Finding My Way Back Home

 

Not that it matters, but most of what follows is true. Some of the names have been changed; not necessarily to protect the innocent, but to protect those that are still living.

 

Prologue

 

Children will not remember you for the material things you provided but for the feeling that you cherished them.

~Richard Evans~

 

           I tried to follow the warmer weather as best as I could. But the radio did not work more often than it did. Just before the broadcast cut out I thought I heard the weatherman say snow was predicted for elevations as low as 1000 ft. I had hoped we’d be safe at 840 ft, but this was an unusual cold front that no one in Lee’s Summit, Missouri was prepared for in late September.

 “It’s cold in here mommy.” I could see my daughters breath frosted in the air.

“I know it is sweetie.” I begin to feel it; the pain in your heart that you experience where hopelessness resides.

“Can’t we turn on the heater?”

“No baby, we can’t”

“Not even for a little while mommy?” Rrrip. It tears in half.

 “I’m, sorry baby. You know we can’t. We can’t afford it. How about if you climb under the covers with me till you get warm, okay?” There was plenty of room for my six year old to sleep with me. Well…not plenty, but I’d make do. I always did.

I lifted my blankets in invitation and shivered as her ice like toes penetrated my clothes. Laura was like her mother. If her toes were cold, the rest of her followed suit. I didn’t worry much about BJ. He could have slept through the coming of the ice age, with his footie pajamas, and burrowed head in his He-man sleeping bag.

Josh on the other hand was not yet old enough to hide beneath the covers if he got cold. I reached over to touch my 16 month old child sleeping beside me. I tucked the blankets around him tightly making sure he was secure in his mattress of clothing and towels that were spread over the back floor portion of the 66 Nova we had been living in for more than two and one half years.

As my daughter happily snuggled down, I knew sleep would evade me. My brain was engaged full throttle, focused on the previous year’s events that brought us to a life of beggary.

During our time of even less than poverty, I had been shot at, stabbed and beaten more times than I cared to remember. But I had to remember. I could never allow myself to forget for within those memories lie the strength to do what was needed to be done to secure my children’s safety. As I lay there taking in the sweet breath of my daughter, I had no premonition that those horrific years would be less frightening than the years to follow.

Your life may flash before your eyes just before death, but those flashes are more clear, more vivid the evening before you give your children back to the monster that forced you to hell in the first place.

 

Chapter One

 

"I am the conscience of all those who knew something - but did nothing." - Oskar Schindler

 

I learned early on in our marriage to not argue with Rudy. He made quite sure I understood he was never wrong. I was his punching bag, his doormat upon which he often wiped his feet, his captive, if you will. I rarely argued, out of fear. I rarely stood up for myself, out of fear. More often than not, I found myself cowering at the sound of footsteps, wondering whether or not it would be my last day on earth. I became this docile, subservient, governable, chattel, walking on eggshells every waking moment of every miserable day.

The rare occasion, on which I did stand up for what I believed, usually resulted in some act of violence against my person. Our five year-three-month, and thirteen-day marriage resulted in broken bones, missing teeth, cigarette burns, sexual assaults, and the annihilation of Candy, my nickname since junior high school, for there was nothing sweet about me anymore.

******

February, 1979. It was almost 1:00 in the morning. The kids were asleep, but I hadn’t been sleeping well at all. I couldn’t seem to turn off my brain. Paranoia was taking over. Rudy would find out I was leaving him, and the thought of what he would do terrified me.

After lying awake for more than an hour I decided to take a bath. The hot, scented water would be calming and perhaps help me sleep. As usual, I avoided the mirrors, feeling my bruised reflection was a brutal reminder of the violence that my life was. The remnant of the cigarette burn on my right breast, didn’t need a mirror to be seen.

I slipped into the soothing comfort of the water, sunk down low in the claw foot tub and closed my eyes. I dreamt of happier, bright sunny days by the ocean. Val, Nicky and I were running, laughing and free. My kids would no longer have nightmares of the monsters in the house, for our monster would be thousands of miles away.

*****

I struggled against the force of the hand pushing me below the surface of the water. I thrashed about wildly, taking in water as I tried to scream. This was it. I was going to die. My kids would be at the mercy of this tyrant.

I don’t know if it was survival instinct or the protective mother instinct, but the strength came from somewhere. I pushed with all of my might and my tormentor lost his balance. In one move, I rose from the water and hurled myself from the tub, knocking Rudy off his feet, causing him to bump his head on the freestanding radiator. He rose with an aggression that only bloodshed would soothe.

I had long ago chosen to wear my hair short. It was less for him to grab. It didn’t matter this night. Before I caught my breath, he seized a handful of hair and dragged me naked from the warmth of the bathroom. The house was chilled and there was a breeze not normally felt in the hallway he was dragging me through.

Humiliation is a powerful weapon. If used enough, even the strongest of people can succumb to its dispensation, and I knew, as I was unceremoniously thrust through the open front door, that I had admitted defeat for the last time.

*****

The bitterness of the snow-covered February morning hit me with a force that belies any meaning. I shivered uncontrollably. I tried to push my way back into the house. Rudy not only blocked my way, but shouted to my neighbors what was being done, as if demanding them to bear witness to whatever my indiscretion had been, and daring them to stop him.

“Look at her,” he shouted. “Look at this cheatin’, lyin’ bitch I married.” Lights went on. Curtains parted. “She’s a whore. She’s a fucking whore.” 

He hit me then, for what would be the last time. Clutching my cheek, I stumbled backwards from the blow. He used that moment to close and lock the door, becoming a barrier between my children and me. I kicked at the door, pounding with every ounce of strength I had in me. It didn’t budge. I turned, and saw the last of the neighbors closing their curtains and shutting off the lights. I would receive no help from them. I was alone.

*****

With the outside temperature being less than twenty degrees, the drops of bathwater remaining on my exposed flesh, began turning to ice. Every hair on my body stood erect in defiance of the cold, as a cat’s does in the throes of a battle. I tried once more in vain to open the door.

“Get a grip, Linda Jean. Get a grip.”  I spoke out loud to myself as I rubbed my hands over my face and took a deep breath. As I did so, I took back the control that had been pilfered from me. I looked around and not seeing anything to cover myself with, made my way to the cellar. I hoped there would be something in the basement to keep me from hypothermia.

Reaching my destination, I discovered the door slightly ajar which meant no reprieve from the cold just yet. It smelled musty, this crypt of the past. I hoped it would not be my final resting place as well.

I found the string to the solitary overhead light bulb hanging from the ceiling and pulled it, illuminating the shadows and cobwebs that hopefully held for me a shroud of warmth. After tearing open the lids to many of the boxes, I was disheartened to find mostly papers. It wasn't until I had gone through the last of the cartons that I noticed the old tarp left behind by the painter the previous summer. I did not care that it was covered in feces of local rodents; I only cared that it would offer me a tiny respite from the cold.

Wrapped in this cloak of many colors, I made my way to the access of a clandestine passageway I had discovered when we first moved into this house. The passageway that would not only bring me back to my children, but if luck was with me, bring us to our freedom as well. As quietly as I could, I moved the drawers of the wardrobe, which was the hidden entrance to our apartment. I climbed through the opening and feeling like a cat burglar, I slyly made my way back to the main part of the house.

It was there I discovered the front door not locked, but barricaded by the comatose form of my husband, lying in his own urine. I stared at him for a moment, wondering if I had the courage. There was no doubt in my mind.

I knew every minute counted as I dressed quietly, not bothering to clean the dust and feces from my body. I went back to the wardrobe and reaching up into its bowels, removed the hidden firearm. With silent, purposeful steps, I moved towards the heap that was once something I dared to love. I stood over him for one moment longer, greedy with power, knowing that in less time it took to draw a breath, my nightmare would be over.

The cocking of the firing pin was so loud I wondered for an instant had I inadvertently pulled the trigger. I held the gun to his head. Just as I was about to pull the trigger a noise from behind startled me. I spun around, aiming at the predator.

There before me, stood my six-year-old daughter, rubbing her eyes from disbelief as much as sleep. With my knees turning to gel, I dropped the gun, and gathered her in my arms. I thanked a God in which I did not believe, that in my haste, I had forgotten to load the gun.

I heard it then. A deep guttural sound like a wounded animal coming from within the depths of my soul. There would have been no comfort, no solace that could be offered had I killed what I treasured most. The only taste of consolation came from the gently whispered words, “Its okay, Mommy. Don’t be scared, I’m here.”

*****

I opted to not look back as I drove away with my children sheltered in the back seat of the Vega. What was left behind was now the past. What lay ahead was our future, and good bad or indifferent; it had to be better than the life we led here.

 

Chapter 2

 

Do not think that love, in order to be genuine, has to be extraordinary.

What we need is to love without getting tired. ~ Mother Teresa ~

 

I had been driving for about two hours, having no particular destination in mind. Just away was all I knew. Driving kept me connected to everything somehow. As long as I was driving I could ignore the fact that I had no real place to go.

The sun was beginning to rise and with it my hopes that my parents would finally relent and give us shelter. They couldn’t refuse to help me now could they? I stopped at a rest stop phone booth and made the collect call to my parents.

“I told you we would help you,” boomed my father’s voice after I confessed what I had done. “But you know the conditions.”

“I can’t leave my kids, dad. You know I can’t.” I began crying. My parents were my only hope, and they were telling me to throw away my heart.

“Then there’s nothing we can do for you. You made your bed when you married him. Now you have to lie in it. Grow up Linda Jean. You should never have been a mother. You’re not very good at it. Look at the shitty life you’ve given them already. You live no better than the bums in the streets. The best thing you can do for your kids is to let Rudy have them. You’re a McPherson, and that name is worth everything. Don’t muddy it any more than you already have.”

“My kids are worth everything, Dad.” I wondered if he had heard me. I assumed he did since I now stood there with the receiver still in my hand listening to a void of static in place of my father’s voice. I stared into this emptiness, not seeing or hearing anything around me, but having this all-consuming knowledge that at the tender age of 24 with two kids in tow, I was still alone.

What would I do now?  What would happen if the money ran out before I could find a place to settle?  Sell my body; Never. Sell my blood? Only drunks and outcasts did that. Sell my soul?  Hadn’t I already? I was all there was in this world for my children, and somehow I had to be enough.

*****

Rudy’s thoughts were usually centered on schemes to make money through ill-gotten gains, which to him was the easy way out. So, it had not been too difficult for me to con him into a divorce the previous year. If we were divorced, I could collect welfare. Easy money. Money he never let me see.

I did discover however, that when Rudy was drunk, it was easy to slip money out of his wallet. He was constantly buying drinks for his friends, so he rarely knew how much he spent anyway. After months of sneaking a dollar or two here, five there, and on rare occasions a ten, I had pilfered three thousand dollars. Now that we were gone, it had to be enough.

In the fashion of bruises, sunglasses are a compulsory accessory. The ones I chose to wear this day were not only to hide the contusions, but to hide the shame as I walked into the store. I was now working on automatic pilot and everything that had been drummed into my head over the last five plus years was indecent, immoral and illegal. I knew that one more indiscretion would not make a bit of difference as to whether or not I would burn in hell.

Stealing was much easier than I thought it would be. Since I didn’t know where we were going or how long we’d be living in our car, I chose sleeping bags for warmth, and a camp stove to save on the cost of eating out every night. A tent seemed a necessity if we were to go camping; a large cooler to keep our food refrigerated; a first aid kit, for with two small very active children, I never knew when Band-Aids, or worse would be needed; a slew of travel games to occupy those very active children; an atlas to reach our destination, whatever that might be; a CB radio in order to hide from Rudy and soon the police; and last but not least, hair dye.

I took a deep breath and walked up to the cashier. I watched as she carefully entered each code into the register. When the grand total came, it matched my calculations exactly. I wrote the check, for the full balance, knowing it would not clear.

My transaction complete, I walked towards the exit with cart and children in tow. As I was leaving the store with my purchases I hesitated for a moment before passing through the threshold. I just knew that the silver haired lady who wore red tennis shoes and carried a cane was really an undercover security agent. I realized when I made it all the way to the car without a single incident, how foolish and paranoid I was being.

What I didn’t realize, was just how small a Vega really was until I tried to fill it with all of our newly acquired possessions, which filled the trunk and back seat. I crammed the last item into the car and had the kids share the front seat. We drove away, ready to begin our new lives together.

*****

In my mind’s eye, I had envisioned spring flowers and sunshine while making the journey to our now chosen destination of California. Somewhere around Columbus Ohio, Mother Nature decided to have a good laugh. In the warmth of an International House of Pancakes the kids and I ate our first actual indulgence, which consisted of hot chocolate and pancakes for dinner. While dining, we watched as the twenty-three degree gray cloudy evening turned into a full snow storm.

I decided to get a room at the attached motel. My father, in all of his infinite wisdom, taught me how to drive in New York city in the middle of a snow storm, thinking that if I can drive under those conditions I could drive anywhere. I was not at the time however driving with two very frightened children in the front seat. The idea behind my leaving was to keep them safe. How could I do any less now?

We drug in our suitcase and some games and spent a wonderful afternoon playing Parcheesi, Chutes and Ladders and Candy Land. After our dessert of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, washed down with tap water, I tucked the children into the single full sized bed and kissed them goodnight as I had done every night of their lives. I went into the bath and looking at the bathtub longingly, I opted for the shower anyway. I really wasn't sure if I would ever again be able to take a bath after my last experience in one.

There is something soothing about an evening shower. It’s not something one can really describe other than the passage of being able to wash away the days cares with the stream of hot water, and for the first time in years I was able to linger within that passage and enjoy the soothing comfort of the cleansing waters. As I stepped out into the fog of steam I knew from this moment on our lives would be different. 

It had been years since I had slept soundly and every little noise seemed to bother me. I heard a loud noise outside my window, and when I woke with a start a bit disoriented, forgotten momentarily where I was and that I was safe. Nothing could hurt me or the children now.

Not being able to go back to sleep, I rose, dressed and allowing the kids sleep a bit longer, I slipped out of the room for some fresh air and coffee. This trip was rough on them, I knew, and as much as they feared their father, they missed him as well.

 I inched my way down the icy stairs, taking care not to slip. It wasn't until I had reached the last step that I noticed the small crowd in the parking lot. It was then I realized what had actually woke me up. As I parted the onlookers, I knew my bad luck was still ongoing.

“I tried to stop,” cried an absolutely horrified old woman.

“We know you did doll,” comforted a waitress. “We saw it all.”

“I hit a patch of ice. The car just kept on sliding.” 

The waitress looked up and seeing the look on my face as I stared at the carnage that was once Vega, deduced that it belonged to me. “It really was an accident. We all saw it,” she stated in the old woman’s defense.

As a solitary tear escaped from beneath my closed lids, I took a deep breath and nodded. I turned to the woman and gently touched her arm. “Don’t worry. Accidents happen.”

The waitress patted my hand and then led the old woman into the warmth of the restaurant while I remained outside coatless, shivering and disheartened. What was I going to do now?  I couldn’t afford to wait while the repairs were made, if they could be made at all. I needed to get back on the road this morning.

“I’ll buy it from you.” 

When I looked up I couldn’t help but chuckle. I didn’t know if it was due to shock or to the fact that staring at the wreck, was a middle aged balding man, trying unsuccessfully to hide his bald spot, by wearing the four or five strands of hair that he did have parted on the side and over the top of his head.

“I’ll buy it from you,” the stranger repeated.

“I’m sorry?” I wasn't grasping what he was saying.

“You’re obviously headed somewhere and this will just hold you up. I’ll give you one hundred dollars and take it off your hands.”

I didn’t know if I had spoken out loud before or if my thoughts were that well read on my face, but it was an answer to what I was going to do. I calculated as quickly as my addled brain could go and thought at the cost of a truck rental for the five days I assumed it would take me to get to California I would need ninety dollars. I wasn’t touching the three thousand.

“How about one hundred and fifty?” He opened his wallet and took out a significant amount of bills.

“Two hundred,” I heard myself saying.

He thought momentarily and gave me the amount asked for. I knew when he parted so easily with it that he’d probably still make a profit from it even as is or he would not have agreed so heartily. My loss, his gain. Either way, I had to get back on the road.

My kids and I were waiting at the truck rental store before they officially opened. Within minutes I was signing a contract for the smallest truck available. Together the clerk and I walked out to the truck for the customary inspection. He went over all of the details necessary for me to know in order to drive the truck properly. In only an hour’s time, we were back on the road once more headed towards our new home.

 

*****