Street roots., June 22, 2012, Page 10, Image 10

Street roots
11
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June 22, 2012
ABUSE fro m page 10
his pocket. Then the drawer took flight:
ran to him.
She stabbed me, Richard said.
Richard pulled it out and flung it across the
playing guitar. As Richard sat with the six-
Brandy lay on the floor in the living room,
room. Another followed right behind.
month-old Ian on his lap, the guy strummed
holding her face. Ian was nearby. Francisco
Brandy’s mother bear kicked in.
“Over the Rainbow.” Richard danced the
Her first thought: Ian. Where was he? On
looked at Richard.
smiling child around as Brandy stood a few
Give me your keys, Francisco said.
the love seat, awake. Afraid he might roll
feet away.
Richard handed them over. He wanted his
off, Brandy placed him on the floor.
Unlike Ian, she wasn’t smiling. First,
coat. Francisco obliged.
Her second thought: cell phone. Where
she’d been unable to speak to her 8-year-old
Now get out of
was it? On the
daughter, Skye, in Idaho earlier in the day.
here, Francisco said.
windowsill, across the
Then the neighbor’s girlfriend was giving
Richard fled.
room. She ran for it.
her an earful about bringing Ian out close to
Walking over to
It felt so far away.
The rent moneys II was in the
10 o’clock. When the woman wouldn’t shut
Brandy, Francisco
Brandy held the
drawer,
Bat
before
Brandy
up, Brandy had enough. She wanted to
saw her face. Bloody,
phone and dialed. Or
coaid
gel
there,
Richard
leave, and Richard, sad about missing free
and her eyes were all
tried to. But she
beer, carried Ian back to the apartment.
black.
moved, Opening it, he
couldn’t.
Inside, as Brandy lay Ian on the love seat,
Ian cried, so
Butterfingers.
shoved
the
cash
Into
his
she asked Richard why the woman didn’t
Brandy picked him
Who are you
pocket,
Then
the
drawer
took
like her.
up. She struggled to
calling? Richard
Women are bitches, Richard said.
flights Richard pulled It oat her feet.
barked.
“I didn’t like hearing it,” remembers
Go clean yourself
911, she answered.
and flu n g it across the room.
Brandy. An argument began.
up in the bathroom,
Her third thought:
Mnother followed rig h t
Another knock at the door interrupted it.
Francisco said.
Oh, no. I shouldn’t
behind.
The neighbor’s girlfriend. She wanted to
How does my face
have said that.
apologize. At least, that’s what Richard
look? she asked.
Richard, aware the
thought, but he was drunk and couldn’t be
Bad, he said.
police wanted him for
Handing Ian to
too sure. Tomorrow, he told her, come back
breaking a no-contact
Francisco, she stumbled to the bathroom
tomorrow.
order, raced to her. He yanked the phone
When he closed the door, Brandy asked
mirror.
away and snapped it in half.
why he hadn’t let the woman in. But Richard
Swollen right cheek. Black eye. Bloody
And that’s when Brandy knew. Something
was in the mood for bed, not talk. Brandy
split lip. Red mark on her throat.
bad was about to happen. She could feel —
wouldn’t let go of her question. Richard
Yes. It was bad.
Richard’s fist hammered the right side of
Francisco didn’t think the fight was bad
couldn’t hold back his annoyance.
her head. The room swirled, turning circles.
Shut the fuck up, he yelled.
enough to tell the cops.
Another fist — direct — to the head.
More than an hour after the assault,
And in an instant — Brandy was done.
Spinning. The room, spinning.
All the arguing, the yelling, the hitting at
A fist. Her head. The room, dark, going ... Brandy sat holding Ian. Her cheek throbbed.
Don’t call, Francisco said.
Tent City 3, in the Georgian Motel, at Way
Knees, buckling. Falling, falling. Fist. Head.
Why not? Brandy asked.
Back Inn. For weeks, months, 16 long
Falling. Room. Darker, darker -
Because you drink, too. You yell, too.
months, she’d been telling herself she’d
Time passed: Seconds? A minute?
Brandy would never deny it. But did that
leave him, go somewhere, anywhere. But
Coming to. On the floor. Brandy was on
mean Richard should hit her? No.
when would she do it? When?
the floor. Fist. Who? Wha— Richard.
What if he comes back? she asked.
Standing over her. Straddling her. Yelling.
Tonight. Now.
Don’t worry, Francisco said. I took his
I don’t want to be with you anymore,
She was yelling. Stop! Stop! Fighting.
keys.
Brandy said. I want to go home, back to
Clawing. Scratching. Biting.
That didn’t convince Brandy. Richard
Where was Ian?
Idaho.
always came back. And when he did, he’d be
Her throat. Pressure. What? Richard’s
There’s the door, Richard said.
furious. With a landline that only offered
I need money for a bus ticket for Ian and
hands? Strangling her? Couldn’t breathe.
Internet, she had to leave, get to a phone.
Slapping. Get off me! Get off me! Fight —
me.
So she thought of a solution: to lie.
And the front door opened. Francisco,
No, Richard said.
I’m going to the store, Brandy said. Even
The rent money: It was in the drawer. But home from the bar.
with her split lip and black eye, Francisco
Richard kicked Brandy in the side.
before Brandy could get there, Richard
didn’t stop her.
Francisco stood in the hallway. Richard
moved. Opening it, he shoved the cash into
Forgetting her own coat, Brandy stuffed
Ian into his snowsuit. She grabbed the
stroller. Strapped him inside, walked out of
the apartment. She rolled him down the
stairs, opened the front door. More stairs,
the sidewalk. Brandy stopped
Across the street was the construction
site where Richard worked. Could he be
hiding there? Or around the corner?
Inside, she had devised a plan. Go to
Hope Place, three blocks away. She grabbed
the stroller’s handlebars. She moved.
She zoomed past the apartment building,
the bushes, the taco truck. She looked. No
one. She passed the empty lot. Orange
streetlights shone above. She reached the
intersection of South Othello Street and
Martin Luther King Jr. Way South.
One block.
She entered the crosswalk. Barely a car
on the road. No light rail train. On to the
sidewalk on the other side. She pushed the
stroller faster. On her right, a parking lot
with cars. Was he behind one? She didn’t
stop. She hustled past the Bank of America,
the Safeway.
Two blocks.
She picked up speed. Her feet raced. A
driveway. The stroller’s wheels clicked. The
side of Hope Place. Almost there. Was he
behind her? Don’t look. Go, go. The
building’s lights. The door.
She was there.
Brandy pounded the glass entrance with
her fist. The security guard looked up, came
to the door. Are you OK? he said.
I just left Hope Place awhile ago, Brandy
said. I got beat up. I need to call the cops.
He let her in, and she rolled Ian into the
foyer. The guard gave her his cell phone.
Brandy’s fingers, working in a way they
hadn’t in the apartment, before she broke
free from the abuse, dialed.
Nine. One. One.
You can read parts one and two of The
gravity o f abuse on our website, www.
streetroots.org. Look for the fourth and fin a l
part o f the series in the next Street Roots.
Republished from Real Change News, Seattle,
Wash.
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