I don’t remember packing or moving. The brown house snuck up on me. It was cooler outside so the switch must have happened in late fall. The brown house was much smaller and much darker on the outside and the inside. Starting a new school was scary. The school was dark, my teacher’s hair was dark and there were color coded bears that plagued me. I didn’t understand why I’d switched schools and why my bears were always on the bad colors. I still couldn’t see the board and I felt like a stupid child. I rode my bike to school but I could never keep up with the other children. They would leave me behind. I remember feeling very alone at school as well as at home. Things were different. Our home didn’t sound the same anymore. Mom stopped laughing. Jason and Darren were gone for good. Rebecca was still in the house with us but she was in high school and never home. Granny was there but didn’t come out of her room often.
The brown house had an in-law suite in the back yard. My dad lived there and was no longer in the house with us. I didn’t have a bedroom in the main house either. I shared a room with Mom. She kept the room very cold and I’d dread going to bed at night because she was never with me and my feet were freezing.
Everything had changed. My mom started drinking more often, during the day and alone. Granny would keep her company at times but not often. Daddy stayed in his house or wasn’t around at all. I have few memories of him coming into the main house. Once he and Mom were in the kitchen screaming at each other but in that inside voice kind of way. They were arguing and he hugged her from behind causing her to go into a rage. She unplugged the toaster and tried to shove the plug into Daddy’s hand. I watched them from my spot on the couch and begged Mom to stop. The other memory of Daddy in the house is when they fought and he’d pinned her down on the ground and sat on her hands. Mom was a scrapper so this may have been to protect himself. I watched as she seethed and knew that if I weren’t in the room, she would have killed him if given the chance. The final memory was the argument that ensued after Dad bought me clothes and Mom yelling at him for spoiling me and him yelling back that she was jealous of me.
There was peace when Daddy was gone or shut in his little house in the back. I’m sure they both preferred the separation. I don’t remember a single family meal or doing anything together in that brown house. There were no visitors and even the animals seemed to have found someplace to hide while we were there.
The arguments would get really bad after I was asleep. We had next door neighbors. They were a nice family with several kids. I remember thinking that the mom was a normal mom but hadn’t quite correlated that to mean that mine was not normal. Our yards were separated by a chain link fence. After my bedtime, when the arguments got violent, I would awaken, wrapped in a blanket, being passed over that chain link fence. I never knew who was passing me over and who was receiving me but I knew it meant things were bad. Sometimes there were police lights swirling around when I’d open my eyes. I’d close them tightly because I didn’t want to see. I’d wake up back in mom’s bed or on the neighbors’ couch.
Sometimes Mom would go into Dad’s house. She would look through his things and turn on the computer. When she found something she didn’t like, she would destroy the entire place. I was never sure what she would find but I could tell she was angry. Daddy eventually changed the locks and that sent Mom into a frenzy.
Christmas in the dark brown house was less festive that year. There was a tree, blocking the bright sunlight that came into the house. Christmas morning is the only memory I have of light coming into the house. I remember not seeing decorations at the top of tree because the light was so bright and cast a shadow over the tree. No one was awake that morning. I sat at the bottom of the tree alone. My father would have been asleep in his little house but there were 3 other people living in the house with me so I don’t trust this memory to be true – that I was alone. Maybe I felt alone or maybe they got up later, which can feel like forever to small child on Christmas morning. There were plenty presents but no food or friends to share the day with. I sat under the carport playing with what may have been a new bike but I distinctly remember being alone. I would ask if Chucky and Ronnie could visit but we were not allowed to see each other any longer. I did see their mother at the brown house once. It was late at night and Mrs. Pinky had shown up drunk and stark naked. She was a beautiful woman – smooth light brown skin with big doe eyes, soft black hair and a smile that could light up the darkest room. She always smelled of mint and her makeup was flawless. She walked right by our main house that evening and straight to Dad’s house in the back. She was crying hysterically and completely exposed except for a light sheer robe covering her rear end. She begged Daddy to have sex with her because she either believed that Mom had been having an affair with her husband, Mr. Ron or she’d caught him having an affair with someone else and just wanted to hurt him. That evening was the first time I’d seen her without a smile. She was broken – unhappy in her marriage and desperate to fill the void with the only revenge she knew how to muster up. I immediately understood why I couldn’t see my best friend anymore. Our parents were fighting. It was the worst punishment of all.
My darkest memory of that brown house is the only time I remember my sister being home with us. Daddy had come home after several drinks and came into the house to argue with my mother about a phone bill. Mom had evidently made several lengthy long distance calls and shot the phone bill up higher than the rent. The argument drifted outside of the main house at one point and Mom had come back in saying that Dad had threatened to kill of us. My sister, my mom, Granny and myself were all in the house. Mom locked the doors and was hysterical. She told him that she was calling the police and he began to cut the phone lines that ran to the house. As a kid, I imagined my father climbing the telephone poll to do this but as an adult I understand this could have been done from the ground. The idea, however, of my large drunken and angry father climbing the telephone poll to cut the lines so he could kill us absolutely terrified me. As mom ranted and raved, Dad re-entered the house, picked me up and took me to his house in the back. Mom yelled at him and begged him to put me down but he’d made it to his house with me and locked the door behind us. Where we sat on his bed in the dark, I could see out of the glass window panes on the top half of his front door. In seconds, Mom was headed towards the door and began breaking the windows and reaching for the locks. Dad held me on his lap and told me, “See, your mother is crazy and she is trying to hurt us.” Terror shot through my little 6 year old body. At this point, I feared both of my parents and I wanted nothing more than to rip myself from his grasp and run away. I was terrified. I prayed that God take me back to the fence. I would be safe if I could get over the fence. The next moment, my mother’s hand made it’s way through the broken glass, unlocking the door. Seeing her open the door, I ran to her not just for myself but for her. I was afraid Dad would kill her for coming in to get me and I had to protect her. I also had to protect her from killing Dad.
I honestly thought we were going to die. At 6 years old, having those thoughts is a monumental collapse in innocence. Behind her, I could see police lights. It was a relief for me so see those lights. I knew those lights meant that very soon, I would be passed over the fence and that’s exactly what happened. This time, I was awake and I was being passed over by an officer. I reached for that normal mom, wishing she was mine and grateful God heard me.
This evening was the culmination of the chaos that had brewed in our home for many years. It was when my innocence was lost. I was no longer confused about the changes that had happened. I knew my family was broken and it would never be the same. As an adult, I not only have these memories but I am able to put things into context.
It is highly likely Mom had been drinking that night. My memory may have played out like she was a hero but the reality may have been that she was just as wrong as he was. We were broke. Dad’s business had gone under and he was miserable. He lived in the back, away from his family. He’d suspected my mom of cheating on several different occasions. She would not let Dad touch her and accused him of having affairs but had never actually caught him. He was vulnerable and she knew how to hurt him. That was the only time in my entire life that I’d seen my father unhappy while intoxicated. I will never know for sure if he had actually threatened to kill us all. I’ve learned through the years how very good my mother was at playing people against each other. He may not have been drunk and he may not have threatened anyone that evening.
My father has always had a flair for drama as well. His anger would get the best of him many times in my childhood. Proving his point and holding his position outweighed any need to diffuse the situation or have a civil conversation. He was self absorbed, emotional and did little to make room for others’ feelings. The demise of his business was devastating but everyone knew he was not a business man. He would not let anyone help him run the books because he misused the earnings and wanted to do what he wanted to do. Men had shown up at our door, big men who he failed to pay, threatening Mom. His business was picketed after word got out and he was no longer able to hire men or make bids on projects. He had been humiliated by the more affluent, white contractors in the area and shunned by the black ones. His reputation was ruined and his wife never let him forget it.
I say all of this not to trash my parents, whom I love dearly, but to give you the context of how we’d gotten here. Like I said in the beginning, this is a story of forgiveness but first, I have to tell you what all there was to forgive.
Saving Elizabeth 