A Million Secrets

Have you heard “A picture is worth a thousand words?” Fred R. Barnard is credited for our current usage of this proverb which basically means, a picture can tell a story as well as, if not better, than a lot of written words.

I disagree.

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but it’s also a superficial snapshot of a moment in time that is incapable, in some circumstances, of displaying the true heart and soul of the captured moment.

What do you see in the picture?

Let me set the stage- It’s early January 2006 at an ice rink event center. Monster’s Inc. has come to town for Disney on Ice. A perfect, fun-filled family event for all ages to enjoy!

We are sitting in some of the best seats. The company my husband works for bought a block of tickets for their employees and we knew it was something the girls would love. We jumped at the chance to buy a set for our family of four.

We are surrounded by glittering lights, sweet confections, stuffed animals, and red slushy drinks. The air is abuzz with the excitement of children and the upbeat music adds to the anticipation of seeing Mike, Boo, and Sulley.

I watch the families around us and wonder what their story is. Some of them I vaguely know through my husband. Others are strangers. I find myself watching them all and wondering.

“What is it like at their house?”

“What happens when there’s a disagreement?”

“Are they happy?”

“Do we look like them?”

Our squirmy one-year old daughter wants to get down and move to the music. Our three-year-old daughter is enjoying her cotton candy and asking, “When will it start?”

I smile, look around, and then my husband directs my attention his way, “Smile!”

Ever the doting husband and father in public; he has bought the treats, he is taking the pictures, and he’s proudly introducing me to co-workers.

All the while, I wonder if I am really here. Am I in this place at this moment in time? Is this real? My body may be sitting in a blue stadium chair, but I feel as if I am floating. Floating above the crowd and not physically attached to my own body.

Who is this person sitting here?

Do the people around us see the happy family?

The teacher wife, the software engineer husband, and the two beautiful girls to complete the picture…is that what they see?

I long to be any other person in this crowd of thousands and look at myself through their eyes.

Adjusting my body in the chair brings me back to the moment.
No one sees them but the black, blue, and purple bruises on the backs of my thighs and my buttocks are screaming for my attention.

The pain jolts me to instinctively reach up and adjust my scarf to make sure it is still in place; it’s ok but I wish I had a mirror.

Is it still covering the neck bruises?

The marks left by his fingers when he lifted me by my neck, held me against the refrigerator, and angrily spat out the words, “You won’t dare call the cops” while I struggled for a breath.

He was right.

I didn’t.

And now, a few days later, here we are.

I’ve been here before- smiling and putting on a happy face for anyone who glances our way. The scene was different, but the hidden wounds are the same.

My pictures aren’t worth a thousand words; they are worth a million secrets.