1. Despair
On a routine sweep in my police cruiser, I spied a man
standing in the middle of a gravel lot. His head drooped to his chest and his
arm hung at his side. He looked asleep on his feet. He held a pistol.
I picked up the radio and called for backup. I hated to
approach a person with a gun no matter how calm and subdued he seemed.
When I slid out of the car, I began to move toward the
stranger. He gave no indication he knew I was there. “Sir,” I yelled, “are you
okay?”
Nothing.
As I moved closer, I noticed his eyes were open and tears
ran down his cheeks. I put my hand on
his shoulder, with my other hand, I took the gun. Only then did he show any
emotion.
He looked up, eyes wide and bloodshot. “Hey,” he said in a
hoarse voice, “that is mine. I need it.”
The man was in his fifties. I could tell by his clothes,
shoes and haircut, he wasn’t homeless. “What are you doing out here?” I asked.
“I’m going to kill myself.” He said it matter of fact like
he did it every day.
I heard sirens getting louder an louder. I wished I’d not
called them, but hindsight is always 20/20.
When the rest of the patrol officers got within hearing
distance, I told them to stay back. “I have the gun and he is not violent.
Something has happened to him. I want to find out what. I’d like for one of you
to stay, just in case.”
Huge boulders lined the edge of the lot. I walked beside him
and guided him over to the rocks. They were large enough to lean against.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Daniel Reed.”
“Where do you live?”
“Middelton.”
“Wow, you’re a long way from home. How did you get here?”
“I drove.” Mr. Reed pointed to a new Ford F150. It sat on a
residential street on the other side of the lot. “I drove around until I found
a place I thought would work.”
“Why do you want to end your life. Daniel?” I asked.
He looked up and said, “I have nothing left to live for.”
“Tell me what happened?”
“You’re not interested.”
“Oh, Mr. Reed, I am extremely interested. It’s one reason I
do the kind of work I do. I want to help people.”
He did the last thing I expected, he leaned on me. He began
to cry. “My wife died and I caused it. She wanted me to have the laundry moved
upstairs. I kept putting it off. It was such an expense.”
Mr. Reed stopped crying and talking. After a long minute he
looked me in the eye. “Just give me my gun back and let me end this pain.”
“Suicide is never the answer,” I said, “tell me why you feel
responsible for your wife’s death.”
“She took a basket of laundry down the stairs, slipped and
fell and broke her neck. She died on the spot. The house is so lonely. It is
just Dex and me now.”
“Who is Dex?”
“My dog.”
“What would happen to Dex if you didn’t come home?”
“I never thought about it.”
He stood on his own now. “You know, Daniel Reed, there is
always something to be grateful for. Let’s think of a couple things you’re
thankful for.”
He looked at me as if I had two heads. “You’re kidding,
right?”
“I don’t pretend to have the answers to your grief. But
there are several things I do know. I know your wife would not want you to end
your life. And I know suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.”
The sad man looked off into the distance and didn’t say
anything for a long minute. “I know you are most likely right. But there’s no joy lately, only guilt.”
“Mr. Reed, do you have grandchildren?”
“Yes, I’d forgotten about them, my children, grandchildren
and my dog. What kind of person am I?”
“Here’s what we’ll do Mr. Reed. We will take you to St.
James Hospital and let them check you over. When you get home, call your kids.
They also miss their mother. Lean on them. Take Dex for a walk and get involved
in your own life.”
If you know someone suffering from mental distress, be
there for them. If it is an emergency, call 911 or 988.
2. It All Started With A Knock
Knock, Knock, Knock…
A constant knocking. I check the door, no one’s there. I
check the windows, which is rather
foolish as I live on the top floor of a five-story
brownstone but, I am desperate to stop the
knocking. “Who’s there?” I cry.
Knock, Knock, Knock…
There it goes again. Day and night. When I am trying to
work. When I am trying to sleep. Always
knocking. But no one answers.
Knock, Knock, Knock…
I have asked my neighbors and they do not hear it. I beg the
air to make it stop. I pray for
silence. Yet it does not come. Am I going mad?
Knock, Knock, Knock…
Where is it coming from? I check cabinets and closets. I’ve
opened and pulled out everything
from storage containers and dresser drawers. All my
belongings lay in heaps on the floor.
Knock, Knock, Knock…
The sound echoes through my apartment. It echoes through the
walls. Wait, the walls! Why
didn’t I think of it before? It’s in the walls.
Knock, Knock, Knock…
There is a cloud of dust. Piles of broken drywall and
insulation lay all over the floor. I listen. Can
it be? Possible silence…
Knock, Knock, Knock…
Nooo! My neighbors are complaining. My landlord is
threatening. How can they not hear the
racket, day and night, night and day.
Knock, Knock, Knock…
Where are you coming from? There is no place left to hide.
No rooms, no walls, no cabinets, my
apartment is nothing but framing two by fours with a floor
and ceiling. The ceiling…
Knock, Knock, Knock…
I pull the finished the ceiling down. Dust and drywall rain
upon my head. I cut holes in the duct
work and look around every wire.
Knock, Knock, Knock…
The floor is all I have left. I start pulling up the
floorboards. Carefulling walking from floor beam
to floor beam.
Knock, Knock, Knock…
“I can’t stand it!” I yell. “I will give you anything if you
will just stop!” I tried going for a walk, to get
away from it, but it followed me.
Knock, Knock, Knock…
I have reached my end. I cannot do this anymore. I pull out
my gun and head to the roof. One
last glimpse of the sun. One last breath of fresh air.
Knock, Knock, Knock…
Through the roof access door, I am blinded by the bright
light of the noon day sun. I beg one
last time for silence, please!
Knock, Knock, Knock…
I turn and start to laugh hysterically as realization
finally washes over me. …
That woodpecker must die!
BANG.
3. Tea & Teachery
Tess Taylor thought taking a gap year after her high school graduation would give her much needed perspective. Seven months later she was no closer to figuring out what she wanted to do. She wanted to avoid the debts associated with traditional college. She wanted excitement and travel opportunities, but the entry level hospitality type jobs didn’t resonate with her at all. The traffic light turned green, and a horn honked behind her, breaking her out of her reverie.
The
parking garage was dismal but at least it was dry. The heavy rain hadn’t held
down the post-holiday shoppers. Tess parked her car and made her way to the
elevator. Once she made it to ground level, she had a three-block hike to reach
her job at the Tower Tea Shoppe and Book Emporium. The elevator bore an “out of
order sign” and as she descended the stairs, angry voices rose over the pounding
rain. Tess recognized the language as Russian, some of the words stood out as
threats. She peaked around the corner in
time to see two men pick up a third man and hurl him over the side of the wall.
The squishy thud after the 3-story fall turned Tess’s stomach inside out. The
next several hours were a whirlwind of police statements, sketch artists and
too much coffee.
Three weeks later
Tess wiped
the last of the scone crumbs from the counter and contemplated her
surroundings. Her shift was almost over. Only two more hours. Tess eyed
the large man at table three. He arrived in the shoppe just before lunch and
was nursing the same cup of tea for the last few hours. How strange. No way
that tea is still fit to drink.
Tess
finished her washing up chores and approached the strange man’s table, “Excuse
me, sir, would you like a fresh cup of tea or something to eat? We have some
lovely scones.”
“No thank
you, Miss. I apologize for taking up your table all day.”
“No trouble,
we haven’t been that busy. We close in a couple hours, if you change your mind
about the tea let me know,” Tess said. She waited briefly for a response that
didn’t come, so she turned and walked back towards the counter.
Tess
settled herself on the stool behind the counter and unlocked her phone screen.
Wednesday afternoons were notoriously slow, a cold, rainy Wednesday in the
middle of winter in Kansas City and the next couple hours were apt to drag
slower than Molasses in January.
A few
minutes before closing time the shoppe’s phone rang, Tess stepped into the
alcove that held the wall mounted landline, a relic that she found amusing. The
female caller was asking about High Tea reservations, she had a Mandarin
accent. The bell above the door jangled just as Tess ended her call and
returned the telephone to its cradle. A quick survey of the shoppe’s seating
area revealed that the gentlemen that had spent the entire afternoon at table
three was nowhere to be seen. Tess stepped around the counter to collect the
teacup and wipe off the table.
A gloved
hand covered Tess’s mouth as another hand poked a small handgun under her chin.
Heavily accented words assailed her ear, “Do not move, do not scream, we are
going to have little chat.”
Tess nodded
as she tried to push the gloved, gun holding arm away from her body with one
arm. She seized the stun gun in her apron pocket with her other hand. She would
have one chance, if it didn’t work, she was dead. With a mighty push, she was
able to turn just enough to connect the probes with the man’s torso and sent 1200
volts coursing thru her assailant’s body. His gun went off, the wild bullet
struck the wall, near the ceiling. The door to the restroom burst open as the man
who had been her silent companion crossed the room in two strides and stuck the
biggest gun Tess had ever seen in her assailant’s face. “Let her go.”
“I thought
you left,” Tess eyed the large man as he finished disarming her assailant.
“Nah, I’m
here to take care of this guy and offer you a job. We’ve been watching since
the incident. Seems you have skills my agency is interested in. Nice move with
the stun gun.”
“Thank you
for the strangest job interview ever.”
4. Vengeance Is Mine
The air smelled like dead fish
and stale water, a mixture that gave James a headache. He could feel his
clothes starting to become damp from the sweat that pooled over his body. He
held the gun, feeling the cold steel underneath his fingers, and dug his nails
into the revolver, trying to distract himself somewhat from the pain surging
through his veins. He shifted the gun from his right hand to his left, tucked
it under his belt, and then made sure his shirttail concealed the weapon. Just
then, he spotted him. Bob, who up until yesterday was more like a brother than
a lifelong friend.
Your times up. He raced toward
his prey. He could hear his ragged breaths echo down and come back to him as he
huffed forward. A few more long strides and he closed the distance between
them.
“Hey, wait up. I need to talk
to you.” James called out.
Bob stopped, turned and James
saw recognition slide across his features.
“Hey, buddy,” Bob said. “What’s
up?”
Bob wore tight western jeans
that looked like a second skin. A smirk tugged at his mouth. Funny how I never
before noticed his arrogant persona.
James got right to the point.
“What were you doing at the Savings and Loan with my wife?”
“I wasn’t with her. She was
there. I was there. We spoke.”
“Don’t give me that. I saw you
two leave together.”
“So? We walked out the door at
the same time. No big deal. Don’t get your fruit of the looms in a wad.”
James laughed without mirth.
“And I suppose you both just happened to slide into your car. And then
accidently kiss.”
Bob’s expression changed from a
smirk to trembling lips. “Okay, buddy. I’m busted. I don’t know what I was
thinking. But believe me, it meant nothing. It means nothing. Just a few shared
kisses.”
“You make me want to puke.
You’re supposed to be my best friend. I trusted you with my life. And what do I
get? You go behind my back and mess with my wife. My wife! You could have
anyone you wanted. Why did you do that to me?”
“James, it wasn’t planned. It
started out as innocent flirting and one thing led to another. I am sorry.”
“You’ve got that right. You are
one sorry excuse for a friend. I’m done with you. I’m done with her.”
“I never wanted to cause a
breakup. This was a stupid move on my part and I regret it.”
“How long?”
“A couple weeks, that’s all.
And it was dying out. For both of us.”
“So, if I hadn’t caught you
guys in the bank, you wouldn’t be giving me this ‘it’s over’ crap. You two must
have had a good laugh on me, huh? Poor ole stupid James. He doesn’t have a clue
what we’re doing. I was such a fool to trust either one of you.”
“Aw, don’t be like that. This
was nothing. I swear…”
James threw up a hand. “Spare
me. Whatever comes out of your mouth now won’t fool me again.”
James shifted from one foot to
the other, and pulled a revolver from the waist of his jeans. He pointed it at
the one he used to call friend and watched him run a trembling hand across his
forehead that was peppered with sweat beads.
“Hey buddy,” Bob said. “Take it
easy with that. “That’s no way to settle anything.”
“It’s the only way for me.”
“No. Come on. Think about it.
Let’s go to Mary’s Tavern, sit down and have a cold brew and work this out. You
know we have always been able to fix anything that ever got messed up between
us.”
“I don’t want to fix anything.
I want to end something. And that’s what I’m going to do. I am going to put a
bullet right between your eyes. Then I’m gonna take this gun home, wipe my
fingerprints off. I’ve already made plans to take my sweet little unfaithful
wife to the shooting range and she’ll have her prints all over this baby.” He
waved the gun at his ex-friend.
“You are losing it man…”
“No. I’m just getting it
together. She’s gonna go down for your murder. And guess what ‘buddy’? I’ll
have the last laugh.”
The bullet punched it’s way
through Bob’s forehead, causing a gaping hole in it’s wake that quickly filled
with blood and gushed out.
Rest well my friend.
5. Checking Under the Bed
Rolling down the window to
allow icy air into my car, I sped down the interstate. I cursed my boss for
insisting I drive to my conference instead of flying.
“Flying isn’t in the budget
this year,” he said. “But I can reserve the company’s Nissan Versa.”
I’d informed him I didn’t want
to drive a roller skate to Minnesota from Missouri and opted to drive my own
car.
Glancing at the navigation
system, I winced. Five hours to my destination. I wasn’t going to make it.
Pulling over to the shoulder, I
searched for my phone for lodging. Thirty miles away, there was a motel. With
my windows down, I blasted the radio as I race for bed.
I dragged myself from the car,
lumbering into the office where a young woman with pink hair and a nose ring
popped her gum.
“Need a room?” she asked.
“Yes, please.” I dug in my
purse for my wallet while she tapped her computer keys and began printing
things.
“That’ll be $109.00. Sign
here.” She popped her gum again.
I looked up, surprised.
“$109.00 a night?”
She gasped. “I’m so sorry.
You’re a senior citizen. You get a discount.”
Senior citizen? I was barely
fifty. Before I could form words to tell her, she slid a new paper in front of
me.
“New total is $85.00.” She
smiled. “Is that okay?”
I blinked at the price
difference. “That’s great. Thanks.”
I drove around to the back of
the building where she said I’d find my room. Wasting no time, I lugged my
suitcase into the room, locked the door behind me, and was asleep within
minutes.
I startled awake at a loud
popping sound. Sitting up in bed, I looked around, but I couldn’t find anything
amiss. I had just gotten comfortable again when I heard another pop.
Creeping to the window, I
peeked through the blinds and saw a man hurrying from the building. He was
gripping a handgun to his side as he looked around wildly.
I was debating about whether to
call the police or chalk it up to my imagination when I heard a woman scream. A
knot forming in my stomach, I picked up the phone and dialed 911. After I was
assured the police were on their way, I went to check on the screaming woman.
Several other motel guests
gathered on the sidewalk in front of a room, so I joined them.
“He killed Charlie!” a woman
shouted. My baby. My life.” She broke down into a sobbing fit.
The other bystanders weren’t
offering much help, which confused me. I peeked around the doorjamb to see if I
could glimpse Charlie. Expecting to find a man’s body, I was shocked to see a
large boa constrictor. The snake, which had to be at least ten feet long, had
been shot twice – once in the belly, once in the head.
A police officer approached
before I learn anything why there was a giant snake in a motel.
“What’s going on here?” he
asked.
The woman looked up from where
she was perched next to Charlie’s body. “My husband, Stephen, killed Charlie.”
“Okay, what’s your name?”
“Ruby Anderson.”
“Charlie?”
“My baby.” She patted the
snake’s back.
The officer took a deep breath.
“Charlie’s the snake?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s your husband now?”
“I don’t know. I went to get
ice. When I came back, I found Charlie dead and Stephen gone.”
He nodded. “Why was Charlie not
secured in an enclosure?”
Irritation darkened her eyes.
“He’d been cooped up all day while we drove. He needed to stretch.”
“He decided to stretch around
my neck,” a man’s voice boomed from behind the crowd.
The officer looked up. “Are you
Stephen?”
“Yeah. The damned snake tried
to kill me. I was almost asleep. I didn’t know he out of his box. Must’ve been
under the bed. One minute I was drifting off, and the next he was wrapped
around my neck, squeezing the life out of me. Good thing I carry a gun. It
saved my life. Pure self-defense”
“You were in bed, and the snake
constricted around your neck?”
Lifting his chin, Stephen
pointed toward his bruised neck. “I had to shoot twice because it didn’t let go
the first time.”
I slipped back to my room as
Ruby shouted at Stephen and the officer sorted things.
A few hours later, I was on the
road I thinking how I would check under the bed from now on.
6, Eye Witness
“Th-that guy has a gun!”
Jacqueline barely got the words out before the gunshot rang in her ears. She
watched the man with the weapon turn and run. The expression on his face
frightened her as she watched him exit. Her feet were frozen in place. The voices
of her co-workers seemed miles away.
“…ambulance…”
“…911…”
“…after him…”
“…Jack’s the only eye witness…”
Her world faded to black…
The scene before her slowly
came back into focus. How did she end up sitting in an office chair? She put
her hand to her head hoping the room would stop spinning. What the hell just
happened?
She stood on shaking legs and
made her way to the circle of people. Her heart jumped to her throat and bile
rose from deep within. She swallowed hard and inched closer. Her boss lay
motionless on the cold, hard tile, his eyes…empty of expression. Blood seeped
from the wound in his chest and puddled on the floor beneath him. Then she
remembered the man with the gun.
She glanced at the door where
she’d seen him enter, shoot, then leave. His face forever etched in her mind.
The tarmac sent up clear,
rippled waves of heat as Jacqueline peered out the airplane window. Before they
started to travel, the flight attendant gave last-minute safety tips.
They were now in the air and
she was happy to get away from Dallas. She was a bonified Texan but the heat of
summer was exhausting, as were the reoccurring nightmares she couldn’t shake.
Her personal paradise was exactly what she needed to get over the tragedy she’d
witnessed. Three months alone was her ticket back to sanity. The sweet smell of
Alaska’s spring wildflowers would make her forget the face that haunted her.
The secluded wilderness cabin
her uncle left her near Seward was in the wilderness. She’d come here every
summer since his death. Wildlife and beauty surrounded the cozy cabin, and one
neighbor whom she loved. Angelia was tough as nails and had lived in the
backwoods of Alaska all her life.
She smiled remembering the
first time she’d met the rough, touch dark skinned.
“Why, honey? You’re gonna have
to get those hands dirty if you want to survive around here. I bet your uncle
Homer didn’t even tell you how to load or shoot a gun.”
“A gun. Why would I need a
gun?”
“You never know when a bear
might wander up to the cabin and break a window trying to get in.”
She’d never thought of that,
but it made perfect since she was alone in the Alaskan outback. Thanks to her
friend, she now knew how to load, firing and clean a pistol and a rifle.
It was great to see Angelia and
her pearly white smile waiting by the general store. “Well, it’s about time you
got to town, Jack. I’ve been waitin’ all of fifteen minutes. Surprise! I took
the liberty of getting you some supplies.”
“You’re a peach.” She gave the
older woman a hug. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“Never you mind about that.”
Angelia led the way to her all-terrain vehicle, her Great Pyrenees dog in tow.
“What would I do without you,
Ang.”
“Why, I imagine you’d survive.”
The sun dipped behind the trees
as they pulled into the driveway. She wanted to get inside and lay down. It has
been a long trip and jet lag was setting in.
“You know if you need anything,
Angelia’s here for ya, right?”
“I know and I appreciate it.
Right now, I’m going to bed.”
Angelia left and darkness
engulfed the cabin, at the same time blissful sleep overtook Jacqueline.
She started awake. Was that a
gunshot? A dog barked outside. She grabbed her gun and opened the door. Angelia
stood over a man on the ground, a pistol in his hand.
“Ang, what’s going on?”
She pointed to her dog. “Man
man was acting weird, so I thought I’d see why. I found this man pointing his
gun at you through the open window. I hollered and gave him a chance to put the
gun down, but he turned and pointed it at me. I did what I had to, to survive.
When Jacqueline looked at the
man’s face her heart jumped to her throat. “It’s him?”
“You know this guy?”
“No, I-he killed my boss a few
months ago.” She glanced at her friend. “We’ve got to get rid of the body.
I stand here in my own parking lot, gun in hand, weary, staring at the nearby bridge. It came to this? I had expected an exceptional day, not one filled with elation then horror. I feel my own shoulders droop. Not able to take another step at this moment, I wait.
*
This is how it happened.
I recall being impressed from day one when she stepped through the door of our company headquarters. Mignon had a certain air of quiet confidence, expecting she would be hired. After all, why wouldn’t we choose her? And she was a classic beauty, comfortable in her own skin, obviously not one to overdo face paint and clothes. Her style graceful, impeccable.
And she certainly lived up to her billing. Within a few months of her hiring, I knew I’d made the right decision. Being my administrative assistant – I’d had only one excellent executive secretary over the years – Mignon was an immediate asset, reorganizing the front office, recommending technology upgrades, and soon suggesting development and expansion ideas. What a brilliant move!
But there was one glaring problem… her young man. What a specimen and definitely in the way. A worthy opponent. But beyond his physical prowess, there was another issue. Mignon changed when he came around – far less confident, ill at ease, tense, watchful.
Then came the disturbing signs. The bruise on an exposed arm, a swollen eye not well enough disguised by skillful makeup application, a slight limp.
“Oh, I lifted something Saturday and my back hurts,” she’d say. Or, “I ran into a door jamb; I’m so clumsy, you know.” The answers made some sense, but she had to say them too often. So, I became watchful, too.
Not long after my initial observations, I walked through her office one day and found her quietly crying. Embarrassed, she fled, not giving me a chance to inquire or soothe. Then came the day she missed work unexpectedly. Our general manager reported she’d called in sick. My instincts told me it was all wrong, but what should I do? I didn’t want to reveal feelings which might be misread. And I suppose I harbored fears of exposure.
Finally, this day arrived. My wife encouraged me to wear my new grey suit, and the new brogues she had insisted on buying. Finished with a blue shirt and red tie, I admit I felt ready for the day, poised to close several important deals. And Mignon would be near my side. The deals went through just as expected, but the day ended on a very dark note.
He muscled through the front door near four o’clock, raising cane. From within my private office I could hear the tone in his voice – loud, demanding, insulting. I went to the door and surveyed the scene without revealing myself. Returning to my desk, I unlocked a top drawer and eyed the cold piece nonchalantly lying there, deaf, and dumb to my thoughts. I touched it, raised it from its hideaway. Appreciating its weight, I released the safety and laid it on a stack of signed contracts. The time had come.
Suddenly, a sharp cry rang out. Not thinking nor hesitating, I rushed to the door, and eyeing the situation at hand, retreated and grabbed my resurrected piece. I burst forth from my office to find her neanderthal boyfriend forcing Mignon through the outer door, to what? Her death? I feared the worst. Several employees stood speechless, frozen in place, incapable of acting.
The next few minutes whirred by in a blur. I sprinted after them into the parking lot, took position, steadied my arm, and waited only a few seconds. Warning her to shut up, but oblivious to me, he momentarily lost his hold on her. Instinctively, I took my shot, and finished with a second. Mignon shrieked and fell to the ground, spattered with her former lover’s blood.
Revived, my previously paralyzed employees ran to her rescue, spiriting her inside to safety and their care.
*
Now, here I stand, frozen in place, gun in hand. Waiting for the authorities which my hysterical staff have summoned. I’m ready. My thoughts are clear, and I feel no regret. She deserved protection, and I provided that, just as a father should. Protection I did not provide soon enough for my precious Savannah, my own flesh and blood. When will the abuse end I’ve asked myself – many times. I didn’t intervene then, but I did today.
Forgive me, Savannah… forgive me.
8. Daddy's Gun
Daddy yelled to us, "Get outside and play now!" as he pushed Momma down the hallway toward their bedroom. I heard the door slam, and the yelling continued. I'd always felt protective of Momma and was worried about her safety. I crept down the hallway and stood outside the closed door. I could hear Momma pleading to him, "Please, Herb, I just need to lay down; I'm tired, I'm hurting bad and bleeding again. Please let me rest and just go away!" I heard him swear and then a hard slap- that's when I opened the door and saw him standing over her with his 38-revolver pointed at her. His contorted mouth growled, “Do as I say now, or I'll kill you and those girls." Momma meekly said, “Okay, just put the gun down, please." I watched him place it on the bedside table and return to Momma. He never heard me open the door or move toward the bedside table. He was too busy swearing and screaming at Momma. Momma saw me as I raised
the gun towards him. "No, Anna, he's not worth ruining your life!" He leaped towards me, but I was just out of his reach. He stopped dead in his tracks as I cocked the hammer back, and I still remember the sobering look of shock on his face. He and Momma both were pleading with me to put down the gun. I was suddenly fearful that if I put the gun down, he would kill me right there. Then Momma and my sisters would be next. I'd suffered so much abuse and numerous beatings at his hand, so I fully knew what he was capable of. I'd witnessed too many beatings of my Momma and sisters, and something in me just snapped.
Momma gently came over and placed her hands over mine, softly telling me, "He won't hurt you or me. He'll leave the house and sober up. Your future is worth so much; don't end it now." He left the house for about an hour. Momma and I talked briefly, and she explained she understood why I did what I did and how wrong it was. She also explained that I should never do anything like it again. I later heard him tell Momma they should call Juvenile Hall and have me removed from the house as dangerous. He changed his mind when Momma asked him if he really wanted me to tell the authorities my story.
I don't know if I would have really pulled the trigger. It was as if I was watching things happen, and it wasn't me standing there with the gun. Daddy's gun was never left sitting around, and a month later, he took off again for parts unknown. My entire childhood, his pattern was to arrive and stay a few months, then abruptly leave for months or more at a time. When I was younger, I wondered what I had done to make my daddy leave us. When I was fourteen, I realized his immaturity and inability to handle the responsibility of a wife and children were the problem.
I learned about life from this man with a gun.
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