Spilled Milk: Based on a true story (29 page)

The more I
worked, the more I felt uneasy about it. The last night I worked there was when
a Latino male insisted I meet him after the club closed for breakfast. He
wouldn’t leave, or take no for an answer, and the bouncers had to man handle
him out the front doors.

“I just can’t
do it anymore. I cry every night before I go in. I’m just sitting there
thinking, I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“So then why do
you?” Midge called once a month to check in. I had sent her copies of the
newspaper clippings when the trial was over. She sent me a card with a
heartfelt message inside, telling me I was her hero.

“Everything is
just so messed up. I had this idea in my head that once the trial was over
things would go back to normal.”

“Which is…”

“Exactly, no
one in my family knows because I’m the only one who ever bothered to go to
counseling. They all went to a few sessions because the court basically made
them, but once the trial ended they wanted nothing to do with it.”

“Does that
surprise you?”

“Kinda. I mean,
once I knew that our lives weren’t
normal
I couldn’t wait to change it,
get healthy, you know? Jason and I don’t raise our voices to each other, we
never argue or get hostile, because it’s not something I’ll ever allow in my
life again.”

“And they do?”
Midge asked.

“Yea. They
scream at each other, at me, at themselves. They all seem miserable but yet no
one does anything about it. My mom will call me crying about money, or
something Kat did, or something Ethan did and she wants
me
to talk to
them. Last time I checked I wasn’t their mother.”

“Maybe not
literally, no. But you protected them, they come to you for advice, they cry to
you, ask you for help. They don’t go to her, they go to you and maybe she knows
that.”

“They trust
me.”

Nothing fell
into place like it was supposed to. There was still so much anger, but it was
being channeled in the wrong ways. Anytime I brought up counseling I was told
it didn’t work, or they didn’t have time. There was always an excuse.

“I don’t know
Midge, I feel like I’m going crazy. My mom seems so different, like I don’t
even know her anymore.”

“Lemme ask you
somethin’. You’s standing in the middle of a field and it’s rainin’ and there’s
a tornado, twirling, cyclone of a tornado, and a rain shower. Which one of
those things you gonna notice first?”

“The tornado,”
I said

“Why?”

“I don’t know,
it’s scarier. It can hurt you.”

“Now let’s
assume that tornado goes away. Now what’re you gonna notice?”

“The rain.”

“Why?”

“Cause I’d
probably be getting wet. Or cold. And it’s all that’s left.”

“You had
somethin’ in your life so powerful, so frightening it took your full attention.
It was more threatening, could hurt you worse. Now that the tornado’s gone
away, your focus shifts, see? The rain was there all along, you just didn’t
notice it till now.”

“So you think everyone
was probably always this way, I just didn’t see it until he was out of the
picture?”

“You were in
survival mode, Brooke. You did what you did to survive. You cleaned your mama’s
house, you looked after them children like they was your own cause she was too
high to be bothered herself. She used you, honey, because she could. Now that
you got rid of her means of living, she’s got a whole lot of responsibility
that’s new to her. That manipulation, that selfishness, it was there all along
child, you just had bigger things to worry about and she never had to use it
before.”

What she was
saying made sense. When I was younger and my brothers and I would have to give
Mom all the money we would get from holidays and birthdays and she would put it
in the special savings accounts she had for us. We did this for years and
sometimes Adam and I would talk about the things we would buy when we got
older.

When I got to
the age I wanted to start using it, she told me there
was
no savings,
that she had four kids to raise at the time and that I should be thankful we
had a roof over our heads. We had been tricked into giving her our money for
safe keeping from the time we were six years old.

“Thanks Midge,”
I said.

“You’re welcome,
sweetheart. Just remember though,” she said as her voice lowered, “Those rains,
they can turn into floods.”

Halfway through
my sophomore year of college I realized that a degree in medicine was out of
reach both in time and money. Jason and I struggled to keep our utilities on
and food in our cabinets. A few times we cuddled closer under piles of blankets
when the oil tank was drained and we became creative in making up dinners out
of the remnants of our fridge.

I had to
graduate quickly so I could start working full time and stop playing Russian
Roulette with what bills to pay. After the first day of taking a developmental
psychology course as a prerequisite, I marched down to the registrar’s office
to switch majors. It was a wildly interesting field and exceptionally easy to
load up on courses and graduate fast.

“They say that
there is an unknown factor that gives some people a resilient personality,” Dr.
Russ said in class. “You can have four people go through something
exceptionally traumatic, and one of those people will have a higher resiliency
to coping. They won’t turn to drugs or rebellion, they’ll seek the positive in
any given situation. Now the interesting thing is the argument whether
resiliency is nature or nurture. Are we born with it, or is it taught to us?”

I hung on his
every word, half expecting Midge to bound through the door and tell me she had
told my professor my life story. He rattled on. “These children usually have
strong mentors from a young age they can build their strength on, they have
some kind of talent or outlet they use to channel their frustrations or stress,
and they’re intelligent.” He tapped the side of his brain. “Scientists and
psychologists have been studying the phenomena. Just what makes one child so
susceptible to crumbling under situations another one simply rises above?”

The nightmares
became more bearable as I learned to explain them to Jason. I was also getting
better at identifying what triggered me to have flashbacks or memories of Earl.
Most of the time, a lot of the time, it was the people I surrounded myself by
that reminded me of a life I wanted to forget. Those people trickled out of our
lives.

The nightmares
came in waves. Jason would shake me from my sleep as I clawed at him drenched
in sweat. Other times I would mumble, or scream, or hysterically cry until I
woke myself up. When I
would
have those rare nights of deep
uninterrupted slumber, Jason would get anxious and wake me up just to make sure
I was still breathing.

“You got
permission to take twenty four credits a semester?” Jason raised an eyebrow.
“You’re also starting an internship and you work. Are you trying to get away?
Is it me?” He lifted up his arm. “I must smell.”

“Nooo. Full
time is twelve credits, so I mean, I’m only doubling the recommended course
load. Besides, psychology isn’t exactly hard it’s just time consuming. A lot of
papers. Very interesting though.”

“You seem happy
about it.”

“I
am
happy about it.”

I interned at a
facility called Children’s Hope and Promise, or CHAP. It was an alternative
school and boarding facility for children who had severe emotional disturbances
and behavioral issues.

They paid me
for the length of my internship, which was unheard of, and they even offered me
a job for when I graduated. Tackling my piled down course load allowed me to
graduate an entire semester early, which was perfect timing, because Jason and
I found out I was pregnant.

When I had the
miscarriage, it was two days before graduation. The picture of the pregnancy
test we had taken nine weeks earlier was still the background picture on my
phone. We told most of our family at that point, and our closest friends.
“Looks like I’m the one getting a graduation present,” Jason had teased. He
kissed my belly and told me that as soon as I graduated, we would start
planning a wedding.

I literally
peed every two hours in those first few weeks. So when Jason woke me up in the
middle of the night thinking I had wet the bed, he was not expecting what he
found. When he turned on the light and saw I was soaked in blood, he carried me
down the stairs and floored it to the hospital. No ambulance would have
traveled faster than he did that night.

I didn’t
remember much from graduation, I wasn’t even going to go. After getting the
okay from the doctor, Jason insisted. “You’ve worked too hard, and sacrificed
too much to not go. You owe it to yourself.”

So I walked
with my graduating class. Painfully, slowly. No one there would have skipped a
beat looking at my graduation pictures. I smiled and went through the motions,
shook hands with my professors and then disappeared into a cloud of mourning
for the next two months. With no classes, and since I didn’t technically accept
the job offer from CHAP, I had ample time to sit around and think.

So that’s
exactly what I did.

After gaining
fifteen pounds and wearing out my bathrobe to the stitching, I called around
and applied to a job in the town where my mom lived. Jason was ecstatic we were
moving back. I just needed a change. I needed to get out of that apartment and
start over.

So we did.

I pulled up to
the familiar house with the white sign on the front lawn and put the car in
park. Taking my time I gathered my things and headed inside. The same ceiling
high posters still littered the walls, it still smelled the same. There was a
receptionist I didn’t recognize sitting behind the counter in the lobby. “Hi
there, can I help you?”

I smoothed my
suit jacket and nodded. “I’m Brooke Nolan, I have an interview with Anne for
the Community Advocate position.”

“Oh very good,
I’ll let her know you’re here. Have a seat.” She pointed into the waiting room
and picked up the phone.

I sat in the
same chair I did almost eight years ago. A jumbled up puzzle and some coloring
books were scattered on the floor. I wondered how many children have passed
through that waiting room. How many children told? How many of them went on to
lead prosperous and fulfilling lives despite what happened to them?

A woman with
glimmering dental work rounded the corner and stuck out her hand. “Brooke? I’m
Anne, so glad you’re here. Come, follow me back to my office.”

I tailed behind
her, catching a glimpse of her pin striped suit and stocky pumps. Her silver
hair was pinned in a bun at the top of her head and she smoothed a wrinkle
across her forehead as she sat down. “Whew, I am swamped. Sorry for the wait.
So you’re
thee
Brooke Nolan huh?”

I laughed.
“Well I guess it depends on what you’ve heard.”

“Nothing but
great things, don’t you worry.” She stirred a spoon into the sides of a cup on
her desk. “Midge certainly had nothing but great things to say about you.”

I blushed.
“Good to know.”

“So there are
quite a few people applying for this position. You understand what a Community
Advocate is?”

“Yea, someone
who educates the public about domestic and sexual violence through community
events. I would be mainly targeting youth right?”

“Yea, you got
it. We really want to push towards a more modern approach for getting youth’s
attention. They’re into the technologies and computers and honestly I don’t
know much about it.” Anne raised her eyebrows. “Old lady like me needs to know
when to take a step back and let the younger generation step up.”

“Yea, we can be
complicated.”

“I have over
fifty applicants.” She patted a stack of papers next to her. “Why you? Why are
you the best for the job?”

When I applied
to the job ad Midge sent me for the Women in Crisis center it stated that
personal experience was respected. I knew Midge had probably filled Anne in on
the majority of what my life was like, and if she didn’t, all Anne had to do
was pull my file from when I was a child receiving services there with Midge as
my counselor.

“I think it
takes a certain personality talk about topics like domestic violence and sexual
assault in the limelight. I’ve been there, I’ve seen it firsthand. But I’ve
also grown from it, came out above it I guess you could say.”

“Yes, it is
important, the way we overcome,” Anne said, scribbling on a pad in front of
her.

“I don’t want
to educate youth after the fact. I want to exemplify an understanding in our
community about these topics from as young an age as possible. I want to teach
prevention, so they know the signs and what to do about it before it affects
their lives. They need to know their options.”

“I see.” She
put her pen down. “So as a victim, you think you have what it takes to get into
these kids heads?”

I smiled. “No
ma’m, as a survivor I have what it takes.”

***

Gina met me
after my interview so we could catch up. “I’m so glad you moved back, we can do
tea now, I can see you more.”

“I know. I hope
I get this job though.”

“You’ll get it.
They’d be crazy not to hire you. That your phone?”

“Yea, one
second,” I said. The number didn’t register a name on my cell phone.

“Brooke? This
is Anne. Have a second?”

“Oh sure, sure.
Go ahead.” Gina squinted her eyes at me.

“Well, it
didn’t take much deliberation, and we’d like to have you join our team as
Community Advocate, if you’ll take us.”

I gasped. “No
kidding. It’s only been a little over an hour.”