Walking Down Another Street

I heard the door shut.  Deep breath.  I heard him rev the engine.  It was a little truck; revving the engine didn’t  make it a freaking sports car.  The sound of the engine faded as he drove away.  Another deep breath.  I stayed in bed for a few minutes more waiting to see if he had really gone.   It was 8:15am; time to get dressed and do this.  It should be safe now.

I got a dog treat from the kitchen and led him out to the pen area. I need to keep him outside while I did this.   He was a bitter.  It’s interesting that I had an aggressive, controlling dog and husband.   I wondered how I had missed all the signs before we got married.  I don’t know if I missed them or ignored them.

I looked around the trailer to make sure I’m wasn’t forgetting anything.  I hated that trailer.  To say it was small would be an injustice to the word.  It was even too small to call it a mobile home.  I have been in campers that were bigger.  There was a kitchen on one end with dingy flowered wallpaper reminiscent of the something from the 1950’s.   On the other end was the bedroom. It had old brown fake wood paneling.   Two people couldn’t walk down the short hallway at the same time.  Next to the bedroom was a bathroom the size of a closet.  Another small walk-in closet sized room claimed to be a second bedroom. 

It was in a small trailer park in a part of Reno known for drugs and crime. The trailer itself was time-worn and battered.   We had no phone and cell phones were not part of everyday life. We had cable even though the cable company had cut it off.  Some sort of splitter box and some creative connections stolen from someone else provided us with TV.   The electric company would out in the next few days to turn that off as well.

I thought back to our three-bedroom home just outside of town.  We had been evicted only three months before.  Mister found this trailer with only one day left before we were forced to go to a hotel.  It was the second home we had lost. We put most of the belonging in a rented storage facility.  Two months later, he sold everything he could, threw away the rest, and let the unit go.    Mister’s* gambling took everything from us

*When I write about my ex-husband, I give him the name Mister.  It is from the character in The Color Purple. 

Just two days before I left, Mister came home late.  I knew exactly what that meant.  He walked in with a bag from the grocery store.  He slammed the door as he walked in.  I knew better than to say anything.  The bag contained dog food and two steaks.  He told me it was all he could afford at the store because he had lost the rest of his pay at the casino.

I finally made the decision to leave after talking to a woman in an abusive marriage on the local Hotline.  I had volunteered there for several months and had talked to other victims, but this one really hit home.  I knew it was time.  I had thought about leaving, but I was afraid.  Abusive relationships take a toll on your self-esteem, confidence, and power.   I took a break after the call and went into the office in the back and called my friend, Jan. She had encouraged me to leave for months.   I told her it was time.

We worked out a plan.  It would be six weeks before I could go.  I would have to hide money and not pay some bills.  I had a follow-up visit with my doctor after the surgery on my hand and needed to keep that appointment while I had insurance.  I was not to tell anyone in Reno except my Mother. She knew what had gone on and was willing to help me leave. I couldn’t tell my closest friends.  It wasn’t safe for them or me.   I couldn’t tell my employer I was leaving.  For the first time in my life, I was going to quit a job without notice.  My mother would call them after I was gone.

My daughter had already moved back to my hometown in Charleston, SC.  She was expecting her baby in May.   I called and told her what was going on.  I would live with her and her fiancé when I returned.  I called my sister in Chicago.  She was to be my cover.  They knew they couldn’t share this information with anyone.   Jan sent me her cell phone for trip.  She and our friend Donna sent an AAA membership and some other items.  They wanted to be sure that I was safe on this 2700-mile journey.

I heard my mother’s car pull up in the driveway.  This was it. She had asked a friend to go to the coffee shop across from Mister’s job.  He was to call her if Mister’s truck left the parking lot.  I had organized things so I would know what to grab.  We stacked as much as possible into the small hatchback area and back seats of my car.  We loaded the floorboards in the front and back.  When we had used every spare inch of my car, we loaded her car with the rest.

I left a carefully prepared note on the TV screen for Mister.  I told him why I was leaving him.  I had created an elaborate story about my driving route and destination.  I told him I was going to live with my sister in Chicago.  I would be traveling the northern route across country.  If he needed to contact me, he would have to do it by mail to her address.   I had prepared a note for my mother as well.  She was going to wait until mid afternoon to drive to his place of work and demand to know what was going on.   She would show him her note.  He would believe I had betrayed her as well as him and she would be safe.

It was 10:00 am and I was on the road.  I kept driving faster and faster.  I watched my rear view mirror panicking if I saw a small black truck.  My first destination was eight hours away in Las Vegas.  It was a great place to hide and I felt I would be safe there for the night.  I found a small hotel outside of the city.  I was emotionally and physically exhausted.

I started early the next morning for Albuquerque, NM.  I tried to drive between 500 and 600 miles a day.  I had driven a few hours when I unexpectedly began to cry.  I tried to fight the tears but they kept coming.  I couldn’t breathe.  I pulled off at a rest area and tried to call Jan.  She  didn’t answer.  I realized she would be seeing clients that time of day.  I tried to call my sister and my daughter without any luck.   I was going to have to deal with this on my own.  I used the breathing techniques and other things I had learned to center myself.  I told God it seemed like it was just us together for the moment.  I hoped God hadn’t given up on me.   A strange sense of peace came over me.  I didn’t know how but I knew it was going to be OK.  I was going to make it.

I made that trip fifteen years ago this week. I look back at that time in my life with such gratitude for the people who supported me.  I am grateful for the lessons I learned.  It sounds cliché but I believe everything in my life has led me to the person I am today.  In spite of everything that has happened in my life, I believe that healing can happen and we can be happy.

A friend shared this poem with me twenty-five years ago and it is something I pull out from time to time to remind me where I am on this journey.  I hope that today I “walk down another street.”

Autobiography In Five Short Chapters by Portia Nelson

I

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk

I fall in.

I am lost … I am helpless.

It isn’t my fault.

It takes me forever to find a way out.

II

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend I don’t see it.

I fall in again.

I can’t believe I am in the same place

but, it isn’t my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out.

III

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it is there.

I still fall in … it’s a habit.

my eyes are open

I know where I am.

It is my fault.

I get out immediately.

IV

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

V

I walk down another street.