I Left My Back Door Open (36 page)

I could take a hint.

“I want my mommy back!” Brianna shouted again, only this time, she began panting as if struggling to breathe.

I listened intently to her wheezing.

“Here, use your inhaler!” Skylar ordered.

“No!” Brianna yelled. “I don't want it.”

“Then stop it. You're trying to make yourself have an asthma attack!”

Alarmed, I rushed to the doorway.

“I think my being here is upsetting her,” I said. “I just don't think this is going to work.” I glanced warily at Brianna. She was sitting up in her bed, covered by blankets and surrounded by Beannie Babies.

“No. What she's pulling is what's not going to work,” Skylar insisted. He sounded drained.

Brianna continued to pant.

“Brianna, stop it, I said,” Skylar pleaded. He glanced in my direction. “People can make themselves have an asthma attack. That's what she's trying to do.”

“Asthma is nothing to play with,” I said solemnly. “I need to back off from this situation, Skylar. Your daughter has to come first. I can't win here.”

I noticed that Brianna had stopped huffing and puffing. She appeared to be hanging on our every word.

“Kids test you, Dee Dee,” Skylar said wearily.

“Well, I do feel tested. But I'm not sure I can pass.”

“If you let her win, we'll all be losers,” Skylar added soberly.

“If she's gonna come around, I have to let her do it at her own pace,” I said firmly. “The ball's in Brianna's court now. Skylar, we'll talk in the morning, but tonight, I'm going home to my cat.”

twenty-four

Things were at a stalemate with Brianna. I hadn't seen her since that fateful night, two weeks ago. I knew that Brianna was the deal-breaker. Skylar and I couldn't become a family without her. I was struggling to resign myself to the fact that she might never come around. And that I might never find the “we” of me.

March came in like a lion, as expected. But unexpectedly, we had precious child care. Tyeesha had called the day before, crying broke and offering to babysit Brianna for a nominal fee. Skylar and I had a whole Saturday afternoon and evening to ourselves. We decided to take full advantage of it.

Skylar and I nibbled and kissed and caressed and giggled and rubbed and sucked and proceeded to ride each other's needs into the sunset. Then it happened. It began with a slow dull ache in the back of my head, which I tried to ignore. And then it escalated to sharp shooting pains that jabbed me in my temples. But I still continued to suffer in silence. I only got these headaches during sex once every blue moon. I could count on one hand the number of times they'd occurred in my entire life. I thought I'd gotten over them.

Besides, what man would want to deal with a woman with incest flashbacks in the middle of hot sex
? I thought as I struggled to conceal my pain. I didn't want to make Skylar feel guilty or icky or disappointed. Even a compassionate man might head for the door if he knew the deal.

But when the nausea began and Skylar's hands suddenly felt like my stepfather's heavy, clammy fingers, I wanted to disappear. I could no longer contain myself. I was afraid that I was going to vomit right there in the bed.

I pushed Skylar's heavy weight off of me.

“I can't do this right now,” I gasped.

“What's wrong, baby?” Skylar's voice sounded concerned. “Are you sick? I thought you were just about to come.”

“I'm sorry, but I have a migraine,” I said, holding my throbbing head. “I'm really sorry.”

“You don't have to be sorry. I'm the one who's sorry. Did I do something wrong?” His swollen penis shrank before my eyes.

“No, you did everything right,” I assured him. “It wasn't you.” I couldn't bring myself to tell Skylar that his hands felt clammy and reminded me of being molested by my stepfather.

“I didn't mean to be selfish,” he said apologetically.

“It's not your fault.”

“I didn't realize that you were suffering in silence. You should've said something sooner.”

“I didn't know it was going to be so bad,” I replied, massaging my temple with my thumb.

“Baby, can I get you something? Let me get you some aspirin, okay?”

“Okay, thanks.”

After I took the aspirin, Skylar wrapped his arms around me, but I didn't feel like being close. Being close made my skin crawl.

I pulled away from him and rolled over into the fetal position.

“Dee Dee, I just wanted to make you feel better.”

“I know, you're really sweet. But you don't understand. Right now I can't be close to anyone, not even you.”

“Why not?”

I should tell Skylar the deal. I had been robbed of my innocence. I'd been made to feel like a dirty rag, and I couldn't wish it away. If Skylar was going to bolt, he might as well leave now. We might as well get it over with. But I didn't tell Skylar what was up with me. Instead, I traced the raised pattern on the balled-up comforter over and over again with my finger. It reminded me of my old-fashioned pink bedspread from my childhood. It had raised tufts that were like tiny spitballs. I used to roll them around in my fingers over and over again. I used to pretend like I didn't have a care in the world.

Skylar's voice was full of concern. “Dee Dee, what's wrong?”

I didn't respond. I felt far away. I'd already disappeared. I didn't travel to the ceiling and look down like I did as a child. Maybe only children can fly. But I was still gone, just the same.

I heard a far-away voice pleading, “Dee Dee, are you gonna be okay? Do you want me to call somebody? Please say something.”

Suddenly I felt the bed shake. I heard my cat purring and felt him rubbing against my neck. Langston usually shied away from Skylar, so I was surprised by his appearance.

“Is the cat okay up on the bed?”

“He's fine,” I said, petting Langston. Being close to my cat gave me a secure feeling.

“Is your headache better?”

“It's a little better,” I answered weakly.

“Dee Dee, what do you want me to do?”

I looked at Skylar blankly. I felt safe with Langston and I felt safe stroking my comforter. That's all I felt I could handle right now. “I'll be okay, you can go,” I mumbled.

“I'm gonna give you some space,” Skylar said. “But I'm not leaving the premises. I'll be downstairs if you need anything.”

I needed to be alone. I wasn't totally alone, because Langston was by my side.

After Skylar left the room, I began fantasizing about blowing my stepfather up into a jillion pieces. And cutting him up into a jillion more. And beating him with bats and pipes and shooting him with automatic weapons and drowning him and setting him on fire. Finally, I grew exhausted from killing a man over and over again who was already dead.

I felt like a fountain of sludge was shooting out of my mouth and hands. I couldn't hold it back, even if I wanted to. I had no choice, the need to release it was so powerful. I felt that it represented the shame I'd carried with me most of my life. I knew that I needed a safe place to continue to heal. A place where people would understand what I was going through. I was lucky that I had close friends to turn to and that Skylar might be supportive. But I knew that neither my friends nor my boyfriend nor even I could handle the brunt of my pain without my getting professional help.

A few minutes later, Skylar came back upstairs to check on me.

“Dee Dee, I called Tyeesha and arranged for her to keep Brianna overnight. I don't want to leave you alone.”

“Skylar, I'm an incest survivor,” I said in a clear voice.

“I knew it had to be something big.” He sighed. “Dee Dee, I'm really sorry that happened to you. Do you feel like talking about it?”

I shook my head. “Not right now.”

“Dee Dee, I want to be supportive. Just let me know what I can do, okay?” Skylar asked with caring eyes.

“Skylar, that's nice of you to say, but you know you don't have to travel this road with me. If you wanna bolt, there's the door.” I pointed. “In fact, I will understand. This is no easy walk.”

“Dee Dee, what's the point of being on an easy walk, if I'm not on the path with the woman I love?”

A couple of days later, I was still tripping on my flashbacks. Yesterday, I'd spaced out and cut a couple of my fingers while washing a sharp knife. And today, I'd already burned my arm on an oven rack, while removing a pizza.

It was time to face my pain. I called my HMO about getting into a survivors' support group. Dr. Hamilton chastized me for not ringing her back sooner.

“It's already March again,” she reminded me. “It's been a year since we've spoken.” Dr. Hamilton said they'd been inundated with calls from people during the holidays, but the good news was, she could offer me a spot in a brand-new group that was starting in two weeks. It fit with my schedule, and I felt relieved.

“I've burned myself and cut myself, lately,” I confided over the phone. “Not deliberately,” I quickly assured the doctor. “I've just had a couple of accidents.”

“It's common for abuse survivors to be accident-prone when repressed memories start to surface and they begin to address them,” Dr. Hamilton informed me. “I'm glad to hear that you're not injuring yourself deliberately.”

“I would never do that,” I answered truthfully. “But I understand why women cut themselves, so the outside matches the pain they're feeling on the inside. I guess they're trying to cut through all the denial around them, too.”

“I think that's a pretty good analysis. Well, be careful and be gentle with yourself. If you think you might be suicidal, though, ring me up right away.”

“Don't worry, I'm not suicidal, I'm homicidal.”

“You are aware that if you threaten to harm yourself
or
harm anyone else, I am required by law to act on that information, aren't you?”

“I was only kidding. My perpetrator is already dead.”

“That's right, you told me your stepfather passed away over a year ago.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Daphne, I'm looking forward to having you in the group. I'm going to transfer you to the receptionist now; she'll enroll you. You've taken an important step today.”

“I know, but the thought of actually facing what happened to me makes me feel so vulnerable,” I confided.

“This time you won't be alone with your vulnerability, dear. Everyone in your group will feel vulnerable also. Vulnerability is the core of strength.”

Skylar commended me for enrolling in the sexual abuse survivors' group during our phone conversation that evening. I warned him that I would be going through some emotional changes. There would be times when I was going to need his support. Sometimes, I would just probably need time alone. Skylar assured me that he would support me in any way that he could.

Then I wound up agreeing to babysit for Brianna. She'd been sent home from school with a cold this afternoon. Skylar said that she was getting over it, but he'd like to keep her home tomorrow, just in case. I was free until my evening focus groups, so I agreed to pitch in. After all, we were a team. Even if we were still missing an important member.

I loaded up on garlic tablets, vitamin C and echinacea and golden seal after I got off the phone. Brianna might be contagious. I wanted to have a strong immune system when I faced that child tomorrow.

“You still have a slight temperature,” I reported, after pulling the thermometer out of Brianna's mouth the following day. I glanced down at her puffy, reddish face. She was sitting up in bed, surrounded by her Beanie Babies.

“You only ate a little of your lunch,” I continued. “I'm glad you drank most of your orange juice. I'm going to bring you some hot tea.”

“What did you mean by ‘the ball's in Brianna's court'?” she asked before I could leave the room.

“You mean why did I say that the last time I was here?”

Brianna nodded.

“You have a good memory. Well, I meant like in tennis,” I explained. “Do you know who Venus Williams is?”

Brianna nodded again. “She has all those beads in her hair.” She coughed and added, “She's cool.”

“I'm glad you remembered to cover your mouth. Anyway, when Venus hits the ball over the net, it's in the other player's court, right?”

“Right?”

“And it's up to her to hit it back over, right?”

“
Sí
.”

“So, what I'm saying is, I've tried to be your friend, but I can't be your friend unless you try back.”

Brianna paused and looked like she was pondering this concept. “How would you like it if your cat got a cat girlfriend and she was always over at your house, meowing. And nobody ever asked you if you wanted her there or not?”

“I guess I would want to have a say in it,” I conceded. “Do you think I'm over here too much?” I asked softly.

Brianna wrinkled her forehead. “How about if you come over once a week.”

“Do I get to spend the night?”

Brianna nodded.

Damn straight, I'm spending the night, you little control freak, I thought.

“Okay, that sounds reasonable,” I said, diplomatically.

“How would you feel if your daddy talked your mommy into having an abortion?” Brianna blurted out.

I was momentarily speechless. My heart went out to Brianna. It was like I could feel her pain. “Your father just wanted to be a great daddy and he wanted your mother to be a great mommy. And he wasn't sure that they could give a child everything he or she deserved. But your mother had to make the final decision.”

Brianna wrinkled her forehead again as if in deep thought. She sat up and hugged her knees. “Okay, then.” She sighed. “How would you like it if when your mother was pregnant with you, your father was ambivalent?” Brianna asked quizzically.