Patricia Bell

by Patricia Bell

Confront your fears. Okay, okay. I hand her the journal.

  She opens it and quietly reads the few lines I’ve written then turns the page. It takes her only seconds to read that one. She closes it up and stares out the window for a second. Apparently, she’s at a loss for words. As she turns to me, her eyes are glossy. Were my insights that touching?

  “I’m sorry. Give me a moment.”

  She grabs the box of tissue and wipes her eyes. I watch as she gets herself together. Who’s the unstable one here? I haven’t even started to tell her the pain I’ve suffered and she’s already lost it.

  “Okay. I’m sorry about that. It’s just that… that name. I had no idea he was the man who had taken you. I knew a...” She sniffles and wipes her eyes again. “She was… I’m sorry.”

  The woman jumps out of her seat and rushes out of the room. I sit trying to decipher her cryptic message. All I can say with certainty is that, whoever she was, things didn’t end well for her. Before I can wonder any longer, the petite woman strides back into the room.

  “Okay. I’m sorry,” she says for the third time. “I just wasn’t ready for that. This is great.” She taps the journal. “A teacher? That’s great. You’ll make a great teacher. What grades?”

  I stare at her wondering what has just occurred. A sobbing midget left the room and a happy-go-lucky Lilliputian came back in. But I go with it. Everyone deals with their sadness in different ways and as much as I would like to know exactly what had her so disturbed only a moment ago, I drop it.

  “Maybe the younger ones. Like kindergarten.”

  “That’s wonderful. You can go for your Early Elementary Education Degree. That’s for ages K through third I believe.” She gives me a forced smile. Clearly, she’s not over whatever that was she just went through.

  “Thanks.”

  “How’d your testing go?” she asks.

  “Actually, it went good. I’m going to start the tenth grade on Monday.”

  “Wow, that’s great! How did you pull that one off?”

  “The school counsellor said if I take zero hour every semester and a full load in my senior year I will be able to graduate on time.”

  “You must have done really well on your testing,” she says.

  “I guess so. I was pretty surprised myself.”

  “Well that’s just great. Things are really looking up for you. How are the nightmares?”

  “Like clockwork.”

  “Give it time. Keep writing. We’ll keep working through it. You’ll be better in no time.”

  I don’t know how we worked through anything in this visit. In fact, I’m wondering if she herself has some things to work through. It makes no matter. I look at the clock. It’s only been thirty minutes. “Should I call David?” I ask when she doesn’t say anything.

  “Yeah, go ahead. We’ll start fresh on Monday. Don’t forget your journal.” She smiles and hands over my notebook.

  I call David to come and pick me up. As I sit outside to wait for him, I open my journal and read my words again. That’s when it hits me. Minnie must have known someone who… was used by Easy Money? I knew I wasn’t the first. The police officers told me that. But I’ve never tried to put a face to the girl…or girls. Maybe it’s better not to.

  I search my backpack for a pencil but before I can find one, a car pulls up. It’s David. Simon is in the backseat yelling “Lissa! Lissa!” and waving crazily. I’m really starting to like that little guy. I wave back at him, throw my journal into my backpack and jump in the passenger’s seat.

  “Hey, Simple Simon. How ya doing?”

  Simon giggles. “I’m not simple. I’m just Simon.”

  “Yeah.” David agrees. “Get it right Lissa.”

  “Yes sir.” I salute Simon and he giggles again.

  “How’d it go? You must have driven the lady crazy to let you out a half hour early.”

  “Something like that,” I say.

  He gives me a sideways look.

  “I guess something I said,” or didn’t say, “hit a nerve.”

  “Hm. Okay.” He pulls out of the parking lot and heads toward the house.

  “Lissa!” Simon yells from the backseat. It seems as though the boy has no idea how to speak without yelling.

  “Yes sir?”

  “Will you be Ryder?”

  I give him The Hairy Eyeball. He giggles. “Pleaaassseeeee,” he begs.

  “Okay, but next time I get to be Chase,” I say as if I care.

  “Yay! Yay!” he cries. “Jase is on the case!”

  “What a nut.” I laugh.

  “He’s your brother,” David says. “The nut doesn’t far fall from the tree.”

  “Is that how the saying goes?”

  “That’s how I heard it.”

  Chapter 10

  “Are you excited for school?” Sharon asks as the two of us head out to the mall. She’s already bought me more clothes than I’ve ever had in my life and she now insists I need more. “Church clothes,” she says. I’m not real sure about the whole church thing.

  “Overly.” I moan.

  “Don’t be so enthusiastic,” she says. “Maybe you can get on the basketball team.”

  I was hoping that same thing only I still don’t know if I am up to full health yet. “You think so?” I ask hopeful.

  “David says you are a fireball on the court. I don’t see why not.”

  I don’t know about fireball. “He’s just slow,” I tease.

  “Don’t tell him that. You’ll crush him. He thinks he’s as fit as he was at eighteen.”

  I shake my head. Poor guy. “I’ll go easier on him.”

  “No way. You keep going full force. This is the most exercise he’s gotten in years.”

  “Sharon?” I hesitate to ask but until now I haven’t worried much about it.

  “Yes, dear,” she answers as she turns onto Main Street.

  “I was wondering. Is there…” I rub my arms where the scars from the rope he used to tie me up sticks out like a sore thumb.

  When I don’t continue she glances my way. “What is it, honey?” she asks but then sees me rubbing my bruised and battered wrists. My entire body is bruised, but for the most part, it can be hidden. But my wrists… If I haven’t mentioned it before, we live in the desert and that means temperatures over one hundred degrees for at least seventy percent of the year. What I’m getting at is, a long sleeve shirt in the middle of the September will stick out even worse than the marks I’m trying to hide.

  “Don’t you worry. I know just the thing,” she says with a wink.

  I have no idea what she has in mind. I hope it’s good.

  She pulls into the Superstition Springs Mall and the two of us go inside.

  Sharon heads straight for the Penney’s outlet. I follow. She marches right over to the junior’s section and shuffles through the dresses.

  She pulls out a lacy purple dress and holds it up.

  “What do you think?”

  Immediately, my stomach lurches and my skin feels as if a million bugs are feasting on it. NO! my insides scream. I drop to the ground in a crumbled mess.

  “This would be cute for tom— Mel are you okay?”

  I’m just sitting there, trying not to look at the purple dress she’s holding out, while trying to keep my breakfast from making a dramatic appearance.

  She puts the dress back on the rack and sits down beside me. “Melissa? Honey, are you okay?”

  “I can’t—” I can’t find the words.

  “You can’t what honey? Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  I point to the dress rack. “I can’t.”

  A light bulb must go on in her head, because suddenly she understands. “Oh baby, I’m sorry.” She wraps her arms around me, assuring me no more words are necessary. “It’s okay,” she whispers, “you don’t ever have to wear a dress again.”

  The two of us sit on the floor, arm in arm
until people start looking at us funny.

  “Come on baby, we’re making a scene,” she says as she loosens her grip and kisses me gently on the forehead.

  I imagine we must look quite the part. She a big bosomed, warm skinned woman and me, a frail little white girl embracing in the middle of the dress department at JC Penney’s. What a sight.

  She helps me up and together we walk away from the dress department and never look back. “How about a nice pair of dress pants?” she asks.

  “Dress pants are good,” I say with a spark of hope.

  ***

  Four hours, three bags and a pair of shoes later, the two of us head for the car. Me sporting hot pink wrist sleeves. According to Sharon, they are all the rage with the teens. Never seen such a thing on the streets but then again, we were lucky to have a decent pair of underwear. (Clean ones if we were exceptionally fortunate.) Anyway, they are not really sleeves. They are only about 4 inches in length and made of a light rayon fabric. They look cute and Sharon says no one will suspect what I’m hiding. She insisted on getting me four pairs in different designs to match whatever outfit I’m wearing.

  The doctor said the scars may never go away. The ropes dug so deep into my skin that they may leave a permanent mark, just like the one on my soul. Joy for me!

  ***

  After a dinner of smothered pork chops, corn on the cob and mashed potatoes I head up to my room to write in my journal. I’ve been slacking in that department, but I don’t really think Minnie will mind since my last entry made her so emotional she had to leave the room.

  I sit on my bed and open it up. The event from earlier in the day weighs on my mind so I decide to write about it. But first I check the time. 7:13.

  Today at the store I had a bit of a mental breakdown. I feel bad for Sharon for having to put up with my emotional outbursts. I just can’t seem to control them. I want to. Believe me. No one wants to have a psychotic episode in the middle of a department store. I check the time. Two minutes have passed. I write some more. So, there was this dress. It looked nothing like the dress he made me wear, but it was purple. And it was… a dress. He made me wear that thing for as long as I was held captive. He told me it made me look sweet. Precious like a little girl. The men loved little girls. He said. And I was never to tell them just how old I was. Or they wouldn’t want me. A tear slides down my face. I didn’t want them to want me. I just wanted him to leave me alone. To stop touching me.

  I slam the book closed. It’s only been five minutes but it’s more than I can bear. I wipe my unlimited supply of tears and stare out my bedroom window. As I do, I feel a little lighter. As though just writing it down, has in some way released me from it. Not that I can run out right now and throw on a purple dress, but maybe next time I am faced with the same situation, I will be able to handle it without dread. I open up the book, scan through what I wrote and then turn the page.

  Something that makes me happy. Today, I realized that not every person in the entire world is bad. There are some good people left. And I think I might have found them.

  Chapter 11

  “Lissa! Lissa!” Simon shrieks waking me from a sound sleep. I sit up to find the entire room is full of smoke. I cough and choke on the fumes. Sweat pours dowm my face. What in the…

  “Lissa!” He cries again frantically.

  “Simon? Where are you?”

  “Lissa!” he screams louder. “Help me!”

  “I’m coming Simon,” I yell back as I push the blankets aside, jump off my bed, and make my way through the thick cloud of smoke in the direction of his voice.

  “Lissa, please!” he screams out again. This time he sounds closer. I must be almost to him. But where are Sharon and David?

  Suddenly, the smoke miraculously clears and there’s Simon right there in front of me. I scream! I keep screaming. I can’t stop.

  “Melissa!” he grabs me. “Honey wake up.” His voice suddenly changes.

  I open my eyes. “Simon!” I yell out.

  “Simon is okay. He’s in his bed asleep.” Sharon says massaging my sweaty back.

  My heart beats wildly. My breathing erratic.

  “It’s okay, baby. You’re safe.” Her words soothe me, bring me back to reality.

  I swipe at the sweat that coats my brow. An icy cold and a shiver runs through me. Sharon wraps the blanket up around me. “You want to talk about it?”

  Maybe if I do, it will sound less real. I nod.

  “Come on, baby. Let’s go down stairs. We’ll have some milk and cookies and you can tell me all about it.”

  I slide out of bed and she wraps my new fluffy robe around me. Together we head downstairs and she grabs us some treats.

  “You go ahead sweetheart. You tell me whatever you are comfortable with.”

  “It was Simon.” I take a drink of milk. “He was calling out for me. The house was all smoky like there was a fire. It was so real I could actually smell it.”

  “Oh my!” she says and takes a bite of her cookie.

  “So, I follow his voice and find him…” I’m embarrassed to say it out loud. It sounds so stupid.

  “Go ahead, baby. It was just a dream.”

  “He was sitting on Easy Money’s lap.” That gold toothed evil grin pops up in my mind.

  “And he was laughing. It was like they were playing a game. Taunting me.”

  “Oh, honey that’s horrible.” She takes a drink of milk. “I sure wish they’d find that hoodlum. I bet you would sleep much better at night.”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “Me too.”

  The two of us sit in comfortable silence together eating our cookies and drinking our milk.

  “You ready to go back to bed?” she asks yawning.

  I feel bad for having kept her up. “Yeah.” I answer returning her yawn.

  The two of us head upstairs and when we reach my room, she does the strangest thing. She flips off her house slippers and crawls into bed right with me. She wraps her arms around me and I feel so comfortable. So loved. For the first time since being held captive, I fall into a deep, comfortable, nightmare-less sleep.

  Chapter 12

  “Oh, don’t you look adorable?” Sharon asks as I make my way down to the breakfast table.

  “Thanks.” I answer shyly.

  It’s Sunday. The day the family goes to church. It’s not that I am opposed to church. Or God. I just don’t know much about it. I guess I don’t have to tell you that my parents were not exactly the religious type.

  “Grab yourself some breakfast, honey.” She points to the big bowl of scrambled eggs in the middle of the table. Next to it sits a plate of biscuits, a bowl of gravy and another plate filled with bacon.

  I grab a little bit of everything and sit down to eat. I have to remind myself I’m not homeless anymore, (at least for the time being) and that I don’t have to eat like a ravenous wolf. It’s not easy when your stomach clenches at the sight of food. And that knot that forms, won’t go away until your brain is satisfied you are not going to starve. But I resist the urge and take slow steady bites, just like the doctor suggested.

  “Are you ready for church?” David asks.

  “I guess.” I answer. I’m not sure that I am.

  “Church! Church!” Simon yells with a mouthful of scrambled egg.

  “Don’t speak with your mouth full, honey.” Sharon chastises gently as she wipes the egg residue from his mouth.

  At least someone is excited. “You like church, Simon?” I ask.

  He nods his head as he takes another enormous bite of egg.

  “Well if you like it, I’m sure I will too,” I say not really believing it but wanting to.

  ***

  “You see folks, God knew you even before you knew yourself,” the man on the stage says. “It says it right here.” He points to the book on the stand in front of him. “Isaiah forty-four two. Thus saith the LORD that made thee, and formed thee from the womb, will help
thee; Fear not, O Jacob, my servant; and thou, Jesurun, whom I have chosen.” He closes the book and looks out at the congregation. “Now Jacob, that’s not just one guy, it’s actually code for Israel. God’s chosen people. If you remember from last week, we established that there are two different Israel’s. The house of the law and the Spiritual house. That is, the house that has been brought into the fold by grace.”

  I don’t get most of what he’s saying but what I do understand makes me angry. If God knew me before I was born, why did he allow all of these things to happen to me? Why would he allow me to be born to drug addicts? Be abused and thrown around like a used toy and then abused both mentally and sexually by the devil himself? What kind of God does that? As the sermon continues, I close my mind off to his words. God is not for me. I don’t care what anyone says. If He knew me, He should have helped me.

  For the rest of the service, I play a little game. Count the chairs, I call it. How many chairs are filled with women, and how many with men. I get to fifty-three women and thirty-six men before I give up out of sheer boredom. But luckily for me, the service is over and people are getting up from their seats. Many of them unaccounted for.

  “So, what did you think?” Sharon asks.

  I shrug my shoulders. I’m not willing to lie to her but I don’t want to make her feel bad either.

  “Come on, let’s go get Simon.” She pats me on the back and we head to the nursery where Simon is sitting at a miniature sized table, scribbling on a coloring page of Jesus.

  “Lissa!” he says as soon as he sees me. He throws down his green crayon, grabs his picture, and runs to the gated doorway.

  “Hey buddy. You ready to go?” I ask.

  He holds up his green scribbled Jesus to me. “He said He does love you.”

  “Who said?” I stare at him as if he’s grown an extra head.

  “Jesus. He said you are wrong. He does love you.”