Love Rewards The Brave (25 page)

166.

Walking into that room

BoomBoomBoom

the noise going heavy on the bass

trying to find the right place

to shake.

Shake me.

Because I should have waited for that

car ride pep talk

until I got backstage

because this place is packed

and it’s already pulsing

BoomBoomBoom

goes my heart.

I gravitate to the desk

sign-in sheet before me

name tag, number, roll call

ready

set

go.

I am #22 out of 24.

So many performers before

me.

Ms. Francine and the rest of my

motley crew is busy finding seats.

I’ll be sitting in the back

with the rest of the teens

who are waiting for their shot in the limelight.

Shot in the dark.

The other performers

offer their hands for me to shake

repeating names

repeating jokes

talking about nerves

anxiety

times they competed before

they all seem so far

ahead of me.

“Louisa,” I say.

They smile and nod.

“No, this is my first time. Have you done this before?” I ask.

They answer:

My third time

My fourth

I’m on a team at school

A club

I went to summer camp

My mom knew this guy who helped me out

Iamalloftheeabove.

But with that they also say:

I love that dress

I’m so freaking out right now

Even if I don’t win, I’m taking that class over summer break

I made my mom promise not to take my picture

Did you see that video of that one performance on YouTube?

And I feel that

that feeling

I had when I saw Margot with her friends

at the club

when she performed.

A camaraderie

a sense of in-it-together-artists-forever

spirit that took away the competition

who is the best vibe

and replaced it with an

I-believe-in-you-even-though-I-don’t-know-you

kind of high.

I’m smiling away my nerves and I’m

looking all around.

And for the first time in my life

I don’t want my eyes to face

the ground because

I-don’t-want-to-miss-a-thing.

When did full on

contact

sports start to

feel

so. damned. good?

167.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Annual Young

Poet’s Slam! The students here tonight are thirteen to seventeen years old. For some, this is the first time on stage and some have been practicing for years. We have twenty four performances tonight along with a lovely panel of judges.”

The emcee motions to the table

of five adults, none I’ve ever seen

sitting side-by-side

waiting to 

watch us

spill our guts.

The house is full tonight

there’s a buzz in the air.

“Without further ado, I would like to welcome our first act of the evening, Abdul Jamon!”

The room claps

loudly as can be

and nothing’s even started yet.

God.

I hope they’ll clap for me.

168.

The competition starts

off with a bang.

These people are good.

Like
good:

#5…A silvery girl

with white hair that glows under the lights

on stage.

She barely whispers when she speaks

yet her voice commands the room

and her words reflect the

feelings she felt

the day her parents divorced

the day her world fell.

How she thought life was over,

but now

three years later, she sees that they

(her parents)

are finally happy.

And so is she.

#12…He stood over six feet tall

his smile revealing the moment

on his face

when he was most happy:

the day he got his driver’s license.

Speaking in simple terms he

explained how his life changed that day

because he was

for the first time ever

free to be

sixteen.

#18…The room was cracking up from the first

line until the last.

He was honest –– brutally so ––

about his first job ever

at McDonalds.

He compared the first shift

to when he goes shit.

Really crappy.

He ended and
they
we

clapped wildly as he took his bow. 

#22…Me!

169.

Breathe, Louisa, breathe.

First things first

I move the mic a little lower

glance over my shoulder

wanting to look anywhere but

out.

Somebody shouts

in the crowd

my guess is Markus.

Brushing aside pieces of my hair

I push away my fear.

Benji’s words echo inside:

“I wish I’d said something sooner. Told the truth sooner. But I was scared. I’m sick of being scared.”

I’m so sick of being scared, too.

I look at the crowd

my cheering section

each nodding their heads.

Suddenly the words they’ve been saying

start echoing inside of me too:

“You are the strongest person I know.”

“Louisa, this is not pathetic-this is your story. It’s beautiful.”

“You can do this because your heart’s telling you this is what you need.”

And I clear my throat, ready to speak.

It’s because of them that I can

do this courageous thing.

It’s because of them that I believe

the words

Ms. Francine echoed to me all along:

Be Brave.

I open my mouth, and begin.

170.

“There are some things we all like to talk about.

Who is gonna win the football game,

the guy we think is cute,

our plans for summer break,

what girl’s in hot pursuit.

We can easily ask for

fries with that

or can you turn the volume up?

We can ask if dinner’s ready or

if the door got shut.

These are the easy things in life to say

and it’s easy to spend our days

obsessed with the trivial details

of who got what, who said what, shut up

but

there’s more that needs to be

said.

Did you know one in three girls

has been sexually abused?

I read that the numbers are declining every year.

Less children are victims of abuse but

does that fact do

anything to change

the life of the girl living with the

hollowed out dreams

because she was beat against the wall

forced to do an act

that should be only reserved for a lab rat?

Wait a second, scratch that –– lab rats have some

sort of code they live by.

I’m a friend of PETA and an animal enthusiast

and so I wonder if the lab rats have rights

why the children

who are living in the cycle of shame

are not being treated the same way?

I lived my life talking about the things

we’re all allowed to say,

“The weather’s nice,

the rain stopped, thank God,

I got a new job.”

See how with those words the subtle

message is that

the big things, the scary things,

are not to be said?

You wonder why the kids don’t talk or why

the abusers aren’t caught ––

but the truth is

the kids

are too scared to say a word.

So you may have caught on that this is about me.

My abuse was real.

Really physical

Really hard

to escape.

And even when you think you have,

the truth is

it’s gonna haunt you for

days

weeks

months

years.

And the people want to help ––

social worker, counselor,

foster mom or dad,

teachers, friends at school ––

You want to scream the truth

but the words

all the words

get caught.

Make you choke.

Everything gets caught inside

because it’s the safest place to hide.

My little brother

good little boy.

The one I spent my childhood trying to protect.

The one I’d tuck in at night, sing

sweet lullabies

always made sure he stayed in my sight.

Except ––

except the times Dad called for me

and I’d have to leave him be.

I always thought Mom was there

wanting to help keep him safe but the truth is

she was doing the exact same thing

to him

as my dad did to me.

Did you know one in every seven boys are

sexually abused?

Wait, was I supposed to say that?

Is it the same as saying ‘Have a nice day?’

Is that the same as talking about the weather

or whatever trivial things we say

to keep the terrifying truths at bay ?

Did you know that boys who are abused are

thirty-two times more likely to attempt suicide?

That those boys are thirty times more likely to commit a violent crime?

I tried to protect my brother by going to my dad

in place of him.

But what does it mean when someone else found him

instead?

When he was violated just like me

that I couldn’t do anything to protect

my family?

That fact crushed me to the core.

The kind you can’t ignore.

The kind that breaks you down.

But I am seeing that that is just the place our abusers, our perpetrators,

our mother and our father wanted us to be-

BROKEN.

I can’t let that happen

to anyone else.

Not under my watch.

If I’d known then

what I know now

our abusers would have been on lockdown

so. much. sooner.

But I lived in fear.

The paralyzing kind that makes you want to run away

makes you want to hide.

The kind that keeps the truth far away

from the surface

keeps lies the only thing you believe

keeps abusers walking the streets

waiting to find another kid to defeat.

I won’t let that happen, not if I can help it.

And I’m beginning to see the only way I can change

the face of my abusers

is to speak loud and clear

forget the fear

that I’ve been walking with

because I am brave.

And you can be, too.

The weather, yeah it’s nice.

The gray clouds are trying to move in,

but I’ll tell you this once

and I’ll tell you again

I’ll tell you as many times as I need

because it’s the only way

to let the good find a way in.

There are lots of things in life that are

gray like the clouds ––

but there are just as many things that are

black and white.

Child abuse

is one of the things we must bring to the light.”