Emanon’s Journey

The plane ride to Boston seemed to take so much longer than the promised hour. It was crowded, no spare seats. I had my very unhappy, squirmy year and a half old baby tucked against my five and a half month pregnant belly … trying to rock her back to sleep. An odor and a warmth made my heart sink … I realized that she soiled herself, and from the feeling of her little bottom, we had quite a mess to take care of.

A very kind lady who had been watching from across the aisle got up, and offered to let me change Dena on her seat. She and her husband both got up to allow me to lay the baby across both seats, and change her. I was so grateful that I could feel the tears beginning to fill my eyes. I lay Dena on a little baby blanket, and removed her clothes … and was horrified when I realized that she had the runs … very badly. She was feverish, cranky … and apparently had a reason to be. I cleaned up as best as I could, and expressed my gratitude to the couple who had been so kind to allow me to use their seats.

My brother was waiting for me at the airport, a concerned look marred his otherwise handsome features. Seeing him was a physical relief. I was home! Home among people who knew me, who loved me - people who would never abuse me. Why - why - why had I ever left?

As we drove home, we discussed our plan of action. I couldn’t stay with them in Berwick, or go to my parents in Lewiston … since those would be the first places Dale would look for me. Where could I go …

I thought of two places … California, to stay with a friend in Victorville, or perhaps Rhode Island, where an ex-nun I had been friends with since my adolescence was living. It would be hard to get me to California, but RI would work out fine. Paul and I decided that I would try Claire in Rhode Island first.

When we got to the house, Pattie so happy to finally see Dena, and I was so happy to finally see Pattie! The “big sister” I’d never had! I remembered nearly a decade before … when Paul had first shown up with Pattie. Petite, short haired, slim … down to earth … nothing like the cookie cutter blonds he had been bringing home for us to meet up until then. The minute we saw her, we knew that this was the woman he was going to marry. She was nothing like the others. Paul - had gotten serious.

I was never able to tell her how much I admired her … how I looked up to her. Seeing Paul, seeing Pattie … I knew things were going to be OK.

A call to Claire in Woonsocket sealed the deal … I was on my way.

Paul and Pattie put Dena and I on a Greyhound bus headed south. I was going into hiding. I had no idea what sort of life waited for me, but it turned out to be like nothing I had ever expected.

Claire picked me up at the bus station. I hadn’t seen her in years. She was serious - far more serious than I remembered. I wondered what had happened to make her so … sad.

She put us into a small bedroom in her apartment in the middle of town. She explained how her brother lived upstairs - and owned the building. I could tell there was something she wanted to say to me … and I could feel myself become more and more tense as she stood in the door of the little room, watching me unpack. Unspoken words seemed to fall between us like yesterday’s leftover and unsettled argument.

After I had unpacked what little we had brought with us, Claire led me into the living room, and turned on the television. That feeling of “something left unsaid” increased until I became so uncomfortable, that I lied and told her that I was exhausted, and had to go to bed. Anything to make the discomfort go away.

“Wait! Before you go to sleep … you need to know something.”

… ahh … here it comes …

“A friend of mine called me just after I talked to you. She needs a place to stay.”

… I see …

“I found you an apartment in the building right next door … ”

… quite clearly …

My understanding of what it was like to be forced to accept the charity of friends jumped up a notch. I realized - not for the first time - that I wasn’t the only one who was uncomfortable. People around me were as uncomfortable as I was. I was not only living a nightmare, I was bringing it into other people’s lives.

Not only would I not be able to stay with Claire, but for some reason which I only fathomed when my inexcusable innocence finally wore thin …. although she was an RN, should not be able to be my Lamaze coach when I gave birth to my baby. Her “friend” did not approve.

Say what … ?

Perhaps things were not going to be “OK” after all …

Over the next few days, Deneen and I had time to settle down, and begin to get used to being where we were. Not such a great thing, since we wouldn’t be staying long. The intense diarrhea which started on the plane continued. Claire arranged for us to see a pediatrician, and we were told that if it didn’t stop, Deneen would need to be hospitalized.

My immediate reaction was to take Deneen and run away with her. Nothing - no one - was going to get between she and I again … not Dale … not a doctor - no one. Even while I recognized that there was a serious problem with my thought processes, I also realized that I was not going to be able to “get on top of it” easily. I tried to push the crazy ideas which came unbidden into my mind out of my way … I was not going to run away in the middle of the night with my sick baby …

The week or so before moving into the apartment next door was long, and difficult. Claire was at the hospital working most of the time, and had forbidden me to do any housework. Claire’s sistern-in-law, Sue, came downstairs to visit me occasionally, and we slowly developed a warm, wonderful friendship. I came to appreciate the fact that if there was anyone in the entire state of Rhode Island I could depend on, it was Sue.

For the first time since I had lost Deneen - and gotten her back, I had time alone to think. I couldn’t believe that I had actually left Dale. I was alone - with a baby, and another on the way. I had no skills, since I hadn’t finished nursing school … and that, my friends, is another story that might be worth telling at some time. I was in someone else’s home - unwelcome. The immensity of what had happened - and what I’d done - began to impact me.

One afternoon, I had finally gotten Dena to take a rare nap, and I sat in the living room, exhausted - although I’m sure it was more of an emotional exhaustion than a physical one. I remember that the blinds were drawn, and the sunlight filtered in through the cracks … the dust motes danced in the diffuse light as it made its way down to the carpet, ending there in horizontal stripes of warmth. I let my mind numb out … not think … not feel … and so, I was not prepared for the song that began to play on Claire’s radio, one I’d never heard before that moment:

The realizations rushed in … I would never see Dale again, my babies would grow up without their Daddy. I was alone with the overwhelming responsibility of two children. How would I raise them? What would I tell them? And how was I ever going to go from day to day without Dale? Yes, he abused me. Yes, he beat me … called me names … starved me and my baby … secluded us from the rest of the world with his insane jealousy … but he was the still the man I had fallen in love with, still the man who had fathered my two babies, and still the man that I had so many good, warm moments with. Those are what keep a person hanging on - the memory of reciprocated love. Gone. All of it gone. I cried until I couldn’t breathe anymore.

The next few months were a blur. I used to lay awake at night, listening for footsteps that I wanted so badly to hear again, but knew that it could spell the end of my life if I did. Cruelty doesn’t always kill love.

Claire and Sue were kind enough to bring me to all of the places I needed to go in order to be able to take care of my babies and myself. When they brought me to the Rhode Island Welfare Department, I was assigned to a woman I’ll name Mrs. D. I can’t believe it, but although it’s been 30 years, writing about the first time I was with that woman still makes me cry. She made me realize what it was like to be thought of as human trash. When she found out that I not only had my baby daughter, but I was also expecting another one, she stood up and leaned over her desk to get a better view of me. The look on her face was - sheer disgust. I had become quite timid over the last several, painful years, and it took Mrs. D. about 4 minutes to reduce me to helpless, humiliated tears. Note that - I was still not one to ever cry in front of anyone.

I remember the thoughts going through my head … rebelling against her treatment. Up until a month earlier, I had been a regular wife and mother, expecting a second child - welcoming a second child. My husband had changed, and become abusive over the last few years, but that didn’t make me trash. That made me a wife who still loved her abusive husband, loved her babies, had tried very hard to make it work before leaving … and who didn’t want to be in the helpless position she was in.

Deneen and I survived on next to nothing over the next several months. I would buy inexpensive things, like bologna, and freeze two slices at a time - so that Dena and I could each have a sandwich at lunchtime. I never used the oven, and our electric bill usually ran about $3 for the month. Someone gave me a crib for Dena, and some toys … I had a blow up beach mattress to sleep on, and it had it a leak. I had to get up, over and over during the night, to blow it back up.

Sue was the bright spot in my day. She would come up and sit with me - never prying, always kind. After I’d been in Rhode Island for 3 months - from May through August, Sue came to my door one day, looking frantic. What I’d been afraid would happen - had happened. The very lovely Mrs. D had located Dale, and demanded child support from him. Some of my Georgia friends had called my brother to warn him: Dale was on his way up to find me.

On the run again … and even more painful lessons to come. By nightfall, Deneen and I were back on a Greyhound bus, heading north. For the second time in 3 months, we had left everything behind, and all we had was each other.