I Ain't Me No More (14 page)

“God help us,” I said out loud with my hand on the car handle, prepared to get out of the car. I had already sat there for at least fifteen minutes with the car running before I finally decided that it was time to pull the handle and open the door. I turned off the ignition, prepared to make a quick exit, snatch Baby D up from the backseat, and make a run for the door. I pulled the door handle, but before I could even push the car door open, I saw him. Dub was heading down the street on foot, at full speed, as if he couldn't wait to get ahold of me. He was huffing and puffing, almost salivating, like a rabid dog on its way to devouring a pile of raw roast beef.

I immediately released the handle and pulled the car door closed tight. I locked my door and made sure all the other doors were locked as well. Dub approached the car so quickly that I thought he was going to jump right through the window. The first thing he did was go for the car door and try to yank it open so that he could snatch me out of the car.

“Get out of the car, Helen!” Dub screamed. “Get out of the car.”

“No, Dub. Go on somewhere.” I tried to sound unmoved by his tirade.

“Open the door.” He pounded on the roof of the car, startling Baby D, but not waking him. Baby D was a very hard sleeper. Dub peered down into the darkness at me through the window. “I swear to God, if you don't get out of this car right now.” He balled his fists so tight, I swore I saw blood dripping from the palms of his hands, where his nails were digging into his own flesh.

I knew that if I got out of that car, I would endure so much pain that I probably wouldn't even survive. That was when I did it; I put the key back into the ignition and started the car, determining that the strip mall parking lot was safer, after all.

Before putting the car in reverse to back out, I looked up at Dub to make sure that he wasn't in the way, that I wouldn't run over him. Imagine that. Something in me cared whether or not his life ended at the hands of my two-ton vehicle. And when I looked up at him, from the look he gave me, I knew what was coming next.

My mind instructed me to close my eyes and to put my arms up to shield my face, but everything happened so fast . . . too fast. The next thing I saw was Dub's foot coming through the window and smashing me in the face, pressing in all the flying glass right along with the sole of his shoe.

“Arrrggh! Ugghhh!” I yelped. My eyes were now closed, but inside them were shattered glass particles.

Dub immediately began to apologize. “Oh God! Baby, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!”

Hard sleeper or not, there was no way Baby D could sleep through that. He woke up, and I could hear him yelling for me.

I placed my hands over my closed eyes and just cried out in fear. “I can't see! Help me! Help me!” I just knew the last thing I'd ever see was Dub's face, his foot coming toward me. I knew there was no way I'd ever see again, especially since it meant I had to open my eyes. I couldn't open them. They hurt too badly.

“Let me see. Move your hands,” Dub ordered. I could feel him trying to remove my hands from over my eyes.

I pulled back from him. I didn't want him touching me. I didn't want anyone touching my eyes. I could hear the car door open. “We gotta get you to the hospital. Get out.”

He pulled me out by my elbow, and I could hear all the glass that was in my lap fall to the ground.

Dub led me around to the passenger side. I hated having to trust him to lead me anywhere, but I felt helpless. I heard him open the car door, and he gave me a slight shove so I'd get in. He closed the door and then ran around to the other side. I could feel the car backing out and then, a few minutes later, going full speed down the road.

I was crying the entire time. My eyes were so painful, and I was so afraid. So many things flashed across my mind. Things like, would I ever get to see my son's face again? If not, with time would I forget what his face even looked like? Perhaps that was exactly what I deserved. Perhaps I didn't deserve to see his little face again. Maybe I was being punished for how badly I'd treated him in the past.

God, if you just let my eyes be okay, if you just let me see my son again, I promise I'll never be mean to my baby boy for as long as I live,
I prayed silently as Dub drove me to the hospital. I could feel the chilly night air traveling through the car from the driver's side. I didn't need anything else to send chills running through my body, but it wasn't like we could roll the window up.

What felt like only five minutes went by before Dub said, “We're here.” He put the car in park and then got out. “Come on, Baby D,” he said before walking around to let me out of the car.

I had no idea what hospital we were at. I couldn't recall one that was such a short distance away, but then again, Dub had probably gone way over the speed limit. He had probably even run a few red lights, for all I knew.

“She's got glass in her eyes!” Dub shouted the minute I heard the automatic sliding doors of the emergency room open up. There was complete darkness, but I could feel people staring. “She needs help fast!”

“What happened? How did she get glass in her eyes?” I heard a voice ask. I presumed it belonged to the desk nurse. “Uh, we were, uh . . .” Dub stammered.

All the while I was thinking,
Is he going to tell them? Is he going to tell them that he's the one who did this to me?
I waited in anticipation to see what Dub would say. I knew that if he told the hospital the truth, they would have to call the police. They would arrest Dub and take him away forever. Everything might just work out for my good, after all. I might have to go blind in the process, but my choice wasn't that difficult: a life of blindness or a life with Dub? I instantly chose blindness.

“We were driving,” Dub continued. I could hear what sounded like him shifting Baby D from one of his hips to the other. “And . . . and . . . the next thing we knew, someone threw a brick or something at the window, and
bam,
the glass shattered everywhere, right in her eyes.”

“Oh, God!” the woman exclaimed. Next, I felt a set of soft, cold hands grab hold of my elbow, the one Dub hadn't been holding, and begin leading me.

There was no registration desk where one had to sit down and be asked a million and one questions. I was immediately led to an examination room. I could hear scurrying around me after I was seated in a chair. I could hear others entering the room and the nurse relaying my situation to them.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Baby D asked, but before I could answer him, I heard a male voice.

“Hi, Helen. I'm Dr. Rosenthawl. What we are going to do right now is flush your eyes out. Now you're going to feel fluid, lots of fluid, but it's only water. Can you open your eyes at all?” he asked me.

I shook my head.

“Can you try?”

My tears and murmurs increased at just the thought of attempting to open my eyes.

“Okay, then, calm down. I'm going to have the nurse hold your eyes open one at a time while I flush.”

After that I heard something being rolled in front of me, and then soft, cold hands found their way to each side of my face. The hands slowly tilted my head until it was resting comfortably on some type of cushion. The next thing I heard was running water, and then, all of a sudden, it was like I was a swimmer floating peacefully in the ocean with my eyes closed, only to open them and see a large wave coming at me. That was exactly what it felt like when my eyelids were pulled open and an endless gush of water poured into my eye. Then the other was done.

I started gasping, as if I was underwater. It was all psychological, though. My eyes saw gushes of water rushing toward me, immediately signaling my brain to fight to breathe. It was one of the scariest moments of my life. One I'd never forget.

Once the doctor, with the nurse's assistance, flushed both my eyes, he examined them and assured me that everything would be okay. One of the particles of glass had bruised my eyeball, causing a permanent brown mark on my eye. But the doctor said that my vision would not be affected.

“Now, how did you say this happened?” the doctor said once he'd done his duty. Now it was time for him to investigate the situation, to see if he was obligated to act in any other manner; like reporting the incident to the police.

“Uh, I, uh . . . ,” I stammered. I looked up at the doctor, and then I looked over at Dub.

Dub's eyes were pleading with me. He was pleading with me not to tell that doctor the truth
.
“I promise that if you don't report this, I'll never hit you again. I'll never hurt you again. If you tell them the truth, I'll go to jail. Don't put me in jail.” Although he spoke not a single word, his eyes said it all.

The look on Dub's face was so serious, so sincere. But I'd heard it all before. So many similar promises made by Dub had gone unkept. So many times he had promised not to ever put his hands on me again, promises that might have lasted a month or two at the most.

I looked away, thought for a moment, and then turned to Dub one last time. This time I was able to read between the lines of the expression on his face. “And if you don't lie, I promise you that I will hunt you down one day and kill you!”

Now, that promise I believed.

I allowed my attention to go back to the doctor. I took a deep breath and told him exactly what Dub had told the nurse when we had arrived at the hospital. “We were driving, and the next thing we knew, someone threw a brick or something at the window, and
bam,
the glass shattered everywhere, right into my eyes,” I lied.

There was a gust of wind as Dub exhaled. His shoulders fell as he relaxed.

His actions were so obvious, though, that even the doctor took notice, which prompted him to continue to drill me. “So what street were you driving down?”

I paused. I was prepared to tell only one lie.

Realizing that I was unequipped to make this charade believable, Dub answered for me. “Cleveland Avenue,” he said confidently. “We were driving down Cleveland Avenue.”

The doctor looked at me for confirmation. I said nothing. It had been hard enough telling the one lie. I couldn't part my lips to tell another, so I just gave the doctor a look, as if to say, “Yeah, what he said.”

“Did you get a look at the person who threw the brick?” The doctor was still looking at me.

I simply shook my head.

“It was too dark,” Dub added for effect.

“Well, where is the brick?” The doctor was now looking at Dub, since he seemed to be the voice for me.

Now Dub was stuck. Looked like he hadn't been prepared to take the lie that far, either. I guess he never figured this white, upper-class doctor would give a darn about a girl from the hood. But he was wrong.

“It must have just fallen onto the ground.” Dub shrugged.

“Hmmm.” The doctor's tone was laced with disbelief, but based on the information we were telling him, his hands were tied. I could tell he didn't believe my story. I could tell he could see right through Dub. I could tell that he could tell I was scared, as he leaned in close to me and, with a very serious expression, asked, “Are you sure if I report this to the police, you couldn't identify the person who did this to you?”

So there it was. Another door of escape was opening, which I just refused to walk through. I was so paralyzed with thoughts of what Dub would do to me if I told the truth. I pictured him locating a scalpel and cutting my throat while we waited for the police to arrive. I pictured him doing the same to the doctor for interfering. I looked down at the doctor's hand while I bit my bottom lip out of nervousness, noticing his wedding band. Why should his wife have to live without a husband or, if he had children, his children without a father all because of me? I couldn't have his blood on my hands. I just couldn't.

“I'm sure,” I told the doctor, fighting off the tears in my eyes. Tears of anger. I was angry at myself. If only I'd known then the scripture Psalms 27:1. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” If only I'd known then that God had not given His children the spirit of fear, I would have stood up and declared my freedom. Instead, I chose to walk out of the hospital that night still a scared prisoner.

About four days later, while I was standing in the mirror, looking at my bruised pupil, the entire incident played back in my mind. I saw Dub's foot coming at me, the glass shattering, the glass in my eyes. I felt the pain all over again. The next thing I knew, I was downtown, on the seventh floor of the courthouse, in the prosecutor's office, pressing charges against Dub.

There was just something about staring at myself in the mirror that day that angered me to the point where I wanted Dub to pay for what he'd done—this time and all the other times.

Dub was picked up that very same day I reported the incident, due to my story being corroborated by the hospital. He called me collect and let me know all the gruesome and horrible things he'd do to me if I didn't get him out of there. The things he said he'd do to me if I didn't bail him out of jail and then drop the charges, I'd never seen done in horror movies.

Scared to death that he would see all his threats through, shortly after that call, I made it my mission to get Dub out of jail. I withdrew from the bank all the money I had left from my student financial aid after paying my tuition. I hadn't purchased my books and school supplies yet, but I couldn't worry about that. I flipped through the pages of the phone book until I found a bail bondsman to get Dub out of jail.

Needless to say, after getting Dub out of jail, I didn't show up in court, either.