It gets cold at night during the winter in
Florida… At first, I thought the bone chilling cold was what caused my body to
uncontrollably shake… at first.
We
all have one, or in some cases, several, life-defining moments that are burned
so deeply into our memory that a day doesn’t go by when we don’t think about
it. We remember what we were thinking,
what we smelled in the air, what clothes we were wearing, and what we were
looking at, maybe even the song playing on a car radio.
That’s
how it is for me. I would do anything to replace that moment with one of the
many others in my life. In fact, as a means of coping, I have learned to go to
my happy place, a time when my life physically changed maybe.. the birth of my
daughter, Dakota Desiree. I go to that
day whenever the bad memories seem to get stuck on instant replay in my brain.
My
earliest memories include crawling up on my parents antique sofa with my bottle
of juice. I used to love that couch
because the material was smooth, cool and the cushions nice and soft. I would
have my blanket in tow, bottle in hand and pajamas zipped up tight – I felt
safe. I had no fear. I knew how to trust. I trusted my parents would never
allow anyone into our home that would hurt us. I could safely slip off to
slumberland and not worry about what was going on when my eyes were closed.
I
knew that my mom would always have a snack made even before I said I was hungry
and I remember the sound of her walking through the house – she kind of
shuffles her feet and since she never wears shoes when she’s in the house, you
could hear her feet patter across the linoleum floor in the kitchen.
I
grew up in the same house with my little brother and my parents until I turned
16. I loved that house. It was a single level, flat roof, grey house with three
bedrooms, two baths, and a playroom for our air hockey table, 3164 Connecticut
Avenue. The house we moved into was brand new – like a blank journal waiting on
us to write our memories in it. New furniture… new dishes… new everything… I
always missed our old house and the memories it held. I had the most awesome room with red shag
carpet and my own little walk in closet… That was my safe place… I would hide
in that closet and travel to worlds only I would ever know. I miss that closet…
I think that closet saved my life on several
occasions.
Like time travel, I hid in that closet on
that night. I imagined drawing on its walls in pencil… I imagined building a
safe bunker with a pillow, a warm blanket and my fuzzy pajamas with feet. The
red ones with Winnie the Pooh embroidered on the left breast.
It
started off like many other Fridays. I was 24 and had spent the morning running
errands. I would cash my paycheck, go pay a few bills and hit the grocery store
to buy groceries. I was living with my first “real” boyfriend and I loved to
cook a big meal and have it ready for him and his friends when he got off from
work. He worked hard in the hot sun all day and I absolutely loved seeing the
look of relaxation and satisfaction on his face… His sigh of relief made me
happy.
We
would sit on our sofa watching funny videos and he wouldn’t go to bed without
having me lay with him. I made him feel safe.
We
lived in the cutest house in a wooded part of our county. It was my dreamhouse
– an A-frame wood home and it had a fireplace and a loft level. It smelled like
wood just like the house I grew up in. I
made it our home. I had decorated it for Christmas, I had purchased furniture
to make it a home instead of a young couple’s party house, even though it was…
Anyway,
like any other Friday, I had cooked a smorgasbord of food and that A-frame
smelled like shrimp scampi and garlic toast. He had come home with his brother
and a few friends. I made sure everyone had something to eat and that the
refrigerator had plenty of cold beer. He hated warm beer and he hated having to
wait. I didn’t want to start off the
weekend badly so I made sure I had all of that done.
This
is where things start to go bad… like every other Friday… At this point in my life and our
relationship, I learned not to breathe deeply. Taking a deep breathe may make
too much noise. It may prevent me from hearing what was going on. I may miss a
cue. I hated it when he became angry. He
would leave me alone, sometimes without a car, and not come home for a few days
if I made him mad. I wanted good memories with him, not bad ones. I never knew
what “too late” meant.
The weekend
before he had become angry at me for talking to one of his co-workers for too
long in our kitchen. His friend became so uncomfortable that he left our house
– and he followed. When he had come home two days later, he hadn’t showered, he
had to be helped inside and he had hickies all over his neck. I didn’t discover those until I had him in
the shower to wash the dirt, grime, beer and smoke off of his body. I was too scared to say anything so I just
cried. His eyes were as closed as his heart, so he didn’t notice.
Fast
forward back to that night – While he and his friends were unwinding and
eating, the same friend he became irate over showed up at the house. I let him
inside and went upstairs to our bedroom so I didn’t get accused of
anything. For a week I held back all of
my emotions – I was afraid he would leave again… I loved him.
I
took a nap and woke up when my body hit the floor. His hand wrapped around my
ankle and he ripped me from our bed and threw me on the floor. I was confused
and a bit dazed from having my head land against the dresser. He was tall and
strong. I loved his arms and shoulders… they were tan and strong. I didn’t love
those same arms that night. He jerked me off the floor into a standing
position, only to throw me down once again. He managed to throw me out of the
bedroom and as I scrambled to get up, he kicked me headfirst down the first
flight of stairs. He stood over me daring me to get up… He stood over me daring
me to try to save myself… He called me a “whore” and a “fat bitch!” I can still see the curl of his lip and his
nose curl as if he were looking at something stuck on the bottom of his shoe.
He hated me. My worst nightmare. As my body absorbed the final blow down the
stairs I wondered what was wrong… was the food cold, beer warm? I would never
know.
As I
landed in a ball of pain on the living room floor, I looked up and saw his
older brother rubbing his forehead… wondering what to do or if he should do
something. I looked at him through the tears and hoped he would stop him. He
didn’t. I stood up and ran for the door,
not having a chance to get my keys to the car.
I was afraid but hurt too much to get very far. I remember crouching
down on the ground next to the car hoping to hide. As I fell over on the ground, I heard his
boots crush the gravel beneath his feet. Afraid to look at him head on, I
remember peering up at him like a beaten puppy… he was smiling. He kept kicking
me in the stomach until I couldn’t move… It was then that his brother came out
and got him away from me. It was too late, the damage was done.
As
soon as he turned to walk away, I crawled as far as I could, our neighbor had a
chaise lounge in his yard and I managed to lay my body down on that until I
passed out from the pain. I remember
being startled awake by the sound of a car horn. I had no idea where I was but
it hurt too much to move. I remember looking up and seeing our yard full of
cars. He was having a party. After all
he had plenty of food and beer, I had made sure of it…
I
laid my head back down and started to shiver… it was then that I imagined myself
inside my closet in my pajamas with fuzzy feet. It was cold on that Florida
night. I laid there listening to the party, watched him make out with an
unknowing girl on the same gravel road that I was laying on just a few hours
before. I heard him laughing as if I weren’t alive, as if I didn’t matter. I laid in the bottom floor of my imaginary
closet until the sun came up. I was safe.
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