by Landis Lain
Butterfly Arising © 2018 by Landis Y. Laine
Brown Girls Books LLC www.BrownGirlsBooks.com
ISBN: (ebook)
ISBN: (print)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical or photocopying or stored in a retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be included in a review.
First Brown Girls Publishing LLC trade printing Manufactured and Printed in the United States of America
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It is reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped” book.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Girls are punished for
the same behavior that boys are
encouraged to indulge in.
When I wrote these words, I wanted to stand up, scream and cheer. My own #MeToo moment reignited my dedication to equality and justice for all. Whatever background, race, religion or economic circumstances we come from, women and men the world over have been inundated with the culture of rape until we can barely recognize it. Dogma teaches us that man is made in God’s image. God becomes frightening and unreachable for the victims of this genocidal practice. Silenced voices harbor unexpressed grief.
Butterfly Arising solidifies for me that #WeToo are made in God’s image; a vibrant reflection of divine survival and revival. The power to heal is God-given to us. Every person who has been victimized by intimate violation, no matter what the situation, know that God’s love is infinite and omnipresent.
I dedicate this book to my phenomenally fierce daughter, my granddaughters and all the sisters and daughters of my heart who fearlessly live full lives and strike out against injustice. The story is written for any person who has ever been damaged by the very people they should have been able to trust.
My most sincere gratitude to ReShonda Tate-Billingsley for your fierce editorial pen and supportive comments. Standing ovation to you, Brown Girls Books and Victoria Christopher Murray. Your stories speak for voices that are too often silenced. Mad Smooches to Sista Locks writing coven (Karen, Lisa, Dedria and Robin), an amaranthine shelter for when life drips acid on the soul. Hugs to Damian, you exemplify the true essence of a sister. Connie, Dear Lee, Wanda, Sonya, Marya, Maria, Sameerah (Sister-moms ROCK with power). Adoration to my heroes Frank, Brian, Garth, Keith, Derrick, and Bill, who recognize destructive culture and reject it; your righteous spirit is everything. Much appreciation for modeling the behavior of gentlemen. To my own Dr. Michelle, who has the sixth sense of passionate devotion that she shares unstintingly with others; I’m in awe of your heart for healing. I love you all. You have everything to do with that.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Frozen
Vanquished
Apathetic
Invisible
Stunned
Beginning
Disliked
Replaced
Hoodwinked
Duped
Abandoned
Abandoned
Intrigued
Excited
Separated
Victimized
Enraged
Panicked
Invited
Rejected
Named
Spooked
Afraid
Threatened
Sickened
Wounded
Reassured
Cherished
Crippled
Traumatized
Friended
Exhausted
Strengthened
Isolated
Hunted
Violated
Devastated
Bewildered
Assaulted
Deluded
Shaken
Shattered
Undead
Ambushed
Avenged
Exposed
Affirmed
Reconciled
Discovered
Disassociated
Resolved
Delivered
Discovered
Gentled
Validated
Restored
Emerged
Discovered
Revealed
Redeemed
Epilogue
FROZEN
One slip and Sasha Anderson would be little more than a soggy memory. When they pulled her bloated body out of the water her parents would mourn, and her baby would be an orphan.
I’m frozen.
The past winter had been long and brutal, with record inches of snow. The month of April had provided showers aplenty so the water in the river was higher than normal and ferociously cold, even though the day was mild for spring in Michigan. It was May first, May Day. The river of oblivion beckoned invitingly.
I can do this.
Sasha stared at the water. She was standing on the south side of the Grand River’s edge, across from the Board of Water and Light, watching the waterfall cascade and crash over the dam locks. The gated locks controlled the amount of water that could go crashing east, down the running river at any time. Some days the water flowed smooth and silky, past half-closed dam gates. Today, they were wide open. Frigid, white tipped water raged like a mini Niagara Falls.
Sasha leaned over the thundering water’s edge. She wanted to be herself for a bit longer. Ignore the anguish and get her confusion under control. With arms stretched behind her, she hung on to the frigid metal railing with little more than her fingertips. She closed her eyes.
I’d be cold forever.
Mama always said that people who committed suicide went to the eternal pit, which was the only reason that Sasha hadn’t let go of the rail.
A hand locked over her wrist, startling her. Sasha swayed and then tightened her grip on the rail.
“Please, don’t do this.”
Sasha heard a voice, yelling to be heard over the raging water.
I hate the cold.
With one last lingering look toward oblivion, Sasha pulled herself back and glanced over her right shoulder. She saw the navy uniform of the Lansing police and stifled a sigh.
“Miss,” pleaded the officer, tightening her hold. “Please, come back on this side of the railing and talk to me.”
“Leave me alone, okay?” asked Sasha. “I just need a few minutes.”
“I can’t do that. Whatever is going on in your life, suicide is not the answer.”
Sasha read the police officer’s name tag. Stewart.
“Somebody else should do my life instead of me.” She focused on the water again.
“Don’t say that,” yelled Officer Stewart. “You’re important and I’m sorry you are in so much pain.”
Sasha snorted.
This past year had been an arctic storm of torment and Sasha had been in the eye of the maelstrom for the whole time. She felt like she would never get warm again. And she was sick of it.
Hell is hot.
Why would she seek everlasting fire and burn forever? That sounded just as bad being frozen. What was that cliché her high school writing teacher always called this type of situation? Oh yeah, between a mess and big trouble. Out on a ledge with no place to go but back where she’d come from.
She liked the Greek mythology version of Hades much better. Drinking the waters of Lethe to forget her busted life sounded like a plan, except the Grand River water was too danged cold and probably nasty, to boot.
“Can you turn around and talk to me?”
Sasha raised her head, closed her eyes and allowed the mist from the rushing water to caress her face
. The pain of the frigid water made her feel just a little bit alive. The water hid her lack of tears and comforted her in some inexplicable manner.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Sasha’s teeth started to chatter. She made a careful half turn, swinging her left arm around to grab the railing so the water was
at her back and she could talk to Officer Stewart without feeling like a contortionist. “I just want the numbness to go away for a few minutes, you know?”
Sasha studied the tousled short brown hair and worried eyes. She felt Stewart’s hand land softly on her shoulder. Sasha flinched and tightened her grip on the rail.
“My name is Mel Stewart,” said the officer. “What’s yours?”
“Sasha,” she said, meeting the officer’s eyes.
“Sasha. You don’t want to die,” said Officer Stewart, firm and sure.
“No! I’m not trying to kill myself,” said Sasha. “That would be really nuts. Who does that?”
“Well, that’s a relief,” said Stewart. She smiled with teeth and sympathy. “You want to tell me what happened? Why you’re on that side of the railing?”
“My life,” said Sasha. “It’s messed up. I feel like it is winter, all the time. And I can’t get out of it. I feel numb, nothing.”
Officer Stewart nodded like that made sense.
“That’s rough. This last winter was brutal.”
“Yeah,” said Sasha. She glanced over her shoulder at the water. “It was.”
Stewart tightened her grip on Sasha’s purple leather jacket. Sasha lifted one hand to wipe her wet face. Stewart tensed.
“It’s spring, now,” said Officer Stewart. Mel Stewart wasn’t a big woman and though Sasha was a slender five-seven, she was young, strong and possibly determined. “You want to hang around for the butterflies.”
Sasha glanced over Stewart’s shoulder and watched as a squad car peeled off the road into the parking lot. It skidded to a halt and another officer flung open the car door. A taller male officer carrying a blanket stepped out of the patrol car and jogged briskly toward the two women.
Wrestling police officers would be dumb when she didn’t want to die. “I’m coming back over now.”
Sasha gave Officer Stewart her hand. The officer grabbed her jacket with the other hand and helped Sasha haul herself over to the other side of the railing, then hugged her tightly.
“You’re okay.” The Officer stepped away but kept a firm grip on Sasha’s jacket. “It’s over.”
Sasha’s teeth chattered. “I’m chill.”
The second officer threw a blanket over Sasha’s shoulders. He took her arm and both officers led her to the patrol car.
“You can let go,” said Sasha, shuddering. “I’m good.”
“We will get you warmed up.”
“Okay.” Sasha nodded. “Thank you.”
“We have to take you to the hospital to get checked out.” Stewart’s voice was gentle. “But I’ll stay with you for a while and keep you safe, okay?”
“I don’t need a hospital,” protested Sasha. “I’m not sick.”
“What were you doing?”
“I almost had myself for a minute,” Sasha said, struggling to make herself understood. “I wanted to feel as though I had a choice. To be or not to be. Like that dude in Hamlet.”
The ride in the back of the squad car was a shivering blur of sunshine and interrogation. Officer Stewart chatted in bright, sunny tones while Sasha murmured her replies.
In the emergency department, Sasha answered the same questions repeatedly, refused the pills they offered and lay down on the cot in the hospital room. She stared at the wall. Her mother rushed in, looking devastated as she held Sasha’s son in her arms.
Sasha answered the same questions and told the same story for the next seventy-two hours to doctor after doctor. She watched her mother weep. She held her baby and told him that she wasn’t suicidal. Nobody believed.
VANQUISHED
“Who is the father of your child?”
Questions, always more questions. First, it was “Why did you try to kill yourself?” Then it was “What’s wrong?” and “Why did you lie?” Over and over, Judge Garcia’s questions came thick and fast. It was early June and Sasha’s silence was as bleak as the Michigan weather was beautiful.
Sasha felt vanquished, defeated inside. Relying on the standard children’s copout, Sasha shrugged.
‘Why’ was the worst, most stupid, nonsensical, pointless question to ask a person when she did something that nobody else understood. The obvious answer was always ‘because I wanted to’, but nobody wanted to hear that answer. ‘Because I wanted to’ would result in an epic parental beat down or possible jail. Sasha’s sole parental beat down had resulted in two months of homelessness. Mama had apologized for kicking Sasha out but it was better not to tempt fate or Evangeline Anderson Redmond. Edgy and enraged was not a good look on mama. Silence was the better course. Better to take the verbal beating from the Judge, go home and go to sleep.
Sasha had answered “I don’t know” to as many questions as she could get away with.
“Ms. Anderson,” Judge Garcia said from the bench. “It has been determined that Mr. Damon Hamilton is not the father of your baby.”
Sasha nodded. “I know.” And wasn’t that an icepick to the heart?
The Judge asked her two or three more times about Ricky’s father but Sasha stared into the space over the Judge’s right shoulder.
Finally, frustrated, Judge Garcia said, “You lied to this court about the child’s paternity, young lady. I could have you jailed for perjury.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Sasha. “You could.”
At least in jail they would feed her. There was heat. It was not a roach ranch of a shelter. It was not outside in the cold or the river’s edge. It was not the frigid détente of mama’s house. She could probably do jail.
Judge Garcia cocked her head to the side and took a different approach.
“Miss Anderson,” she said. “You seem like you had a lot going for you until last year. Then you got pregnant and your life took a serious downturn.”
“Yes, ma’am,” mumbled Sasha. “It did.”
“How are you coping?”
“I’m okay,” said Sasha. “Mama said I have to go to counseling, but I don’t want to.”
“You know that this court could commit you based on your actions at the river and take jurisdiction of your baby, correct?” asked the Judge.
“Mama told me,” said Sasha, feeling hunted. “I didn’t want that.”
“So, you tell me,” said Judge Garcia. “What do you want? What are your plans for the future?”
Sasha shrugged. “I live with my mom. But I don’t know how long that will last. She is not happy about the baby at all. I’ve been looking for a job.”
Judge Garcia shifted in her chair.
“You know you cannot get welfare benefits if you do not name the father, correct?” asked the Judge. “Your baby needs medical insurance at the very least.”
Sasha met the Judge’s eyes the first time since she’d sat down in front of the Judge. Mama had put Ricky on her insurance, so that was something Sasha did not have to worry about. Despite her unhappiness with Sasha, Mama had done everything necessary to make certain Ricky was taken care of. That was a relief. Sasha would eat broken glass rather than walk back into the welfare office ever again. The shelter had taught her that welfare benefits were minimal and the caseworkers all looked at Sasha like she wanted to be begging for food assistance; like she was promiscuous and stalker crazy when it came to boys. A skank.
She looked Judge Garcia in the eyes. “I don’t need welfare.”
“You are very fortunate.”
Sasha snorted.
The Judge narrowed her eyes.
“You need to name the father of your baby,” she said.
Sasha was silent for a long moment.” Why?”
“Because if this court must take jurisdiction of y
our child, we have to notify the other parent.”
“What if I can’t say who it is?” asked Sasha.
The Judge eyed her narrowly.
“If that is the case, you would need to name all the men you have been with who could possibly be the child’s father and there will be an investigation,” said the Judge. She was starting to look angry.
“What if I was drunk at a party and just met the man and he was from out of town and I never saw him again?” asked Sasha.
“That is what nearly every young woman who doesn’t want to name her baby’s father tells this court.”
“Oh.”
“Is that what happened?” asked the Judge. “You were under aged drinking?”
“I can’t say,” said Sasha, miserably.
“Not even if I put you in jail until you do?” asked the Judge.
“I can’t say.”
“Miss Anderson,” said Judge Garcia, “You say you are not suicidal. Your psychological competency screening is within normal limits.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“No. Your medical records indicate a healthy young woman. That just leaves defiant. Do you want to go to jail?”
“No, ma’am,” said Sasha. She shook her head. “Damon said I was crazy. But I’m not. I’m not promiscuous, either; no matter what anybody says.”
The Judge sighed. “My first inclination is to put you in jail for contempt until you name the father. But then, who would take care of your baby?”
“I don’t know,” said Sasha, lowering her head. “Mama said she won’t do it.” There was silence for long moments.
“Why did you lie?”
Sasha shrugged her shoulders. She could feel tears creep up into her eyes, but she blinked them back. She had cried enough to flood the world this last year and it had not helped. She was done crying. She swallowed.
“I have no excuse,” she said and shivered, even though the temperature in the courtroom was comfortable.
“Miss Anderson,” said the Judge, gently. “Were you sexually molested? Raped?”
Sasha looked down. What difference would that make?
“I asked you a question!”
Sasha’s head snapped up.
“I want to take care of my baby,” she said. “That’s all.”
After a protracted silence, the Judge sighed and said, “I’m going to keep jurisdiction of this case for a year. You are ordered to attend counseling for the next 12 months, until I’m assured that your baby is going to be taken care of properly and that you are stable enough to care for the child.”