a good idea and he thought I should quit one of the jobs, but I was determined (I am very stubborn, yes). He also supported my decision regardless. The way I viewed it was that government stint was going to pay for school, and I couldn’t afford to quit the call centre because them what would I do when summer was over? No. The job market in Jamaica is horrible for graduates, let alone one with an unfinished degree and with only one class in September once a week 6pm -9pm, I could ask for more hours at the centre and do ‘full-time’ until I had my degree in hand or found something better. Quitting wasn’t an option.

So there I was, chugging along. Tired wasn’t even the word! The only time I saw my husband (awake) was during transit and passing each other in the house, focusing on something else. He began to complain about that, and I begged him to just bare with me, summer wouldn’t last forever.

Eventually, I stopped cleaning, and only cooked on Sundays. For some reason, my husband wasn’t helping and decided I would die of exhaustion before I asked him to. Time went on and every time I stopped long enough to look at the apartment, I became overly annoyed. He seemed annoyed too, but as is his way, he was quiet.

Then one night, a straw broke the camel’s back. I finished my shift at the call centre at around 12 or 1am, walked out of the building and he wasn’t there. My first inclination was that he had fallen asleep and was on his way, so I waited. By myself. At midnight with no credit on my phone. I would send him a ‘Please Call Me’ text and would get one back. You can imagine that with every passing minute I began to fume.

Eventually, he called letting me know that he had gotten a two or three (can’t remember) flat tires in a neighbouring community on his way and was unable to call because he had no credit. He’d finally gotten some and called a friend who was on his way to pick him up and then me. I was worried because that area is known for a lot of robberies as a lot of students lived there. Eventually, they came to pick me up and after failed attempts to change the tires drove home ‘rimming it’. I had gotten home around 3 that morning.

The next night, completely exhausted I got home at around 1am and suddenly felt like if the apartment wasn’t cleaned right then, I would murder somebody. So, I cleaned. Banging things and switching on lights as my tired husband tried to sleep. I  was like a turtle in snapping mode. I thought ‘Yuh lucky! If you helped me I would have to clean at 1am!’

About two hours later, I showered and climbed into bed where my husband sat watching me. I honestly don’t remember if I hadn’t realised he was angry or just didn’t care. After laying there for about a minute in my stomach, hugging my pillow with my head turned away from him, I was still livid that he hadn’t helped me to clean.

The next thing I know, he attacked me with a pillow! I could tell he was frustrated because it was so random and unlike him. He gave me a good whacking. I didn’t move an inch through the whole thing.  It took everything I had not to laugh because I could just imagine what he looked like doing it! He really doesn’t like when I succumb to laughter while he’s angry. When I finally looked at him, it was just like I thought, he looked tired and crazy. When he was finished he rolled over and went to sleep! (Or just laid there.)

Luckily, the pressure period didn’t last too much longer after that incident and things went back to normal. But I still have a good crack with myself thinking about that day. (night).

Oh heeey baby! I know you’re over here reading this all stressed! 😂😂