March 20, 2008

• Slowly the officer kneels down in front of the frightened 10-year old black girl. Her face is stained by streaks of dried tears and her lopsided pigtails have lost a few of their color barrettes. She tries not to shake and she tightly interlaces her fingers and clasps her hands together in front of her.

  
  

  
  

  “What happened honey?” he gently asks.

  
  

  
  

  His face is blurred despite his close proximity. Instead she clearly sees the stern and angry face of her father behind him. His dark eyes are piercing. His lips are drawn in a firm straight line. She would not yet realize the depths of pain she will feel if she says anything.

  
  

  
  

  “Nothing…nothing.” she somberly whispers.

  
  

  
  

  “Then why were you crying?” he prods.

  
  

  
  

  “Because I was sad and had a bad day.”

  
  

  
  

  A few moments of the delicate dance of question and vague answers revealed nothing of the chaos that transpired only an hour before. She knew she would not be protected if she said anything or attributed any emotion to recent events. So she stumbled over her words and took blame.

  
  

  
  

  “I didn’t have a good day at school and I got in trouble. That’s all.”

  
  

  
  

  She wanted to clutch her arms around the officer’s neck and plead for him to take her to a safe place. She desired to tell him of the brutal beating that left her younger brother with a bloodied nose and her with broken glasses with a cut across the bridge of her nose. The vision of her father holding her brother in the bushes with full closed-fists strikes made her shudder and she felt queasy. The sting from the back hand slap still rung in her head when she had attempted to save her younger brother.  But she couldn’t tell the warfare of pain and punishment was a regular occurrence. No one would believe that the family who was all smiles outside their home felt terrified of the man who was the head of the home. The position of father was really one of a ferocious controller who ruled the home with a hand ready to pummel at the slightest bit of provocation if any at all.

  
  

  
  

  That has been a constant in her life as long as she can remember.  It’s been a long ten years…

  • 1:13 am
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