Yesterday, I Cried

by IYANLA VANZANT

  While the children were in school and John was at work, Rhonda would plot and plan how to leave him. Some days, she made wildly elaborate schemes, involving extensive driving and long airplane rides. When Rhonda thought about paying for airplane tickets, or buying a car, she’d have to scale back somewhat. She would envision herself moving from place to place, staying with one person one night and someone else the next. She would see herself carting the kids from here to there, with John in hot pursuit. She always imagined that she would elude him and get away. Then one night John dumped her off the bed, mattress and all. He pulled the mattress off of her and hit her on the head with a bed slat. Rhonda knew she had to do something quickly.

  She petitioned the court for an Order of Protection. John could not come within fifty yards of her or the apartment. If he violated the order, she had recourse; she could call the police and have him arrested. Rhonda was in control, and John was furious. She allowed him to visit one day a week to see the children, have sex, and to give her grocery money. Rhonda was sexually addicted to John, but she knew if he stayed in her life, eventually he would kill her. Or worse, he would hurt one of the children. John had never raised his hand against the children, but in the process of him chasing and throwing things at her, one of them was bound to get hurt.

  The money John gave her helped meet expenses, but it wasn’t enough. The Miss Restoration Plaza Beauty Pageant offered a prize of one thousand dollars, a seven-day, six-night trip to Aruba, and, among other things, a set of luggage. Grandma’s dressmaker made the gowns, Nett sprang for a trip to the beauty parlor, and Daddy and his wife watched the children while she went to rehearsals. Entering the pageant not only gave Rhonda something to do besides warding off John; she began to dance again. She prepared her talent presentation as if it were the reason she was born, and the night of the pageant, she executed it with precision. When the mistress of ceremonies announced her as the winner, Rhonda could see the light at the end of the tunnel. It was a small, dim light, but it was bright enough for her to see the handwriting on the wall: You are beautiful! You can make it!

  Tony was a bonus prize. He was a radio disc jockey who lived with his girlfriend. He worked for the radio station that had promoted the pageant. After Rhonda won, Tony interviewed her on his program. They hit it off, and eventually Rhonda was spending her days at his house while John and Tony’s girlfriend were at work. Every day, Tony would write a new poem for Rhonda; and every night, he would read it over the air. After three months, Rhonda had a glow about her that everyone, including John, could detect.

  John was way off base. He accused Rhonda of being a lesbian. He was convinced that she was sleeping with the woman who had served as talent coordinator of the beauty pageant. Sherry was just a friend, Rhonda assured him. She had recognized Rhonda’s dancing ability and wanted her to teach the children in the community. John said she “looked like a dyke,” and insisted that Rhonda tell her never to call the house or be in the presence of the children. He was so consumed with the mistaken belief that Rhonda and Sherry were sexually involved that it took him a while to realize that Rhonda was seeing another man.

  John was coming home more often now, which made it a little more difficult to hide the glow. Rhonda continued to spend as much time with Tony as she could get away with. Little by little, she had shared her pageant winnings with him until they were totally depleted. One gray, overcast day, Rhonda went to Tony’s house, had sex with him, then fell asleep. She woke up to find that fourteen inches of snow had fallen, and transportation in the city had come to a standstill. Buses had stopped. Trains were stuck. Cars were being abandoned along the roadside. Rhonda was stranded. Before she could decide what to do, Tony’s girlfriend put her key in the door.

  Tony shoved Rhonda into the bedroom closet, throwing her clothes on top of her. Eventually, Tony’s unsuspecting girlfriend went into the bathroom and closed the door. Tony snatched Rhonda out of the closet, led her through the apartment, and pushed her into the hallway. Rhonda had her clothes in hand and was wearing nothing but one of Tony’s shirts. She went down the stairs and into the basement, behind some trashcans, and put her clothes back on. She stomped through the calf-high snow to the closest telephone and called home. John had picked the children up from school and wondered why she wasn’t at home when they arrived. Rhonda explained to John that she had been downtown in a store during the unexpected snowfall. When she came out, she said, the buses had stopped running. The lie sounded good to her, but when she finally got home two hours later, she found out that good wasn’t good enough.

  Very early in her life, Rhonda had learned that if she made people mad at her, they would hurt her. She had learned that when you do not do what people want you to do, they will blame you for upsetting them, making them look stupid, or making them feel bad. She had learned that whatever people do to you as a result of what you have done to them, you deserve. You deserved to be beaten, to be hurt, to be violently abused in a manner totally disproportionate to the alleged offense. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Rhonda believed she deserved to be hurt and beaten, because she was bad, because she wasn’t worth the time it took to make her, because she was never going to be anything. Rhonda was a victim, and victims always get hurt.

  Being a victim was the unconscious motivation for most, if not all, of Rhonda’s actions. It was the thing that motivated Rhonda to do and say things she knew would have a violent impact and a violent outcome. Violence, abuse, being hurt had become a pattern in her life. Most people are always loyal to their patterns whether they are conscious of them or not. Most people will behave in ways that will create what they believe will happen. Rhonda was no different. She knew if John had even the slightest clue that she was messing around, he would beat the living daylights out of her. She knew it because he had threatened her enough, accused her enough times, and acted out his beliefs, without cause, for long enough for her to know what was going to happen. John was going to beat her. Why had she done it? Why had she continued a relationship with another man, allowing herself to believe that John would not find out, and knowing what would happen if John did find out? When a person is in the midst of acting out a pattern that they have come to believe is true as a result of their experiences, they do not think. They act out. They reap the expected outcome.

  Rhonda knew that John did not believe her, because he never believed her. Rhonda knew that even if John did believe her, the fact that she had been missing in action for a number of hours meant that he was going to hurt her. And, she was absolutely right.

  John let Rhonda get into the house and out of her coat. He spared her the ordeal of questioning her for hours, challenging every response she offered in her own defense. John did not make Rhonda retell her story over and over, giving him the opportunity to catch her in a lie by pointing out to her the events that did not make sense. He did not threaten her, nor did he rant and rave for an hour, postponing the inevitable. That would have been his normal course of action. Today was different. Instead, once Rhonda had taken off her coat, John pulled her to him and began to choke her. He never said a word. Silently, with rage in his eyes, he squeezed her throat until she could feel the life slowly draining out of her body. When her knees buckled, causing her to fall, John became so angry that he punched her in the face. When Rhonda regained consciousness, she could not see. John had beaten both of Rhonda’s eyes shut. He was now straddling her on the floor, choking her again. She could hardly breathe.

  As suddenly as the episode had started, it stopped. John looked as if he were frozen in time. Rhonda thought she was dying. Instead, John started gasping for air. When he clutched his chest, Rhonda knew he was having a violent asthma attack. John fell against the wall, slowly sliding down until the full weight of his body was on top of Rhonda. Rhonda remained absolutely still, listening to John wheeze while she got her bearings. Slowly, Rhonda slid from beneath him and crawled away, trying to catch her own breath. She stood up, leaning against the wall for support, and st
ared at John. He was holding his chest, and his eyes were rolling around in his head. He looked pitiful, just like her brother always looked when it was time to go to the hospital. John kept trying to talk, to tell her something. She had never worked out the hand signals with John the way she had done with Ray. But Rhonda knew what he was trying to say. She did not move. A frightened, angry voice in the back of her mind said, “Let him die! Let him lie there and die!” It had taken her a moment to realize that this was not her brother. This was a man who had just tried to kill her. The voice became louder: “LET THE S.O.B. LIE THERE AND DIE! HE’S A PIG!” There was a battle going on in Rhonda’s mind. The battle was between the past and the future, between Ray and John, between running and standing against that wall. It was then that Rhonda had another brief and fleeting revelation.

  The equation had flipped! Rhonda was now in charge! Rhonda was now in the position of power. She was the strong one. Now she was the one who could hurt somebody. Rhonda had never been in that position, and she simply did not know what to do. At that moment, she didn’t realize that this was an opportunity to reclaim the power over her own life. She had no idea that she was in a position to change the pattern, to do something different. Instead, the frightening sight of John gasping for air and the implications of him dying threatened her independence. The battle continued in her mind. As brutal as John could be, she loved him. He was no different from anyone she believed had loved her in the past. Besides that, John did love her. He had told her so and shown her love in the ways she had become accustomed to—hurtful, painful, restrictive loving was all that Rhonda had ever known. More important, Rhonda believed she needed John to validate her, to save her, to make a statement that she had not failed again.

  When you are trying to get yourself together, you must be vigilant. You must watch yourself carefully. You must pay close attention to what you are thinking, what you are doing, and what you are saying to yourself and others. Getting yourself together means paying very close attention so that you do not send out mixed messages. If you say one thing and do another, you are going to get mixed up, forget what you are doing, and fall right back into the same trap you said you wanted to get out of. When you are getting yourself together, you must eliminate from your modus operandi everything you have done up to the point where you realized you were a mess. You must think a new way, act a new way, and keep your mouth shut. If you start talking about what you are going to do, chances are you will get confused.

  When you are getting yourself together, talking takes on another form. It becomes mental language, emotional language, and body language. When you cannot speak all three of these languages in a way that clearly communicates to people what you are trying to do, they too become confused.

  Rhonda’s mouth had spoken one language: I can do this. Her heart spoke another: This is too hard to do without love. Her body was saying something completely different: He must love me. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t sleep with me. She had confused herself. She had not been paying attention. If you act like you are married to a man, take his money, and have sex with him, you cannot seriously talk about leaving him. Rhonda knew that, but when she thought about raising her children alone, she forgot. If you stay with a man who brutally beats you, you cannot talk about getting yourself together. She knew that too, but had forgotten because being beaten was familiar. She knew how to survive a beating. It was a pattern she had learned to live with. She had not talked to herself or anyone else about how to survive on her own with three children. She had forgotten that her ability and desire to do that was the only thing that mattered. It was that part of getting herself together that Rhonda had never figured out. It was the part of the language of living she had never learned.

  On the way to getting yourself together, you are bound to slip and fall. Sometimes when you fall, you bump your head. The bump may stun you, and your thinking may become cloudy, your speech slurred. You will undoubtedly say and do the wrong thing, over and over again. When Tony told Rhonda he could not see her anymore, she was stunned. His girlfriend had found out about them and threatened to put him out. Rhonda was still sitting in stunned disbelief when John called to tell her that he forgave her, and that he loved her. The fog of confusion had still not lifted several days later, when John came by to visit the kids, beat her within an inch of her life, and left with all three children.

  The police said there was nothing they could do. She would have to go to family court on Monday. This was Friday.

  “He’ll bring them back,” Nett said. “They always do. He’s just trying to upset you. Besides, this could be a good thing. Give you some time to rest your nerves before you have another breakdown.” Nett knew every sordid detail. She had given up on trying to get Rhonda to leave John.

  “Upset me? What do you mean ‘upset me?’ He’s been trying to kill me for years!” Nett refused to argue the finer points.

  “If he doesn’t bring them back, good! Maybe you’ll have a chance to get yourself together.”

  Daddy’s approach was more pragmatic. “Is he at work?” It was 9:30 at night. “Try his mother’s house. If he’s not there, get back to me.”

  Rhonda got the number for Dial-A-Prayer from one of the free community papers. A woman answered the telephone.

  “How can I pray for you today?”

  “My husband took my children, and I don’t know where they are.” Rhonda was exhausted, beaten, and trying to talk and not cry at the same time.

  “God will take care of his children. They are not your children. They belong to God. They are safe. The power of God Almighty is protecting the children right now. God hears your crying, Mother. He will not fail to deliver the children.”

  The woman listened to Rhonda cry a few minutes more, then promised Rhonda that she would hear from the children within twenty-four hours. Twenty-two hours later, John called and asked if he could come home. The children went on and on about Grandma Millie’s dog and their Daddy’s new car and all the fun they’d had. John and Rhonda didn’t speak to one another for the rest of the day. Rhonda waited several hours after John went to bed to make sure he was asleep before she lay down.

  She had just fallen asleep when she felt someone shaking her body. Her heart skipped a beat. She opened her eyes and heard a voice: Get up and leave this house. Leave now! The voice was familiar and made Rhonda feel completely safe. He is going to kill you. You must leave this place now! You will be told what to do. Rhonda could hear her heart pounding at her temples. She eased out of bed and went into the children’s room. Wake the boy first. She held Damon up until his own legs could support him. She dressed him, then asked him to wake Gemmia, who was still sleeping like a log. She dressed Nisa, then helped Damon with Gemmia, who had collapsed on the floor, refusing to wake up. Take only what you need. Rhonda filled four plastic bags with clothing for the children.

  They left the house and walked the two and a half blocks to the subway station. Damon kept tripping over the two bags he was carrying. Rhonda carried Nisa on her hip, carried two bags with one hand, and dragged Gemmia along with the other. As she approached the station, it occurred to her that she had no money and no place to go. She and the children stood at the bottom of the fifty or so steps that led up to the platform while Rhonda tried to figure out how she was going to make it to the top.

  “Do you need some help?” the man asked.

  “What I need is a token for the subway—and a cigarette for me,” Rhonda said.

  The man gave her both without saying another word and walked up the block. He was out of sight before Rhonda thought to ask him to help her up the stairs. Don’t give up five minutes before the miracle. It was a lesson Rhonda would not soon forget.

  Rhonda and the children were gone for two weeks before they returned home. One day, after John went to work, Rhonda went to the store and bought the hardware and tools she needed to change the locks on her door. She followed the instructions the salesman had given her, and by the time John came home, his key
no longer worked. Rhonda wouldn’t let him in, no matter what he said, and she finally heard him retreat back down the stairs.

  A few weeks later, she allowed John to take the kids out with him, and while they were gone, she realized that he had gone in her purse and stolen the key to the door. When he returned with the children, he rang the doorbell, and she let them in. Neither of them mentioned the key. Something told her that he’d be back that night. Rhonda knew that if she panicked and became nervous, she would not be able to do what she knew she must do. After the children were in bed, she calmly went to the kitchen and took a large butcher knife out of the drawer. She put the chain latch on, then lay down on the floor in front of the door and waited.

  At two o’clock in the morning, Rhonda heard John’s footsteps outside the apartment door. She heard him insert the key into the lock and saw the knob slowly begin to turn. Quickly she was on her feet and relocked the door. John inserted the key again and unlocked the door. Rhonda locked it again. John unlocked it and, this time, gave the door a push, but the chain held, and he couldn’t get inside. He stood in the hallway, yelling obscenities at Rhonda, who kept insisting that he leave her alone. The only thing that separated an outraged John from a frightened but determined Rhonda was the little silver chain, and Rhonda didn’t know how long it would hold against John’s weight. She picked up the knife from the floor and jabbed it through the door opening as hard as she could. She felt the knife make contact. She heard John scream and stumble against the hallway wall, then fall to the floor. After a few minutes, she heard him stumbling down the stairs, cursing and moaning in pain. Rhonda went to the window and looked outside. A patrol car had pulled up in front of the building, and the officers were questioning John, who had slumped to the ground. His blood was brilliant against the snow.