Riding the Chance
I had used the name Diana Lopez.
Having no papers, pretending to be an illegal immigrant got me the job. It was a horrible job for a horrible boss, but, in a way, it was a bit safe.
If my horrible monster of a husband was searching for me, he certainly wouldn't look here, or connect this name to me.
That was the only plus/
I hated the job. My Boss was the biggest phoney who ever lived. He worked us like slaves because we were illegal aliens and had no choice.
He would deduct money from our meager salaries for lateness for taking a lunch break, and the only reason we had two days off a week is because he wanted two
days off a week to be with his new girlfriend.
One of my co-slaves told me that when he first started working for Migs, (as they
called the Boss) it was seven days a week.
Then, Migs met a woman he wanted to be with, so started to cut hours then close the office on Friday at about 3 to be with her, which is how we got a weekend.
The good thing about Migs is that he didn't trust anyone, so had to physically be
present to watch us work. This means if he wasn't there, we weren't there.
As horrible as the job was, I dreaded my two days of solitary confinement. I felt so alone, so cut off, so frightened.
Yes, my husband was the king of abusers. And me escaping him would so fire his anger that he'd race after me.
As most Abusive Husbands, he thought he was smarter than everyone in the world, especially his stupid wife. Imagine his stupid wife able to escape!
He must be on Fire!
Letting Go and Grabbing
During the week I pretended I was Diana Lopez, illegal alien.
I didn't have to make up stories to fool my coworkers for Migs didn't allow his slaves to talk to each other.
The few words I could exchange with my co-slaves was only when he was absent or busy.
On the Weekends, when I was me, I tried to stay out of the hotel room. Tried to find things to capture my thoughts, divert me from my past.
For alone in the room there was no way to cut the vicious husband I had escaped out of my life.
He was in every corner of the room, in every move I made.
There were times I recalled his nice days, and had to force myself to recall the not so nice days.
I had to relive those horrible times to eradicate any feeling within me of returning to my city, returning to where he was.
I had no one to talk to. And in many ways, i couldn't imagine how I would find anyone to talk to.
I just wasn't 'there'.
The money I was earning from Mig's slave factory was subsistence. It just covered this room and some food. I knew, soon, I'd be flat broke, with no way out.
I had to do something before it reached that stage, and that meant getting a real job with real people.
And that's when the idea of joining the Navy came in to my mind.