On the Other Side (32 page)

“Since I've been back all I want to do is remember it. For the longest time I had to keep it all bottled up inside. Now I don't have to.”

“I'm glad we can all be here together,” said Karen.

“Me too,” Carmella added.

“Carmella, I do remember that time. Mrs. Cooper had already lost one son to violence a few short months earlier. However, when that phone rang and Daniel was on the other end I wasn't thinking about her pain. All I thought about was the fact that it wasn't my daughter on the other end of that line. I was so jealous of that woman. The fact that she had been spared losing another child meant nothing to me. I wanted
my
child to come home.”

“Mom, I feel horrible that I put you through that.”

“Baby girl, that's all water under the bridge. You did what you had to do. The important thing is you're here now.”

“I am. I feel like I owe it everyone who perished to be here. I still don't really know who saved me. What I do know is that whoever it was saved me twice. I can't truly thank him the way I would like to, so I'll have to remember all those who lived and died in an effort to save people like me.”

“Hey, ladies. I'm so glad you could make it.”

“Hey, Daniel,” Carmella responded.

“Mrs. Whitmore, my mom will be so happy to see you.”

“I can't wait to see her. It's been a long time.”

“Hello, Damita.”

“Hello, Daniel.”

Daniel kissed Damita on the cheek and lingered there for a while.

“It's so nice to see you,” he whispered in her ear.

“It's nice to see you, too,” Damita said, smiling.

As they separated, Daniel's mother was approaching.

“It's so nice to see us all together again. The last time we were all together, Damita and Daniel were not with us. Now they are. I say that makes this much more pleasant, even under the circumstance. That warrants praise. I would like to lead us in a prayer.”

Mrs. Cooper grabbed her son's hand and Damita's and everyone else followed suit. They all bowed their heads.

“Heavenly Father, we thank You for leading Damita and Daniel safely home. Blessed are You, loving Father, for all Your gifts to us. Blessed are You for giving us family and friends to be with us in times of joy and sorrow, to help us in days of need, and to rejoice with us in moments of celebration. Father, we praise You for Your Son Jesus, who knew the happiness of family and friends, and in the love of Your Holy Spirit. Blessed are You, Heavenly Father, forever and ever. Amen.”

After the group had prayed, Daniel led them all to the FDNY Memorial Wall. The fifty-six foot long, bronze wall was a tribute to the three hundred forty-three firefighters who lost their lives on nine-eleven. The wall displayed the names of every single active FDNY member who was killed in the collapse of the Towers.

It was important to Damita to read all the names. She felt it was important to offer her respect by recognizing every name that was displayed.

“Feel free to take it all in at your own pace. It's important to me that I acknowledge every name,” Daniel said.

Damita glanced at Daniel. They shared a knowing look and both smiled.

As their group examined the length of the wall, Carmella pointed out one name in particular.

“Hey, guys, look at this. Isn't this weird? Daniel, this guy has the same name as your brother, except it's in reverse. Instead of Brandon Cooper, this guy is Cooper (‘Coop') Daniel.”

Damita stood there, staring at the name, her mouth agape.

“Oh my God! Coop! I get it now. I finally get it. How could I not know? I sensed it in his spirit. I should have known. Who else would go to the end of the earth to save me?”

They all stood staring at Damita. They weren't sure what she was talking about.

“Daniel, Mom, Carmella, can't you all see? It was Brandon who saved me. It was Brandon.”

Damita touched her hand to the bronze wall; traced the letters in the name with the tip of her finger and said the words she hadn't had an opportunity to say.

“Goodbye, Brandon. I will
always
love you.”

A
fter several months of planning, the night had finally arrived. All of New York City's elite were in attendance and Damita hoped that would go a long way to raise not only awareness of domestic violence, but also to raise money to continue the fight against it. She made her way to the podium to introduce a very special guest; one she hadn't seen in three years.

“For the past three years I have done all that I can to educate the public about the devastating effects of domestic violence on
all
of our communities. Now, I stand before you asking that we all take up the fight together. Above and beyond the moral impact of domestic violence upon our society, there are also financial and legal components that impact us all, whether or not we are direct victims. Before I introduce my next guest, I would like to share with you some statistics concerning domestic violence.”

Damita glanced at a sheet of paper and began to read.

“According to the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, domestic violence is the third leading cause of homelessness among families. Here, in New York City, twenty-five percent of homeless heads of household became homeless due to domestic violence. In addition, domestic violence contributes to poor health for many survivors. For example, chronic conditions like heart disease can become more serious due to domestic violence. Also,
without help, boys who witness domestic violence are far more likely to become abusers of their partners and children as adults. Finally, domestic violence costs more than thirty-seven billion dollars a year in law enforcement involvement, legal work, medical and mental health treatment and lost productivity at work. So, anyone who believes that domestic violence is someone else's problem is kidding themselves.

“The person I am about to welcome to the stage understands all too well the long-standing impact of domestic violence. I'd like to introduce to you my sister and my friend, Sandra Jones.”

Sandra had been Constance to Damita for such a long time it felt foreign to call her anything other than that. However, the realization that the moment her friend was able to return to being Sandra Jones was the moment she was truly free, helped Damita to embrace her actual name.

She joined Damita on the podium and the two women embraced. As Damita left the stage, Sandra blew her a kiss.

“Thank you all for coming,” Sandra began.

“Before I tell you my story, there's one thing everyone here needs to be aware of. Domestic violence can happen to
anyone
, regardless of gender, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation or income—”

I
F YOU ENJOYED
“O
N
T
HE
O
THER
S
IDE,” WE ENCOURAGE YOU TO PICK UP ANOTHER OF
M
ICHELLE
J
ANINE
R
OBINSON'S TITLES.
E
NJOY THIS TASTE OF

B
Y
M
ICHELLE
J
ANINE
R
OBINSON
A
VAILABLE FROM
S
TREBOR
B
OOKS

P
ractically barricaded inside of her own home, Traci Bianco looked apprehensively past the thick curtains and blinds, meant to camouflage her existence, through the barred windows and over the town she once loved. She wondered if New York would ever be returned to its former glory. She was not optimistic.

The Nation's post-cataclysmic existence had at least spared her the most insidious of fates—for now, but only because of whom she had married long before the devastation reached full tilt. Eventually, even that would not be enough to spare her. Desperation was commonplace and the level of atrocities continued to mount with each passing day, leaving ordinary people desperate and searching for answers.

While her daughter, Caitlin, played quietly in her bedroom, Traci retrieved a metal lockbox from beneath a floorboard in her closet. Inside the box were small remnants of what remained from her former life. She carefully removed a newspaper, weathered by age. The November 5, 2008 headline read,
“RACIAL BARRIER FALLS IN DECISIVE VICTORY.”
Behind the iconic newspaper was another
New York Times,
dated November 7, 2012, which simply read,
“PRESIDENT'S NIGHT.”
Her fingers caressed the front page lovingly.

It was difficult to imagine that so much could have changed in less than fifteen years. It was 2025; fourteen years after the 9/11 tragedy of the Twin Towers terrorist attack and only ten years after The Empire State Building was toppled by an explosion. Thousands of lives had been lost as a result of both terrorist attacks and the media's coverage had been vast and dramatic. By sharp contrast, slavery in America had been mostly ignored for years, except for a few organizations that attempted to warn the public of the fate of the world if modern-day slavery continued to be ignored. Women and children were trafficked into the U.S. from other countries for years, and forced into prostitution, while men served as slave labor and were kept in poor health and squalid living conditions. However, it was Hurricane Molly in 2018 and The Stock Market Crash of 2020 that had sealed the country's fate.

Traci kept glancing at the doorway, nervously, careful not to draw the attention of her husband or her daughter. Even the black blinds and curtains didn't seem to be enough. At only four years old, Caitlin was still young enough that she didn't quite understand the world she was living in and the rules that were actively enforced, nor did she understand how drastically the world had changed in such a short period of time. Yet, even the young
were not protected from all awareness. Children like her daughter were dying every day, simply because of the color of their skin. Traci's husband, Bill, did, however, fully understand. He often cautioned Traci about her choices under the United States' current regime. Traci was angry and often dangerously willful; that is why she kept the lockbox and its contents, reminders of her former world. She was well aware of the fact that Bill could never know for many reasons, not the least of which was that his awareness of her
contraband
would mean that he was guilty of even more than marrying and concealing a black woman. His awareness of the items she was keeping would mean treason and he would therefore be subject to punishment by U.S. Law, including imprisonment or maybe even death. Despite the obvious strain placed on their marriage, she still loved Bill and she believed he loved her as well. And, even if neither of them loved one another enough to survive their current catastrophic state, she was sure that they
both
loved their daughter. Bill's survival was tantamount to any hopes for Caitlin's future safety.

“What you got there?”

“Nothing,” Traci lied.

“You and I both know that's not the truth. You realize what would happen if that was found?”

“Yeah, I know; the same thing that will happen if I'm found. Who would have thought that one day I'd be a prisoner in my own home? I can't leave and I can't stay. Ironic, isn't it.”

“It's only temporary. I'm making plans. We're going to get out. We're going to get out together.”

Traci understood exactly what that meant. For months Bill had tried everything he could to get passports for Traci and Caitlin. When he realized that might not work, even if he did secure a
passport, he realized he would have to find a way to escape from the U.S. with or without a passport. The question Traci kept asking him was where? The U.S. had not been the only country affected. For quite some time they believed the only alternative they had was to somehow make it to Germany, where her brother and sister-in-law were. Unfortunately, over time it had become apparent that even Germany was a dangerous gamble.

Bill observed the forlorn look on Traci's face and searched for the words to fill her with some small remnant of hope. “There has to be somewhere we can go. The entire world can't be affected by this madness. There's always been some other place, some small corner of the world to go to, even in light of the greatest despair.”

The frightening and intrusive presence of what sounded like a battering ram pounding against their front door signaled the realization that, for Traci and Bill Bianco, time had run out.

“Hey, bro, did you vote?”

“Hell yeah, I voted! I hope everybody else got out there and cast theirs. You know how we do. Most of us talk a mean game, but when it comes to really showing out and making our voices heard, we leave it up to the next man.”

Traci rolled her eyes.

“I saw that,” Darren said.

“What?”

“You know what; that sister-girl eye roll thing you do. You've been doing it since we were kids. I can see it as clearly as if you were standing right here in front of me, even while I'm talking to you on the phone.”