by Monroe, Anya
These are the easy things in life to say
and it’s easy to spend our days
obsessed with the trivial details
of who got what, who said what, shut up
but
there’s more that needs to be
said.
Did you know one in three girls
has been sexually abused?
I read that the numbers are declining every year.
Less children are victims of abuse but
does that fact do
anything to change
the life of the girl living with the
hollowed out dreams
because she was beat against the wall
forced to do an act
that should be only reserved for a lab rat?
Wait a second, scratch that –– lab rats have some
sort of code they live by.
I’m a friend of PETA and an animal enthusiast
and so I wonder if the lab rats have rights
why the children
who are living in the cycle of shame
are not being treated the same way?
I lived my life talking about the things
we’re all allowed to say,
“The weather’s nice,
the rain stopped, thank God,
I got a new job.”
See how with those words the subtle
message is that
the big things, the scary things,
are not to be said?
You wonder why the kids don’t talk or why
the abusers aren’t caught ––
but the truth is
the kids
are too scared to say a word.
So you may have caught on that this is about me.
My abuse was real.
Really physical
Really hard
to escape.
And even when you think you have,
the truth is
it’s gonna haunt you for
days
weeks
months
years.
And the people want to help ––
social worker, counselor,
foster mom or dad,
teachers, friends at school ––
You want to scream the truth
but the words
all the words
get caught.
Make you choke.
Everything gets caught inside
because it’s the safest place to hide.
My little brother
good little boy.
The one I spent my childhood trying to protect.
The one I’d tuck in at night, sing
sweet lullabies
always made sure he stayed in my sight.
Except ––
except the times Dad called for me
and I’d have to leave him be.
I always thought Mom was there
wanting to help keep him safe but the truth is
she was doing the exact same thing
to him
as my dad did to me.
Did you know one in every seven boys are
sexually abused?
Wait, was I supposed to say that?
Is it the same as saying ‘Have a nice day?’
Is that the same as talking about the weather
or whatever trivial things we say
to keep the terrifying truths at bay ?
Did you know that boys who are abused are
thirty-two times more likely to attempt suicide?
That those boys are thirty times more likely to commit a violent crime?
I tried to protect my brother by going to my dad
in place of him.
But what does it mean when someone else found him
instead?
When he was violated just like me
that I couldn’t do anything to protect
my family?
That fact crushed me to the core.
The kind you can’t ignore.
The kind that breaks you down.
But I am seeing that that is just the place our abusers, our perpetrators,
our mother and our father wanted us to be-
BROKEN.
I can’t let that happen
to anyone else.
Not under my watch.
If I’d known then
what I know now
our abusers would have been on lockdown
so. much. sooner.
But I lived in fear.
The paralyzing kind that makes you want to run away
makes you want to hide.
The kind that keeps the truth far away
from the surface
keeps lies the only thing you believe
keeps abusers walking the streets
waiting to find another kid to defeat.
I won’t let that happen, not if I can help it.
And I’m beginning to see the only way I can change
the face of my abusers
is to speak loud and clear
forget the fear
that I’ve been walking with
because I am brave.
And you can be, too.
The weather, yeah it’s nice.
The gray clouds are trying to move in,
but I’ll tell you this once
and I’ll tell you again
I’ll tell you as many times as I need
because it’s the only way
to let the good find a way in.
There are lots of things in life that are
gray like the clouds ––
but there are just as many things that are
black and white.
Child abuse
is one of the things we must bring to the light.”
171.
The hall is on their feet again
cheering, clapping.
For me.
I did it.
I did it.
I really, truly, did it.
I wish Benji could have been here.
He would have been so proud.
I chose to talk
before it was too late
for someone else.
I’m shaking in my boots
the combat kick-ass ones.
I’m shaking in my dress
the bright white one.
I’m shaking in my skin
the skin that’s been so scarred for forever
that can finally be released
from worry
from shame
from insecurity.
If this crowd is saying something
it’s speaking to my core
setting me free.
They accept
Me.
172.
After the last performer
offers his piece,
the judges call people on stage who have
placed.
And the thing is
the crazy thing is
they call me
last.
That’s right.
Louisa.
Are you effing kidding me?
I won!
They hand me my scholarship
and the gift certificate to
6-Spot.
Funny, right?
I hold tight to the flowers and the ribbons they
place in my arms.
Heavy from the trophy placed in
my hands
and
I don’t think I can stand
because the weight of being
FREE
is not crushing—-it releases me.
Afterwards, after the moment on stage
I get down and find the place
I really belong.
With my people.
“Louisa, that was stunning! Absolutely stunning! You nailed it, babe!” Margot throws her inked-up arms around me, squeezing me until I laugh.
God it feels good t
o have that all behind me.
I feel like I haven’t taken a real breath
since I signed up
for this life.
“Thank you, Margot. Thank you for telling me about it. I can’t. I mean…there are no words.” I say.
“There are words, Louisa, and you said them, on that stage!” she answers.
And I guess that’s true.
I did say all the words up on stage.
Except for a few.
A few very important ones.
I get a picture with
Markus and Jess and me.
Jess says I’m basically famous now
and that she’s so amazed by what I do
(like I’ve been doing it longer than one night or something).
And Toby kisses my check telling me, “Bravo! Baby!”
And finally
waiting patiently in the very back of the pack
is the one.
The one who is still there
just like always, waiting for me.
Ms. Francine.
173.
“You did it, Louisa,” Ms. F says.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” I say.
“It was everything and more than I imagined it would be.”
“I was so scared, right before it started. But you know what got me through, gave me the courage to just, you know–– start speaking?”
Ms. F tilts her head, listening.
“The things everyone has been saying to me these past few months. Like, that I was strong, that I could be brave, with my words.”
“Your words are lovely, Louisa.”
She pulls me into a hug.
The kind that feels right and tight
and
safe.
“Thank you, Ms. Francine. For everything. For driving me everywhere and putting up with my dirty room…and just…I want you to know, I love you.”
“I love you too, Louisa.”
And those are the best words I’ve heard in a
really
really
long time.
174.
I’m back in Terry’s office.
There’s much that’s the same before
I bared my
soul
on the stage.
Like,
yesterday I still had to go to school.
But it was different somehow
and it wasn’t just me.
My non-descript English teacher
said she’d heard some really
good things.
I was like “What are you talking about?”
“Your slam poetry, you’re in the paper, Louisa, you should be so proud.”
I mumbled something about nothing,
but inside I
know I am.
Proud, I mean.
Jess practically spent the whole day walking around telling everyone how amazing I was
and I just kind of shook my head
because really
what am I supposed to say?
Yeah, I was really good.
Obviously not that.
So, instead I just pretended to be embarrassed,
but for the first time in forever,
I was holding my head so high
I felt like I could fly.
“So I heard it went well, Louisa! Everyone here at the office is just buzzing about it and I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it.”
“Don’t worry, I mean, it’s good that you went to your daughter’s dance recital. That’s like, most important.”
“I read in the paper you received first place, but tell me about it, how did you feel, standing on stage?”
“At first, you know, I was kind of freaking out, but when we were driving there, Ms. F, I don’t know, like, she talked me down. I kept thinking how there were all these people who who believe in me. And I just kept telling myself that even if it’s scary, I can be brave.”
“Even if it’s scary, I can be brave. I like that.”
“I think my first tattoo, is going to be something about bravery,” I say, smiling.
“Oh really? I don’t think you’re supposed to tell your counselor that. At least not one who works for the state.”
“Not now. I get it, I’m only sixteen. But when I’m old enough, I think I will. I just never want to forget.”
My eyes get full as I say those
words.
Because I spent my forever
wanting to forget
and now I never want to let the
memories slip
away.
“I just never want to forget, Terry. Forget my story. It’s what you’ve always said, if I don’t talk I’ll never be free. And now I just…I feel so free.”
I wipe my eyes
erasing the tears.
Knowing, always knowing,
the reason they’re here.
Knowing, always knowing
that I don’t want to live in
fear.
175.
“So now, Louisa, what are your plans?”
“I can keep coming here, can’t I?” I ask Terry.
“Yes, I’m glad you want to. Because in two years I don’t think I have ever heard you say so much, so easily. This is what they call a break through.”
She laughs,
but I know she means it.
That this, me coming here every week
for two years straight
and finally talking was a long time coming.
“I’m glad you never gave up on me. And I wanted to tell you, because I never could before, thank you.”
“For what, Louisa?”
“For getting me my journals. Without them I don’t think I could have ever had balls to do this.”
“You’re welcome, Louisa. You’re very welcome.”
And she breaks protocol
for like the millionth time
by standing up and giving me
one of those hugs
I finally can’t get enough of.
176.
I go to work, after Terry’s and my
appointment.
I wanted to call in sick or whatever people do
to get out of things
I just feel like I haven’t had a chance to talk
with Ms. Francine
and that’s what I still really need want to do.
I go to work anyway
don’t want to let Margot or Toby down
not now after all that they have given me.
Confidence in my own self-expression
Confidence in my new life-direction.
And I’m glad I didn’t make an excuse
because when I walk in the doors of the 6-Spot
everyone who I work with
is here.
“The Lady of the hour has arrived!” Toby yells in his blow horn.
The music is turned up even louder
and I get showered
with love
from above
as everyone tells me how proud
they.are.of.me.
Proud of me.
And then someone turns the music down
and I notice the projector screen pulled down
from across the room
and Margot’s at my side
squeezing me
shushing the people around me
and my eyes get wide, freaked out by what
we see as Toby makes another announcement.
“Everyone, in case you missed it, I mean, I was there, as a supportive friend, but in case you weren’t––” Everyone snickers appropriately. “Here’s the performance our shining star gave just two nights ago at the Young Slam Poets Competition, to win her first place!”
The video
starts playing my performance
back to me
letting me see
the emotion I was sharing
as I blared to the world
my stor
y.
The room goes still as they listen.
And seeing it like this
from the other side
I’m so glad I didn’t choose to hide
for even one more day.
The party goes on even as customers enter
and we have cake and
Toby asks if I’d like to propose a toast
and I know just what to say.
“Thank you for the support –– but mostly I want to thank Benji, my brother, who was brave enough to tell the truth about our story first. And I know it’s heavy for a toast…but it is true. To Benji.”
And I raise my plastic cup of fruit punch
to the air
so glad I had the guts to spill to share.
177.
We’re sitting at the table, the next day
eating dinner, together.
It seems so normal.
So imperfectly perfect.
“What is it, Louisa? You look like there is something you want to say.”
I want to ask her about her intentions on the fridge
why she posted them there.
I’ve walked past them
dozens of times, always wanting to glare
them down because I don’t know how
to make sense of them.
I chew my pasta carefullythoughtfullyannoyingly
as I drum up the courage to say
what I know we need to talk about:
My future.
“Ms. Francine, I was wondering, you know I mentioned it the other night before the contest, who are you planning on having your roommate be?” I ask, bravely.
She sets down her fork, wipes her mouth
with the napkin in her lap
assuming a serious stance
before she speaks.