I haven�t heard from the investigators yet. Just imagine that you have to account for the last 5 years of your life in a couple of hours. Bad choices, mistakes, missteps, farts, you name it. Even though these might be innocent errors, you get hammered for them. You might as well be sitting in a dark little room, tied up in a chair, starved and delirious and the only light is that solitary light that hangs from the ceiling.
I remember the last time; I forgot to put my daughter in the paperwork. Like I could ever forget I have a kid! But this guy got in my face and said, �What�s the real reason you didn�t mention you have a daughter?�
�What do you mean? I already told you I have a daughter!�
�Not according to this paperwork you don�t.�
�Tell you what, Mr. Agent, you guys fix the program and get all of the bugs out of it, and I won�t have to revise my data six different times. Then, maybe, something won�t get left out.�
Ooh, not smart. Mr. Agent puffed up like a blowfish. Then, the inevitable question came: Have you ever had counseling?
�Why no,� and I said this because I hadn�t that I could recall. I never went after joining the military because seeing a counselor was a sign of mental instability and weakness, and I couldn�t afford to lose my job.
�Why did you lie about this? It says here that you did in fact, receive counseling at the ages of 8,9, and 17.� My mouth was agape. I was furious. This man broke into my court records to find this out! Hello, those were court-sealed records. I was a minor at the time.
I told him this, to which he replied: �You went to counseling and you didn�t notate that on this paperwork. You have been deceptive.�
This was exasperating. �Sir, I went to counseling because a man brutally murdered my mother and attacked me and my sister! I would think there was something wrong if I didn�t go to counseling!� I guess Mr. Stuffy Agent didn�t know what to say to that.
I knew it was his job to ask these questions, but he didn�t have to be a pig about it. It wasn�t like I went out and hurt somebody. Sheesh.
Two hours later, I left his office so emotionally traumatized that I just took the rest of the day off.
Yesterday my niece Melody called me. I felt bad because when I checked my messages at work Wednesday, I found out she�d called Tuesday, in tears, saying she needed to talk to someone. I felt awful for not being here when she called.
11:30 a.m. yesterday phone jilted me out of my grogginess. I was in the middle of eating my Chicken Caesar Wrap and reading up on the news at cnn.com. I�m such a news junkie.
It�s Mel. Aww. My cute, adorable, 22 year old niece.
7 years ago, Melody was 15. She was your typical rebellious teenager who loved to party. Melody was never at home, drank, did drugs and was basically promiscuous. However, it was all chalked up to adolescent angst. Nobody pushed her about the reason for this behavior. Maybe one of us should have.
Unknown to us, my sister�s husband was molesting Mel and had been since the age of 12. Juan would wake her up in the middle of the night and touch her. He told Melody not to say anything, or he would kill her mother. She was very afraid, so she kept her silence verbally. However, she acted out in other ways.
Kids often say things physically, or behavior wise, that they can�t say verbally, I know this now.
I knew there was a reason I didn�t like my sister�s husband. He swore it was because I didn�t like Cubans, which was so not true. I just thought he had some very outdated ideas about women and their roles in society and the home. I tried to let those weird feelings about him go. When I didn�t talk about those issues with him, we got along fine.
Melody came to stay with me a while when she was barely 16. I was in the Navy for about a year and a half, and had a newborn, and was working some crazy hours. Mel had been shot in a drive by shooting in Miami and had just gotten out of the hospital. She would need some place to rest, and recuperate, and hide out until they got the girl that shot her.
She would help me with the baby and housework.
I feel awful now for underestimating what she was going through. I couldn�t understand her sarcasm, her lack of energy her haughtiness or her depression. Gosh, now I know, it was just a front for the pain she was going through. I thought that since she was a teenager she�d bounce right back from it. I just wish I�d really have been there for her because it hurts me to know I wasn�t. I gave her a place to stay, but after 8 months of pure hell, I sent her back to Miami. I abandoned her, just like her father Mark (who was too busy being incarcerated and stealing from everybody to take time for her), her mother, and all the other adults that were supposed to care about her.
She fell in love 2 years later and got married to Neco, a wonderful Puerto-Rican boxer. They�ve been married since.
So anyway, I just found out earlier this year that Melody had been molested. It made me sick. It seems we go through a lot of the same emotions too, concerning being a victim of crime.
When Melody called me yesterday, she was so distraught. She said, �I need someone to talk to� and I rememebered saying that many times myself.
I pictured her sitting on her bed, in Neco�s boxer shorts and a big t-shirt. Melody is Italian and American Indian; she likes to wear her long dark hair in a loose braid at bedtime. I knew, because of her fear, that her curtains were closed. I could her meringae music in the background. She always listens to that to cheer her up.
�Lissy, that girl that shot me is out of jail. And she�s hanging around my neighborhood. I can�t even go to the Corner store without being afraid. She talks to people I know, and asks questions about me. Neco doesn�t understand how frustrating it is. That I just can�t move on and get over it. Nobody understands. Oh, and she�s friends with Neco�s baby�s mama.�
I told my niece that she is not stuck there. If needed, she can always come stay with me. But she does not have to spend the next 20 years looking her attacker in the face. It�s not fair.
I don�t know how I�d feel if I had to look Rodn*ey Lin*coln in the face everyday. I know I�d be like Melody, getting the urge to wrap my fingers around his neck, wanting to shake him and punch and pummel him till he�s dead. That anger..it makes you want to act out. To get rid of that toxic pain. But I think Mel knows as well as I do, that hurting another person will not give us peace. In fact, I�d feel awful afterward. We both have a conscious. I do have a lot of respect for human life, even if that person doesn�t remotely resemble a human. I told Melody that. I told her she should do whatever it takes to get over this, but don�t hurt anyone.
�I�ll help you,� I told her. Poor baby just cried and cried. She told me she sees Juanito every once in a while and he just acts like they�re best friends. That really makes me sick. For a long time, having known my sister Melinda and my niece, I thought they might just be exaggerating Juanito�s badness. But they weren�t. The last time I visited Miami in February of 2000, he did something so disgusting, shocking and unexpected that I was devastated. I loved him as a brother. And I was just an object to him. By the time I was done telling him off, he felt like crap. And I left and never spoke to him again.
And then I find out this year he molested my niece, it makes me want to fly to Miami just to kick his tan little butt back to Cuba. Sick.
Melody feels guilt and shame a lot. This is familiar. I told her, I know what that�s like babe. You feel like you�re paying for something you did wrong, only, you don�t know what it is. What�s really sad is those who wronged you, who should be feeling guilty, have no moral compass, no compassion. It makes you angry. You think, this person is supposed to love me and instead they violate me. Or, why did this person hurt me at all? What did I do to deserve it? And blame it on me. And then someone tries to murder me, and then later, they come back. They make me uncomfortable. I feel like I�m being violated again and again.
�I feel your pain, Mel. I�m here for you. I love you.�
Journal writing has been a saving grace for me. When I�m forced to write, I have to confront my emotions every single day. I have to deal with it. I believe the writing has also helped me to acknowledge and face my fears. It�s cathartic.
Oh, this is entertaining. My sister Renee called me last night too.
�She-na-na!� I exclaimed when she called. By the way, she hates that nickname. She always says, �I�m not a drag queen!�
Now, I was greeted by her bubbly, you read right, voice. Renee doesn�t have a bubbly voice. Renee has a gravely voice.
Renee has been known to smoke bud. I don�t. But I thought she might be high. So I asked her if that was the reason for her bubbliness.
�No, I�m not high. I�m happy!� Huh? Lemme tell you something. Renee is never happy. The milk is always curdled. The grass on the other side is browner, nastier and it stinks. People are jerks who smell. Everybody, including Kathy Lee Gifford, or her mailman, has a better life than her. Get my drift?
She said the reason for her happiness is that she�s doing everything on her own now. It�s hard raising 3 kids, especially when your ex-husband falls in love every couple weeks and has a new girlfriend, so he�s not free a lot. He spends his money on cheap women, but at least he�s out of her hair.
But, no one�s hitting her. No one�s able to take her job or money away. It�s warmed my heart to know she�s gaining her
self-esteem back. This was what I hoped for. I had told her long ago, that a man should be in a woman�s life because she wants him there, not because she needs him there. In short, do things for yourself before expecting a man to come around and do it.
Have something to fall back on.
And it�s important to struggle a bit, because you will appreciate what you have more when you�re the one who has to work hard for it.
I guess the most important thing Renee is seeing that she�s a happier person when she has some sort of life outside the home, is bringing in money, and is making her own decisions and not deferring to someone else to do so. SO, when she finally, some day, finds someone, he�s going to be a good man, who works, who takes care of her, who care�s about her kids and communicates his feelings with words instead of his fists.
Growth is an amazing thing to watch. The caterpillar has morphed into a chrysalis. I can�t wait to see my sister as a butterfly.
Hopefully, I won�t be too far behind.
12:28 p.m. - Thursday, Oct. 30, 2003
Recent entries:
What you missed - January 16, 2012
%%older_entries%%From hell - October 19, 2010
%%older_entries%%a rant from a few weeks ago - August 17, 2010
%%older_entries%%Tired - June 20, 2010
%%older_entries%%A beautiful lie - March 11, 2010
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