What I Remember

You may want to read “Why It is uglyreal…” before you read this post, and then decide if you want to continue. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Window in the door to the left of my bench at the court.

Susan’s face.

Door opening.

Kim Henderson beside Susan.

The chair underneath me.

My legs underneath the bench.

My hands on a pen.

A man in an orange jumpsuit in front of me.

Now?

Yes. Now.

Pen on the bench.

Kim’s face.

Susan’s face.

What?

What is it?

You need to go to your mama’s house.

Tell me. Tell me. Tell me right now.

Unzipping my robe.

My shoulder against the wall of the hall, shrugging against it as I took my robe off.

Tell her.

Permission.

Hesitation.

Sad eyes.

You need to go to your mama’s house to check on your daddy.

 

Screaming.

Screaming. The floor. Being on the floor.

Beating on a chest.

Joey Butler.

Beating.

Screaming.

The floor.

Clawing at the floor.

Clawing my hair.

My hair in my hands.

Pulling my hair.

Rocking back and forth, back and forth.

Arms underneath me.

Feet not moving. Arms underneath me.

A hall full of deputies.

My office. My couch in my office.

Screaming.

Joey Butler.

Did he do it to himself?

You have to breathe.

Breathe.

You have to breathe.

My hands.

My hands. My hands on my face

Please tell me it isn’t true. Please tell me it isn’t true. Please tell me it isn’t true.

 

I’m taking you there.

I don’t want to go.

I have your purse.

Sitting in a car seat.

Cheryl’s voice behind my head.

Cheryl’s hands on my shoulders.

Cheryl praying over me.

Screaming.

Susan nervous.

Susan scared.

Susan driving.

People at the end of their driveways.

Cars along the road.

Too many cars.

Too many people.

The car stopping, right here, right here, in front of Mama Jean’s.

 

Taking off my shoes.

Running.

Running.

Running.

Screaming.

Running.

Grass under my feet.

Across the front yard.

Feet on concrete.

Where is my Daddy? Where is my Daddy? Where is my Daddy?

A fireman. Two fireman.

Arms around me.

Stopped.

Turned around.

Falling on the chest of a white shirt.

Where is my Daddy?

I want my Daddy.

I want my Daddy.

I want my Daddy.

I want my Daddy.

I want my Daddy.

I want my Daddy.

I want my Daddy.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s