Sister of Silence (28 page)

“Just Trudy,
” I told her, “but her office is closed now.”

When we reached their house, Shirley told me to go inside and she helped Butch get the kids. After they came in, they were so excited about sleeping overnight they didn’t pay much attention to me.

That’s good, maybe they won’t notice.

I was wrong, though. One by one, they came over and sat with me, giving me hugs and kisses, or just patting my hand. Their small childish faces told me how worried they were, so I tried to smile. “I just don’t feel very good right now, that’s all. I’ll feel better tomorrow, I promise.” I didn’t know if I would or not, but I hoped for their sakes I did.

“D
o you feel like talking?” Shirley sat down beside me.

“I’m sorry, I’m just not thinking real clearly right now. No, I don’t mind telling you. I just can’t stand to live like that any longer. He’s never going to stop, no matter what I say or do.”

“What did he do?”

I looked away, ashamed and humiliated. “He forced me to have sex again. I was so tired and had worked about twenty hours, Shirley. I could hardly stay awake, but he didn’t even care.” The tears began again and I shrugged them away, wondering how anyone could be that selfish.

Shirley looked disgusted. “You’ve got to get some help. You can’t go on like this.”

I nodded. “I know. I broke down and told Trudy a few weeks ago.” I felt like someone had thrown me into an old-fashioned washer and pulled me through, wringing every last ounce of energy out of me.

“What did Eddie say when you told her?”

“Well he wasn’t too happy, but he did admit to molesting me for years before we married.”

“You’re kidding? I can’t believe he would ever admit it. Not knowing what I know about him, when he used to work for Butch.”

“I know. When I first told
Trudy what had happened, he confessed to doing it. That’s when I began seeing her by myself, without him there. We’ve been working on it ever since.”

“Look
, I know this is none of my business, but how often has this been happening? If you don’t want to tell me, that’s all right.”

I sat there, mentally calculating how often Eddie forced me to have sex with him. “At least once a month. Usually more.”

Shirley sat there, shaking her head in amazement. “That’s horrible. Is there anything I can do to help? You and the kids are welcome to stay here as long as you need to.”

I managed a weak smile. “I appreciate that. I need time to get my head together, to decide what to do. I just know there’s no way I can go back to him again.”

“It seems you have grounds to leave. I mean, look what he’s done to you. I think you have every right. Why, he’s endangering your health—and your life. Not to mention the welfare of your children. How have they been handling all this abuse?” Shirley asked.

“It’s been hard, and they hurt for me, but they’re doing better than I expected
.” I managed a slight smile.

Hours later, when I was all talked out, I found myself in a big, warm bed, with layers of blankets on top of me. Shirley told me she would put the kids down for me. Even though I was exhausted beyond belief, I
lay awake for hours. But I was more at peace with myself than I had been for a long time.

Still, I had no answers. In time sleep gradually overcame me, after I poured out my frustrations in my journal:

Two and a half months ago I came out of an Adult Children of Alcoholics meeting and my whole life changed. Something there caused me to stop living with a secret that
I had, until that night, not spoken out loud to another person—other than Eddie, who was very much aware of the secret.

I am a victim of child sexual abuse. Unfortunately, I married my abuser and that abuse has continued in the form of rape. For years I have not been able to speak about what happened before we were married—it’s only been recently that I realized it myself. That’s because I blamed myself for what happened—I was, after all, told I was to blame. Eddie made sure I felt responsible.

Somewhere along the way I conveniently “forgot” a lot of things, including my feelings at the time. But I do remember other things since that time—bits and pieces come back more and more often. Mostly, I remember all of the times I said ‘no’ and he didn’t listen.

I married Eddie because I felt I had been used—and no one else would ever want me. I also married him because I felt like what happened was my fault.

Since then, I realize I wasn’t the woman I believed myself to be. At thirteen, not yet through puberty, naive in the extreme, I knew nothing. I was but a child. As a child, it was easier for me to hold myself responsible for what went on than it was for me to believe another person could behave in such a way, could do such things to me. As a child, I trusted Eddie. Had I opened my eyes to the truth at the time, it may have been too much for me to bear.

Since we married in 1980, things have continued as before. My husband has repeatedly said I deny him his sexual due, while I know I haven’t. The truth is, there probably have been times when I wasn’t interested in sex—now I know why. But most of the time, I participated in that aspect of our life, at least partially.

Then there have been all the other times—when I was ill, pregnant and uncomfortable or just plain exhausted or upset, when I said “No.” Those were the times that come back to haunt me—because it didn’t matter what I said, and he rarely listened. Most of the time, Eddie raped or physically forced me to have sex.

During the past several years, I have come to accept this kind of behavior. At first, I can remember fighting, kicking—nothing worked—and I also remember the bruises. There haven’t been any physical bruises for ages. I guess accepting that it’s going to happen no matter what made me less inclined to fight back.

But the shame: it’s still there, from all those years ago, from never saying anything, keeping it a secret for so long. Now I understand why I hated to hear him talk about sex, and didn’t want to remember anything. Apparently, I did a good job, since there are still things I can’t recall.

I understand all that now, and more. I understand why certain places along roads we used to drive make me nauseated, why certain words and looks he gives me makes me withdraw, why I often can’t stand for him to touch me and feel like I’m suffocating when we’re in bed.

Yet, more importantly, I understand why I have slowly been going crazy. Why for years I’ve battled with depression, why I would sit and do nothing but stare into space for hours, why I’ve considered suicide as an escape, why I “run away” all the time by trying to get involved in anything that will take me away from home—from him. For someone who is an optimist, and tries to see the bright side of things, I couldn’t understand why depression plagued me so unmercifully. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t get my act together. For someone who grew up amidst turbulence and distress—I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t cope with it better. Finally, I couldn’t understand why I never forgave myself for what happened before I got married. Now I know it was the shame—and having to keep it locked up and buried for so long.

There is so much I understand now.

The next morning, I woke up wondering how I could keep things as normal as possible, so the kids didn’t have to experience any more changes than necessary. I forced myself to get ready to take them to school, but Shirley was worried when I told her I was returning to the house for their school clothes.

“Do you think that’s a good idea? What if something happens?” she asked.

“He’ll be dead to the world and besides, he won’t dare bother me with the children around,” I said, trying to be brave.

It was an outer show of bravado, but inside I was devoid of all emotion. It was one of my many skills, honed during our worst times with Eddie. Besides, I wanted—even if only for a little while longer—to pretend all was well. Shirley was silent, but she still looked worried.

“We’ll be in and out in a few minutes, and he won’t even know until it’s too late,” I said, secretly hoping I was right.

From the intersection where I turned until several houses beyond ours, Swan Street was straight, so I saw Eddie’s truck long before we got there. I drove slowly, inching down the street, and felt myself growing nervous and clammy. As I drove, I warned everyone to tiptoe inside and back again, and to be as quiet as mice while they dressed and gathered up their backpacks. I turned the key in the lock ever so slowly, and the door fell open without a single squeak. I said a silent prayer, and once inside, I wrote a rushed note to Eddie, telling him we would be staying with Shirley and Butch for a few days.

The kids did everything perfectly, but as we hurried back to the car a few minutes later, my heart began pounding. I was suddenly terrified that Eddie was right behind me, ready to jerk me backwards by the hair on my head. So as I pulled away from the curb, and there was still no sign of him, a sigh of relief escaped my lips. I drove a quarter-mile to the school and after parking, I walked them inside the building. I silently prayed their day would be peaceful.

They’ll be safe here. He won’t hurt them. I know he won’t. He just wants me, that’s all.

After taking each child to a classroom, I went to the office to see the principal. Anna, the school secretary, gave me a big smile. “Good morning, Daleen. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” I told Anna. “I just need to see Mrs. Onestinghel for a minute.”

“She’ll be right over,” Anna smiled.

I had interviewed Pat Onestinghel and her husband after learning he proposed to her at a football game. She loved the feature story I wrote, but more than that I knew she would want to keep my children safe.

“What can I do for you, Daleen?” Pat asked.

“I thought you should know we’ve had some family problems and under no circumstances are the children to go with their father. Anywhere,” I said firmly. “We’re staying with friends until we get some things worked out.”

“We’ll keep a close eye on them,” she promised, “and they’ll be fine, so don’t worry.”

“I know, Pat. And I don’t think he’ll give you any problems, but I just wanted to let you know,” I assured her.

“You let me know if there’s anything else we can do
.” Pat had wise eyes, and I wondered how much she had already guessed. But then again, I had never been hesitant to blame their father’s anger, whenever one of the kids acted out at school after Eddie had thrown his own tantrum at home.

As I left the building I ran down the front steps, trying not to break out in a run. I was just inches from my car when I heard the noise that made my heart drop into my stomach. It was a loud, familiar roar I would know anywhere. The next instant, Eddie’s truck came speeding around the corner. He slammed to a stop behind my car, where he jumped out and practically leaped over to where I stood. I froze, my pulse racing as I saw the rage in his eyes.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing leaving me this note?” His words were as cold as steel.

He won’t do anything, at least not while we’re on school property. Stay calm, Daleen. Don’t back down now. You know Pat’s office overlooks the front of the building and there are at least a few people who, at a moment’s notice, would come running to help.

But I refused to cower before him, and matched his icy tone. “I’m doing exactly what I said in the note, Eddie. The kids and I are staying at Shirley’s for a few days.”

The vein in his throat was throbbing so hard it looked like it might explode. “You’re coming home this minute. Do you understand me?” He towered over me, yet I managed to remain calm.

“I’m not going with you, Eddie. I need some time to think. Now please, just leave and don’t make a scene. The office staff is watching.”

I hope they are!

His mouth opened, but he said nothing and instead wheeled around. “If you leave now, don’t bother coming back,” Eddie yelled before his truck roared to life and he pulled away, spinning the tires and tossing gravel everywhere.

As I slid into the driver’s seat, my hands were trembling so much it was all I could do to get the key in the ignition. Ordinarily I would have left the car running, but I couldn’t take that chance. Eddie would have taken my keys, if he could. I just knew it. And then, just as the key slipped into place, I glanced over at the school. Mrs. Onestinghel stood in plain view.

Thank you, God. Thank you for watching over me.

I put the car into gear and prayed Eddie wouldn’t be waiting around a curve somewhere, trying to force me off the road—or worse. That’s when I knew I had always feared this moment. I was afraid he would become so overwhelmed, his frustration would get the better of him—and he would finally kill me, just like he kept telling the kids.

Within seconds of leaving the school I found myself gripping the steering wheel, and realized my head was pounding because my teeth were clenched together so tight. As I drove, I tried to convince myself Eddie had gone home. That he wasn’t somewhere waiting to confront me. Fear gripped my chest like a vise, and I wondered if I would be able to make it back to Shirley’s. The entire drive was a blur, but somehow I found myself parked outside her house, staring ahead yet seeing nothing. It took all the effort I could muster just to stand up and get out of the car, and once inside I headed straight for the telephone. Trudy agreed to see me that afternoon.

The steps to Trudy’s office never seemed so long, nor her door so welcoming. “You don’t look very well. Is everything all right?” As Trudy closed the door behind me, I heard the worry in her voice.

“I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.” I sank onto the couch, and began tracing the floral upholstery with my finger, finding it difficult to pull my gaze from the fabric.

“Would it help to talk about it?” she asked me softly.

“I don’t know.” I continued tracing the pattern until I could finally look at her. “He did it again.” All I heard was a flat, dull voice speaking of its own accord.

Trudy didn’t need to ask. She knew what I meant. “Eddie raped you again.”

I nodded, feeling the tears welling behind my eyes. I willed them to stop, but they continued until the room became blurry, and when they spilled over and down each cheek, I let them fall.

I want to cry. I want to get the pain out
.

“When?” Trudy asked me quietly.

“Monday after work.” I told her everything. “I just can’t stand it. I have absolutely no control over my own body. I have no say! I never have and I never will!”

The voice I recognized as my own grew louder and more passionate. I stared down at the carpet, noticing a dark circular stain there, and the way the legs of the coffee table sank down into the beige tufts, hiding its feet from view. I heard the warm afternoon breeze waft through an open window, where I watched it tug at the white curtain dancing gently in its path. I noticed everything except how I felt inside. But Trudy knew that, too.

“How are you feeling, Daleen?”

“I really don’t feel anything at all. Well, maybe angry and confused. Hopeless—like part of me is numb and another part is going crazy.”

“What are you going to do? You know it isn’t healthy to keep living like this. He’s raped you again, and he’ll probably keep on doing it.”

“I know. I’m leaving him.”

Trudy nodded her head as if in agreement. “Does Eddie know?”

“No, I just decided.” I realized that I had, in that instant, made up my mind. I had planned to leave three years ago, and I knew the time had come
. I would not stay around and let him rape me the rest of my life.

“I think that’s a good idea. And what then?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to take it one day at a time. I haven’t had time to think any further than that. I have a job, and I can get food stamps. I’ll have to get an attorney, but I’m sure we’ll get to stay in the house. I just don’t know what he’s going to say about it. He won’t be happy.”

“D
idn’t you say that Eddie wasn’t willing to get help for his behavior?”

“Yes. I’ve asked him a few times since we stopped coming here together if he would get help, but he either ignores me or says he doesn’t need it.”

“That means until he realizes he needs help, it’s up to you,” Trudy looked at me squarely. “I’m not saying you have to fix him. You know you can’t do that. That’s up to him. But until he gets help and makes the necessary changes, you’re going to have to take any action to protect yourself—and your children.”

I
nodded in agreement. Just then, a picture of a child in pain suddenly flashed before me. My hand flew to my mouth. “With everything else going on, I almost forgot. It happened last Friday, as we were leaving the theatre.” I went on, telling Trudy about the incident.

“It happened when Gabby began tugging at her father’s jacket. We were talking, but she was excited and wanted his attention. The next thing I knew Eddie’s arm came out and punched her in the stomach. It was over in seconds,” I said, vaguely aware of the scene inside my head playing all over again. Gabby bent over double, clutching her stomach, unable to breathe; me catching her before she fell to the ground, and seeing the fear and pain written all over her face.

“Are you all right? There, there. You’re fine. Just breathe. Come on Gabby, breathe! It’s all right. Mommy has you.” I was on my knees, oblivious to anything else as I held my frightened daughter, who was crying and gasping for breath. As soon as her chest began to heave, Gabby’s thumb—her ever-present security blanket—went right into her mouth, while she whimpered softly.

I glared at Eddie, who was yelling about the children misbehaving.

“What on earth did you do that for?” My voice could not have been more deadly.

“She’s always interrupting and I’m tired of it!”

“Does that mean you have to hit her in the stomach?” I held Gabby against me, stroking her hair. “For crying out loud, Eddie, she’s a child. She doesn’t have the patience you and I are supposed to have!”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course you didn’t,” I said sarcastically.

I turned toward the children. “Come on kids, we’re going home.” I was vaguely aware of people coming and going, and I didn’t want our little sideshow to continue. We walked to the car and when Eddie got inside, he began yelling about how he always gets blamed when something goes wrong.

“Well, if the shoe fits,” I told him. “You owe your daughter an apology.”

“For Pete’s sake, Daleen, she’s fine. I didn’t hurt her.” He said, his face set in stone.

I was incredulous that even he could be so callous. It wasn’t his wife he had struck, after all—it was his child. “Eddie, I saw what happened and there’s no excuse for it, short of an accident, which wasn’t the case. In any event, Gabby deserves an apology.” I wasn’t backing down.

Not this time
.

His eyes seemed to bore into mine, as he stared even harder at me. Then he swung the car door open and got out. “You can take the kids and just leave. I don’t even want to be in the same car with you all.” Eddie slammed the door and walked away.

Their tears began immediately, and the kids begged me to go after him. They were afraid something would happen to him. “Shhh, your dad’s just mad. Let’s give him a few minutes to cool down and then we’ll drive by and pick him up.”

“But Mommy, what if he gets hit?” Trista asked.

That would be a blessing for everyone.

“No one’s going to hit him,” I said dryly.

“How do you know?” she persisted.

Because some people are too mean to die.

“Because he’s smart enough to walk against the traffic, and he won’t walk near the road.”

It disturbed me at how defensive my children were to the very man who was so mean to them.

We passed Eddie and offered him a ride, but he refused. Remembering the same scenario from so many years ago, I drove off without asking him a second time. Back at home, I spent the evening consoling my children. As I tucked them into bed, I promised them their father would be all right. And sometime later that night, long after I was asleep, Eddie let himself in the front door, safe and sound.

When I finished giving Trudy the gory details, she sat there shaking her head in a dazed way. “It seems Eddie has a lot of anger toward his entire family. Yet, that’s no excuse for what he did. I think you’re doing the right thing. For you and your children.”

“Yes, but I’m afraid it may be harder on them, being without him. You know, I heard a saying once, about a bad mother being better than no mother at all. I wonder if the same thing applies to fathers.” I sighed, torn and unsure of myself. “But I don’t think so. I believe if a parent is bad enough, more damage occurs than if the parent was gone. I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?”

“You will, but the important thing is, you’re doing what you think is best for everyone involved. I can tell you’ve put a lot of thought into this already,” Trudy said.

“Yes, I have. At times I wonder how much blame I should accept, for keeping them in an unhealthy environment for so long. I know it’s been a bad influence. Why, Trista told me, ‘Mommy, I’m afraid Daddy’s going to kill you,’ after Eddie got so angry he told them he might kill me one day. Can you believe that? No, I’m making the right decision, I know it.”