She leaned casually against the doorframe looking in at me. She held a pistol casually in her right hand letting it dangle at her side. I recognized the gun as one she carried in her purse regularly. I looked away frozen in fear that squeezed my guts and spread like a fever stinging my skin. I stared down at nothing.
“I drove to that scumbag’s house last night, where you spent the night,” she said. “I was going to knock on the door and blow his fucking head off when he answered it. But then, I realized that you would never forgive me. You would blame me and hate me for the rest of your life, and then you would just go find yourself another scumbag anyway. So,” she continued, “I decided I would have to kill you instead. I can’t stand who you are, and I can’t believe you steal from me, for that worthless piece-of-shit, you call a man. You make me sick. I’m just going to kill you and put us both out of our misery.”
Her words pierced my heart. I felt my emotions bleed. I was stunned. My mother was rarely home and while we weren’t close, I never suspected how she felt. I never imagined that she would want to kill me. I sat fearful and empty as my mother raised her arm and pointed her gun directly at my head. I heard a harsh click as she pulled back the hammer.
Oh shit, I thought squeezing my eyes shut, she’s going to do it. And I was absolutely immobile, unable to complete a thought. Regret for who I was, fused my throat closed preventing me from swallowing. A blanket of energy encircled my body but I was pretty sure it couldn’t stop a bullet. And then I knew she wouldn’t do it. Suddenly, the phone rang. The bell was shrill and relentless and screamed endlessly. My heart thudded forcing blood to pound in my temples like I’d gobbled ice cream.
“Looks like you’ve been saved by the bell,” my mother, smirked.
I would learn days later that it was Isla calling from Cadet School, which she’d started a month before, like the goody-two-shoes I thought she was. Isla never broke the rules, took drugs or cut school, she was too afraid. Isla lived for our mother’s approval, which she never got. Our mother thought that Isla was stupid and told her so regularly. “I can’t believe I have a child who is so stupid!” She’d shout at Isla, who would stare at our mother with eyes full of pain.
Turning away from me, my mother lowered the gun and went to answer the phone. My body shook and my bowels turned liquid. I ran to the bathroom and locked the door until my mother left and then I fled.
I waited in the park for Maggie to finish work and I told her what had happened. I’d expected her to take my side, but Maggie was ambivalent. She hated that I was involved with Aaron and blamed me for causing stress and upsetting our mother. Maggie had the guns removed from our house but after that incident my days living at home were numbered. I was fifteen.
As my relationship with Aaron grew, my relationship with Maggie crumbled and my mother checked out emotionally in a way she hadn’t before. There was a constant storm in our house and we were fat with turmoil and struggle.
Maggie warned me again to stay away from, Aaron. “He is such a lowlife, Nita. He has nothing to offer. What the hell do you see in him?”
“I love him and he is not a, lowlife. You just don’t know him.”
“Oh please. I know him and all his scummy, friends.” Maggie countered, “He is a piece of shit and you know it. He doesn’t love you, he is a scumbag, open your eyes. You better get a grip or you won’t like what comes next,” she threatened.
“What? You’re my mother now. You’re going to get all high and mighty? I have to do what you say? Go fuck yourself,” I screamed and I ran out the door.
I was determined to prove everyone wrong about Aaron. They don’t know him, I told myself. I refused to see his mean edge as something bad. I stubbornly denied what I knew from the beginning. He was dangerous. When his anger exploded in a jealous rage, it just meant, he loved me. I ignored Maggie and her warnings until she made good on her threat.
I’d arrived early at my part time job as a gas station attendant after school. I pushed through the glass door and warm air hit my face blowing my hair back in a welcoming huff. My eyes immediately fell on two tall boxes pushed to the corner of the tiny room. NITA, was scrawled in black marker across the front of each.
Tony turned toward me with a quick nod and returned to his task. He mumbled, “Someone dropped those off earlier, said they were for you.”
“Really?” I replied. “I wonder what they are.” I moved toward the boxes.
“Girl that left them was kind of a bitch,” he offered.
“What’d she look like?”
“I don’t know. Kinda curly, brown hair.” She dropped the boxes outside and yelled, ‘These are Nita’s ‘and then drove off. Bitchy, if you ask me.”
It was Maggie, I thought.
I dug through the boxes and my heart sank as the truth settled in.
“Holy crap,” I muttered. They’re kicking me out. I can’t believe it. What, am I gonna do?”
“Bummer, man. That sucks.” Tony murmured. “Wish I could help you, man, but you know how it is, the old lady would NOT understand.”
“That’s cool. I’ll find somewhere to go.” But my mind was reeling. Who could I call and what was I going to do?
I called a school friend, Deanna, who lived nearby, she and her boyfriend picked me up after work and we went to her house. I’d known Deanna since eighth grade and although we weren’t close, we were friends. We ran with different crowds. She had a boyfriend that I didn’t know who liked to talk on CB radios and “mud run” in his Jeep. I went home with Deanna that night with no plan or idea where I might go. I was deeply hurt and in a state of shock that I would be kicked out of my house. I sat opposite of Deanna’s mom on the coffee table’s edge. She held my hands in hers as she spoke.
“Call me mom, everybody does and tell me what happened?” she said. Her eyes held such compassion, I had to look away.
“I don’t know,” I replied as I shrugged in disbelief. “I got to work after school and all my stuff was there. I guess they don’t want me anymore.” Tears rimmed my eyes and my body was rigid with rejection.
“OK, doll” she said as she patted my hands. “You can stay here and share Deanna’s room but you have to go to school. Can you agree to that?”
I nodded in agreement, unable to speak for the emotion that had stolen my voice.
“Mom” gathered me into a hug and said, “It’ll be all right, don’t you worry now.”
Deanna took me to her room where twin beds occupied opposite walls. I should have felt relief that I had somewhere to stay, but I didn’t.
Days later, after I’d moved into Deanna’s house, I saw Maggie at school. She walked right up to me and said, “Mom didn’t kick you out. It was me. I’m sick of your shit. I told you to knock it off but you wouldn’t listen.”
Her words ripped through me. I folded my arms across my chest as a protective numbness covered me like a shining suit of armor.
“Does she even know you did it?” I asked.
“She drove me to drop off your stuff, dumb ass, but I’m the one who did it” she said with power and pride in her voice.
Maggie’s kicking me out was like swallowing razors. The fact that it was Maggie’s doing devastated me despite my pretense. I couldn’t reconcile her turning against me. We had always stuck together no matter what, all we ever had was each other and now she threw me out, exiling me. Fuck her, I thought bitterly. My stubborn pride prevented me from asking to come home. Instead, I shut out my family for rejecting me and I judged them for judging me. I set out to prove that I didn’t need them. The fact that my mother had supported and allowed the circumstance was crushing. She doesn’t love me. She probably never did. I felt victimized, unable to see my part in getting kicked out. I refused to acknowledge my lying and stealing.
The truth was simple. My mother could not cope with me at home so she surrendered control to Maggie. She’d abandoned Karina in a similar way. I buried the rejection and hurt, hiding behind an ever growing attitude of, I don’t care, I don’t need anyone mantra. In my mind the only person who cared about me at all was Aaron.
I stayed with Deanna’s family for the next five months. I attended school as I’d promised but I had a no idea how to function in a family unit. I was especially uncomfortable during meal times when the family sat together in the kitchen talking about their lives and accomplishments. I felt I had nothing to offer. I didn’t talk about Aaron because I knew others judged the relationship as inappropriate, because of our age difference. I didn’t earn good grades in school nor was I involved with any social activities there. I never attended any school functions like prom, homecoming, dances or a sports event. I spent my free time with Aaron and his friends and had few of my own. During those five months, I spent most nights at Aaron’s returning to Deanna’s for showers trying to avoid meal times. Near the end of my time there, Deanna began to question my living in her house.
“So, when do you think you’ll go back home?” She asked one afternoon in her room while I folded laundry.
“Oh, I doubt I’ll ever do that.” I said. “They don’t want me there.”
“Bummer,” she said. “Well, when do you think you’ll move out? I mean, you don’t have to, but you can’t stay here forever.” I realized I’d stayed too long. We’d tried to be better friends and hang out together, but we didn’t like the same things.
“I know. I’m sorry. You have been so cool. I’ll find somewhere to go” I finished.
I knew I couldn’t go home. I hadn’t had contact with my family other than occasionally seeing, Maggie at school, but we didn’t talk. I was desperately lonely and only felt loved when I was with Aaron.
School was nearly out and I had to find a place to go. What I’d discover next would mark a life changing decision and would resolve the question of where I would go.
The Man in the mask- Sweetheart Rapist
The two women, Marcia and Sarah, sat sipping wine from bright red, plastic, cups in the front seat of Marcia’s car. They worked together and wanted a place to hang out and talk privately. Fighting crowds or shouting over loud music, did not appeal. The secluded area of the defunct mines was perfect. It was a place notorious for lovers, aptly dubbed “Sweethearts Lane.”
Both had a mild buzz, compliments of the sweet, white wine, when a bright light appeared through the driver’s side window followed by a tap, tap, tap. Marcia was sure it was a cop as she rolled the window down.
A gun inches from her face was the next thing she saw. “Get out of the car and don’t scream or I’ll blow your head off” the man in a mask ordered.
Traumatized, the woman was hyperventilating and dizzy from a lack of air. Calm, down, calm, down, she told herself. The man in the mask forced her from the driver’s seat into the backseat of the car.
“Lay with your face down,” He directed.
He removed his mask and pulled it over her face- the eyeholes at the back of her head. She could smell the vile odor that was him in the stretchy fabric and she gagged. Sarah was in the front seat, her body scrunched in a fetal position, her face pushed against the seatback desperately sucking air through the tiny seat gap. The gun was pointed at her head, while the man drove their car into a spot hidden from view.
“Don’t look at me or I will have to shoot you,” the man said. “I’m going to join your friend in the backseat and if you so much as move, I will kill her first and you next.”
“Oh-o-ha, 0-kkay.” Marcia stammered in between sobs. She was stunned and in shock. She couldn’t get her thoughts together. Terror for her friend, suffocated her and she didn’t dare raise her head.
“Keep your head down and take your clothes off.” the man ordered as he climbed into the backseat.
Marcia knew there was nothing she could do. His voice and every word he spoke seared into her memory. She would never forget his smell, his voice or the inflection in his words - never.
Her skin crawled when he touched her. She tried to block out the smell and sensation when he forced his penis into her mouth, holding the gun to her head. She could hear Sarah’s hysterical sobs, but something died inside when he touched her and she couldn’t cry.
He finished by pushing himself inside her and she gritted her teeth as he tore the tender flesh, ripping deep into her very soul.
Afterwards, the man felt good but could not admit the reason to himself. He shoved the dark behavior away from his conscious mind and would not acknowledge it; instead he began to whistle as he drove to the store to pick up items from his to do list. He tucked the mask and gun under the front seat where he knew she would never look. Stupid bitch never questioned anything.
Chapter 7
The room brightened by degrees. The sun burned through dark clouds and brought illumination one moment and muted softness in the next. I swayed and twirled in sunlit circles. I held my arms around the swell of my belly and danced with childlike abandon. I tipped my head back and took a pull from the joint clutched tightly between my fingertips.
Just five months before, in the spring of 1978, I’d discovered I was pregnant. I was sixteen. I’d moved in with Aaron, who’d recently gotten his own tiny apartment, when I suspected my impending pregnancy. I was thrilled with the prospect.
At sixteen, I wasn’t concerned about the harm that smoking pot might bring to my precious unborn baby. A baby, I already loved and who I knew would love me more than anybody had ever dared.
I had no fear or worry about parenthood, only a single belief that no classes or instruction were needed for childbirth. I was swollen with the bright, youthful, arrogance of a teenager. I gazed upward and blew smoke, reflecting on the well-meaning people who’d offered unsolicited advice on the best way to birth a child. Complete strangers approached me in the supermarket and asked, “Are you taking Lamaze?” Or, “Have you bought Dr. Spock yet? I couldn’t live without it.” They’d exclaim.
They must not know, I thought, that there are women in Africa, who squat and deliver their babies in fields every day and are just fine. Really! I wanted to scream, what’s the big deal? I gave no thought to suggestions of attending Lamaze classes and the popular book “Baby and Child Care” by Dr. Spock, was never purchased.
I was oblivious of what lay ahead. All that mattered was my unbridled joy for the baby I carried. My baby will prove once and for all that I am worthy and capable.
My baby will never suffer or go without and I will never make him/her feel like a piece of crap. I will be the best mother in the world. I never imagined that my child would suffer for my immaturity or that I couldn’t give what I didn’t have.
Aaron and I had begun spending time together after the day he’d picked me up. The past was never mentioned. It became clear I had to leave Denise’s house.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” I said to Aaron one afternoon. “I have to find a place to go.”
“You can move in with me.” Aaron said, squeezing my hand. “I’ll take you to school on my way to work. It’ll work out.”
I was ecstatic! He loves me! Finally, I can be happy. I moved in immediately.
Revealing my pregnancy to Aaron brought anxiety and fear that he would reject us. I didn’t want him to feel trapped. I sat on the couch in our darkened living room biting my fingernails and rehearsing what I’d say.
“I’m pregnant” I said. “And I understand if you don’t want to be involved, but I have decided to have this baby. Either way, I’m keeping it. I’ll take care of the baby myself.” I held my breath waiting for his reply.
“No,” Aaron replied, “You won’t have to do that. We’ll figure it out. I
love you and we’ll be a family.”
It was the first time he’d exclaimed his love outright. Relief swept through me. I wanted this baby and I wanted Aaron to want it too. The pregnancy was an opportunity to have a family of my own. I knew it was my destiny.
We found a small three-bedroom house to rent that was affordable and close to the high school I attended. Aaron’s mother agreed to loan us the deposit for first and last month’s rent for the house and Aaron’s job as an auto mechanic would cover the rent and other expenses. I’d found the rental ad in the morning paper and we went that afternoon to see it.
The house was in an old neighborhood where the sidewalks buckled and cracked under thick shade of giant trees whose roots lifted the concrete effortlessly. The front yard sprouted patches of green grass while bushes under the front windows were dried and brown with neglect. But it didn’t matter. I was excited at the prospect of our very own home filled with the things we would choose. I felt like a grown up.
“Oh, Aaron, look at the three windows in front, it will let in so much light. And look! It has a laundry room!” I exclaimed happily touring the house. No more laundromats, I thought. “I love the kitchen too, don’t you?”
“Yeah, it’s a nice house, hopefully we can get it.” I felt Aaron’s excitement and I was proud that it was me who could make him happy again.
We walked into the backyard, a graveyard of broken cement dividers and scattered rocks that lay strewn across an expanse of dirt and dried weeds.
“It’s not too bad,” I said. “We can fix it up, right?”
“Maybe, let’s see if we can get it first.”
We did. I began my senior year of high school four months pregnant, walking the two blocks to school from our house. Now that I had my own house and a new life, I was determined to make everything perfect. The light-body was still present and I sometimes talked to it out loud, sharing my newfound happiness.
The Knowing: Awake in the Dark Page 9