The officers in the room placed me forcefully in handcuffs as I tried desperately to get away from their masculine and painful hold. Tami was sitting outside the room at the time, and thank god had not seen what they were doing to me. The officer told me to calm down and told me that I needed to give them a name of someone who could get Tami otherwise Harry was outside, and they would send her with him. I told them that I didn’t want my child going anywhere with him, so I gave them the number to call Nookie.
They took me out back to a waiting police car and while I was standing outside I saw Harry drive by. I guess he was happy now being it was usually him getting carted off. Instead this time it was me. On the way to the jail the young mexican officer who escorted me was silent. I was kinna nervous, and anxious, so I squirmed, and squirmed until I had worked my hands out of the handcuffs. Once I felt the handcuffs fall off I felt relieved but scared because, according to some of the incidents I had seen, on cops when you do something like slip your cuffs off, they may shoot you, or accuse you of trying to escape, and at that point I thought this would just make matters worse; so I asked the officer if I could tell him something? And I told him that I had slipped out of the cuff’s.
When we got the the jail he got me out and, lead me into the jail. At that point I was in my mind an official criminal. The officer led me down this hallway past, what appeared to be cages with, caged animal’s. Resembling men! They were staring glaring, and making comments like “ OOOO put her fione ass in here with me” I looked at them, and if looks could kill, they would have all died right then, and there. When he got me to a cell, and put me in the cell he turned to me and said “ Good Luck to you, I hope everything works out for you, because you aren’t the one that should be here” and he turned and walked away.
At that moment all the anger, and what I thought was battered woman’s rage left my mind, and my body! I became humble, and afraid. Humble now there’s a word to ponder. In all the years I had been abused by this man, I was finally the criminal. I never just laid down, and took it, at least not in the normal sense whatever normal is!
I sat on this concrete slab just half inch off the concrete faded blue floor, and I began to cry. No one said anything to me for what seemed like hours, and the only sounds I could hear were either keys rattling, guards yacking, or a caged animal bellow in what sounded like innocent pain, of being totally cut off from the real world.
For a few moments I actually felt like I had become apart of a different world. I sat and cried and refused to allow myself to relax enough to get half way comfortable, I cried because now here I was in a place where others control, what you do, and when you do it.
I wondered if they were gonna allow me, my one prison call but I was too afraid to ask. I wanted so badly to take advantage of the things I had taken advantage of for so long, now I realized all of a sudden everything called life did matter on the outside. I thought about my babies, and thought about all the years they had been put, through the stress of not knowing if they could sleep comfortably tonight or if they should prepare a pamper just in case we end up in a place where comfort really was not a luxury.
I thought about my babies and I cried, and for the first time since I was a child I actually wanted my own mother! I cried so hard for a few moments that I could actually see every place in the last ten years I had made a mistake, and failed to heed the warning signs. I sat and sat and just cried my heart out, because all the pain I had feared for so long had finally hurt me. I felt penetrated, for the first time; and violated for the first time, because now I belonged to someone else’s decision about when I would, and would not do get to do something.
I sat there, and thought back on the very night before I married Harry. Thought about when I was sitting at home alone, waiting for what would in less then one day, become my husband. I thought back on how many times I’d ask myself if I really knew the difference between a husband, or a boyfriend. I cried as I thought about how we went out all night, and how I felt so empty on my wedding eve! I cried as I thought back on how scared I was, when he put his foot to the metal, and scared the living hell out of me when he turned the corner with me hanging butt first out the car. I cried like a baby when I thought about how hurt I was when I called Ted my wedding morning, and he hung up on me saying go to hell! No none of them would be coming to my wedding this “the supposed best day of my life.”
I cried, as I remembered buying my own wedding ring. And I cried so hard when I thought back on how stupid we looked, when we cut that one layer sheet cake with scrolled whipped stuff to write our names
“ congratulations Mr & Mrs Harry Taylor” I cried as I thought about the first night, and how stupid and unwanted I felt when I watched him stroke his self, and I cried as I recalled the very first time he scared me to near death when he ran me outta the house; the first week into our marriage. Congratulations Mrs Harry Taylor you have finally gotten what you wanted, a man that don’t love you, a life that can’t possibly ever be really happy. With all this mess in your life, a lifetime of memories that cause your heart to mourn, I cried as I thought about how alone I felt when I held my baby boy for the first time, without my husband there to share the experience like they do in the movies.
I hurt so bad as I remembered how scared I was when I thought he was outside the door burning down the house. Like a baby I cried as I thought about the look on his face when he destroyed my first real sign of maturity my G E D, and I remember how alone, and starved for attention, I must have felt when I saw the maggots circling the food.
I remembered when I lived on Perkins St, and how everytime I turned around some old man was wanting me! Tender, naked plain, girl always wanting to be somebody gurl. I struggled to figure out what about me could possibly arouse them. I went over events like when I had worked so hard to get my home only to have to be afraid just like when I got married. The very first night I spend as the proud owner of a house.
As the minutes ticked away I thought about all the times I had wanted somebody to help me only to realize the only somebodies that truly understood how I felt were dead. One by suicide, the other by traffic death. I knew it had been a long time coming, but I could tell even in the midst of my fear that a change was about to come, and come it did.
I was ultimately booked fingerprinted and placed in a cell with other women. I finally got a glimpse at what that narrow stairway leading to no where in all those dreams was my final wake up call. So having said that, and without going into part two of my life. The afterlife of Mrs Harry Taylor I will end this book by saying.
I finally realized that sometimes we pray for things and people that we truly don’t need in our life. We ask the lord to help us but we really just want him to help us hold on or GET or capture the object of our affection.
I dedicate this book to any and all women who feel as if they have revisited a part of their life. I dedicate this book to all the women who have been killed by, or killed their abuser. I dedicate this book to women like my Aunt Caroline who were driven crazy by someone they loved, and I dedicate this book TO ALL THE WOMEN WHO FIND THEMSELVES IN AN ABUSIVE SITUATION AND FEEL ALL THEY CAN DO IS HOLD ON.
I want to thank you the reader for helping me get through this hurt one tear at a time, and I want to tell you from the depths of my soul that truly until you walk in my footsteps please respect that the true courage is not in escaping, as much as it is surviving!!!