200 Letters Page 2

  “I don’t give a fuck! He needs to learn to pick up after himself. If you can’t teach him, I WILL!” he yelled. Of course, Terrell didn’t care that we had work and school the next day because he did not have a job. He quit his job a little over year ago because it was too stressful, and I had been supporting us by myself ever since. I had hoped that he would be less stressed and be more tolerable to live with. However, he just got worse.

  “Ah! Go to bed.” I said, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “Not that big of a deal? Not that big of a deal?! It is a big deal that you have a thirteen-year-old that can’t take care of himself. He can’t pick up after himself, and you think you are doing a good job raising him? The boy can’t even brush his own hair…” Terrell went on and on. I had developed a strategy for when he got like this. I tuned him out. I sat down on the couch and focused on a spot on the wall while he continued fussing. Over and over in my mind, I just talked to God and gave myself reassurance. “Lord, please protect me. Lord please keep me calm. Angela, it’s okay; just ignore him. Don’t let him get to you. All things are possible through God who strengthens me. God, you can change a king’s heart, surely you can change Terrell’s.”

  “Angela, are you fucking listening to me?” Terrell interrupted my thoughts. I heard him but I just stayed focused on the wall and didn’t respond.

  He took the cigarette from his mouth and flung it on me. Even though it landed on my neck, I just brushed it off and continued to stare at the wall.

  “You act so fucking stupid,” he growled. Then he hocked a loogie and spit it at me. Most of it got lost in his long free-formed dread locks but some of it landed on my left arm and face. I jumped to my feet, angry, upset, and hurt. I wiped off the spit and looked at him sternly, my fists clenched and ready. He laughed, “Oh, now you wanna listen. You’re fucking stupid.”

  “You spit in my face,” I sneered, “and you flung a cigarette on me? A cigarette I bought you?”

  “Whatever. That shit ain’t hurt you. You the one who ignoring me. So, I had to do something. Ain’t that shit in the Bible? Respect your husband. You one of them fake Christians, I see. Sheeeee-it.” he stomped away shaking his head.

  For years, he often used my Christianity to guilt me into staying with him. He also used it to justify his abuse of me and the kids. He was raised Catholic, so he knew some about the Bible. I was just starting to pursue God when I met Terrell, and he used that to his advantage. He misquoted or misinterpreted Bible scripture saying things like, “You are to obey me; it says it in the Bible,” and, “If you leave me you will be turning away from God because God hates divorce.” He also used, “You shall not spare the rod,” when I thought his discipline with the kids was excessive. And if he hit me and I refused to forgive him, he’d say things like, “See, I have repented for my sins. So, if you don’t forgive me, you will go to hell.”

  His words were harsh and wrong; but oddly enough, it brought me so much closer to God. His rants prompted me to read the Bible for myself and see what God really said and meant. I wasn’t raised in the church. My dad was agnostic, and my mom was spiritual but not religious. And my stepdad was Christian twice a year, Christmas, and Easter, because those are the only two times he went to church.

  Yes, women are supposed to honor and obey their husbands, but their husbands are supposed to love their wives and treat them with gentleness and respect (Ephesians 5:28 and 1 Peter 3:7). Discipline of a child is warranted but excessive discipline is harmful (Ephesians 6:4). Abuse is wrong (Psalm 11:5-6, James 1:19-20, Proverbs 19:19, Hebrews 12:5-11). Verbal abuse is just as harmful as physical (Proverbs 12:18, Ephesians 4:29-32, Proverbs 10:11, Matthew 5:21-22, Romans 3:13). God loves us and does not want us to be in an abusive relationship (Psalms 72:14, 1 Corinthians 7:15). God actually instructs us to stay away from abusive people (Proverbs 22:10, Ecclesiastes 7:26, Proverbs 22:24, 2 Timothy 3:1-5).

  It is unfortunate that these principals are not taught in most churches. Instead, we are instructed to stay with our husbands no matter what. We are instructed to pray and have faith. We are instructed that if God wants us delivered, He will do it; but we should never pursue divorce. And for years, I was taught that and believed that. I prayed and had faith for many years, yet nothing ever changed. As I read the Bible for myself and as I continued to deal with Terrell’s abuse, my beliefs started to mature.

  Yes, for most marriages we are to pray, have faith, and fight persistently for the perseverance of the marriage. However, there is an exception—when the marriage causes us, our spouse, or our children significant harm. Then survival takes precedence over the marriage.

  “See that’s why no one wants you,” Terrell teased. “You’re good for a fuck but nothing else.”

  “I can’t believe you spit on me; you bitch! You’re not a man! You’re nothing! Gonna spit on the one who takes care of you. Even dogs know not to bite the hand that feeds them.”

  He turned around and charged at me, “What? What the fuck did you just say to me?!” He got in my face, yelling at the top of his lungs, dread locks flying all around his head and spit flying out of his mouth. He held his right hand high and pointed it down at me for emphasis. I was livid. I was hurt. I was afraid. I wanted him to shut the fuck up and get out of my face.

  I smacked him. It wasn’t a strong slap. It was only meant to get his attention. “You are not going to talk to me like that.” I firmly said, hoping that this would defuse the situation. I hoped he would finally see I meant business. Today, that slap meant not to fuck with me, but it only made him angrier.

  He clenched both hands around my neck and pushed me down on the ground. He straddled me and began strangling me while yelling all kinds of obscenities. It wasn’t the first time he’d wrapped his hands around my neck; but God willing it would be the last.

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t yell for help. I struggled and clawed at his hands, kicking my legs, and praying to get free. I grabbed ahold of his thumbs and pulled them backward, a self-defense technique I learned in high school. It was enough that he lost his grip on my neck and I was able to break free. I ran upstairs to our bedroom and slammed the door, leaning against it to keep him out. The last time this happened, I warned him I would call the police if he ever put his hands on me again. I pressed the nine. Terrell was at the door kicking and yelling. I pressed the one. Terrell kicked some more and while I pressed one a second time, Terrell succeeded in breaking the door’s frame and kicked it in. He charged into the room and knocked the phone out of my hand.

  “Get out!” I screamed, “Get out! I called the fucking cops. That’s the last time you’re ever gonna put your hands on me.”

  All the noise woke up the kids. I heard our two-year-old son Aaron crying from his bedroom. Abigail, our five-year-old, stood in the broken doorway yelling, “Daddy, please stop. Don’t hurt mommy!” Lana, our pit bull, just sat there, not knowing what to do. She never got in the middle when Terrell and I fought.

  “You ain’t called shit.” Terrell said as he grabbed my hands and wrestled me down to the ground again. He had a strong hold on both my wrists as he straddled me.

  “Let go of me. Let go!” I yelled as I clawed at his hands, trying to get away again.

  He let go just enough to punch me in the face. I saw stars and his hands pinned my wrists again.

  “Stop!” he yelled, “Calm down. I’m not letting you go till you calm down.”

  I scratched at his wrists hoping to free myself. I tried to bite his forearm and he punched me again.

  “Stop. You bite me or scratch me, you get punched.”

  “Let me go! Let. Me. GO!”

  Punch. A third blow to the face. “I’m not letting you go until you say you are not going to call the cops.”

  I looked up and saw all three children standing at the doorway, staring, unsure what they should do.

  “Call the cops!” I yelled at them.

  “Don’t
call the cops,” he interjected. Punch. Punch. “I’m not letting you go until you stop.”

  “Fine!” I surrendered, “I won’t call the cops. Please, just let me go!”

  Punch. My vision went black for a brief moment. Terrell loosened his grip to get a closer look at me and I used it as an opportunity to break free. I grabbed the phone as I ran out the door. I ran downstairs, but he was too close behind me. He grabbed my hair from behind and threw me to the ground.

  “Okay, stop. Stop! Please. I surrender.” I said as I kneeled holding my hands up and putting my head down.

  He grabbed me by my wrist, picked me up, and dropped me headfirst onto the ground. I heard the crack when my head hit. I was dazed and shocked. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. I no longer heard what was going on around me. I didn’t notice someone knocking on our front door. I touched my head to see if it was bleeding. I pressed again to see if my skull was broken. I could feel the side of my head starting to swell. I barely noticed when Terrell stomped toward the front door.

  He came back followed by three police officers. I heard him talking to the cops about how I hit him first, demanding that I be arrested. I was still sitting on the floor dazed and repeatedly touching my head and looking for blood.

  Officer Jameson was the first through the door. I recognized him from previous visits. He was growing increasingly tired of responding to our domestic disputes and became less understanding with each call. Jameson told the second officer to get my statement then instructed a female officer to sit with my kids.

  “You’re pretty,” Abigail said to the female officer as she escorted them upstairs. Abigail had always been a charmer. Kind, caring, and empathetic. She saw the beauty in almost every situation, but she no longer saw the beauty in her mom and dad staying together. She’d said to me on numerous occasions, “Mom, you need to leave daddy and get a new husband.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her life is never that simple.

  Leaving would have been disastrous for me. You see, the house we lived in was solely in my name. I paid all the bills as well as all the child support for my husband’s two other children. Any extra money went to whatever my husband felt he needed—cigarettes, alcohol, a night out with his boys. I got so tired of hearing him fuss and fight about how his needs were not being met that I just started to give him everything. I had nothing left for myself. I couldn’t afford a lawyer and I couldn’t afford to leave.

  If I left, I’d have to continue to pay for two houses—this one and a new one. I couldn’t leave my house and let it go into foreclosure because that would ruin my credit. My job depended on my credit. I had served as a doctor in the military. I separated from the military in 2015 and became a civilian working for the military. It was the same job in the same clinic, only I didn’t have to wear a uniform or deploy. My job required a security clearance, so I’d get fired if my credit tanked. I would also get fired if I went to jail.

  Plus, the law in Virginia stated it was considered abandonment if you left your house. You could be penalized in a court of law, especially during a divorce. Terrell knew this and refused to leave.

  The law in Virginia also stated you could not kick your spouse out of the house or change the locks. So, I couldn’t do that either.

  I asked Terrell for a divorce multiple times and he always refused. He promised to sue me for alimony and for the house if I ever decided to file for divorce. Because we live and I work in Virginia—and because I am working, and he is not—he would be entitled to those benefits. I couldn’t afford alimony and raise three kids by myself. I couldn’t even afford a lawyer to represent me in court. I was stuck.

  For years, I prayed for answers and patiently waited for the Lord to either provide a way out or change Terrell into the good man he had the potential to be. I had lost all hope for Terrell but still had hope in the Lord. I went to church. I fasted. I remained faithful. Most of all, I prayed. I prayed for Terrell. I prayed for a miracle to occur in our marriage. And I also prayed for myself. I prayed that God would change any fault He found in me. I prayed for my own patience, endurance, and improvement.

  I tried to be a better wife to Terrell. I tried to do more and complain less. I tried to be a lady in the street and a freak with him in the sheets. I tried to be supportive, thankful, and affectionate. Despite all my efforts, we continued to argue.

  I gave my statement to the one officer and by that time Officer Jameson was done taking Terrell’s statement. The two officers briefly compared notes before walking over to talk with me.

  “I don’t believe you.” Officer Jameson said to me. “Where are your bruises? I see none.”

  I pull my hair back to reveal the forming hematoma on the side of my head.

  “Sssss, oooh,” the second officer winced. He could clearly see the forming wound.

  “I don’t see anything,” Officer Jameson announced but he really didn’t look. “Look, the only thing that you and Terrell’s story have in common was that Terrell flung a cigarette at you. Because of that, we are going to take him into custody.” He held his thumb and index finger slightly apart, “But I was this close to arresting you.”

  “I understand.” I looked down and nodded my head. The adrenaline was wearing off and pain was taking over, but God was there, keeping me calm.

  I watched silently as they handcuffed Terrell and took him away.

  After they left, I went upstairs. All three kids were huddled in a corner holding onto each other. “You guys okay?” I asked.

  Abigail ran to me and gave me a hug. “I was scared,” she said, “I thought they were going to arrest you.”

  “No, I’m still here.”

  The truth? I was afraid, too. Virginia police just love locking up Black folk. Doesn’t matter if you are man, woman, or child. One of the women who goes to my church was arrested and prosecuted for pushing her husband. She was on probation for two years and had to pay all kinds of legal fees.

  Another of my church friends got arrested and was prosecuted for spanking her child. No marks. No bruises. A regular open hand pat on the leg when he was being disobedient. She spent three days in jail followed by a year’s probation and, of course, legal fees. She was a teacher, so she lost her job. I remember praying with them and for them.

  I tossed and turned the rest of the night. The next day, I got up at six in the morning, same as any other day. I decided to wear my hair down to hide the bruise. Like any other day, I got the kids ready, dropped them off at daycare and went to work. I smiled, laughed with coworkers, and treated patients as if nothing had happened. I had become good at leaving my sorrows at home and wearing a smiling mask at work. No one there knew my pain.

  My heart raced as I pulled into the driveway that evening. I wasn’t sure where Terrell was. Was he still in jail? Was he at the house? I unbuckled Aaron from his car seat and held him while I walked into the house. David and Abigail followed behind me.

  “Hello?”

  No answer. The house was the same shambled mess, remnants of the fight the night before. Relief replaced anxiety as I realized that we were the only ones in the house.

  “Okay kids, homework time.” I started dinner and cleaned while the kids pulled out books and papers.

  “Tap, tap, tap.” I froze, realizing someone was knocking on the back door. I snuck over to investigate and saw it was my husband. I paused for a moment, not exactly sure what I should do.

  “Let me in, Angela. It’s freezing out here.”

  I sighed as I unlocked the door and slowly opened it to let him in.

  “Geesh,” he shook his head, “the cops didn’t let me get my jacket. I’ve been out on the street since ten when they let me go. They knew I shouldn’t have been in there in the first place. I had to walk in the freezing cold all the way from the station cause you want to lie to the cops and get me arrested. Now I have to go to court next month. Damn. And you sitting here taking your precious time to open the door while I’m out
here freezing.”

  It was September and a typical autumn in northern Virginia. Cool, but not freezing. And I didn’t lie, but Terrell always had a way of making himself appear to be the victim.

  I tried to change the subject. “I cooked dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry,” he responded and went down to the basement. I focused on the kids; I went over homework, sat down to eat dinner with them, and supervised chores. After our bathing and bedtime routines, I stretched out on the couch to read the Bible for a few minutes before I got some shut eye. I knew I would repeat the same routine the next day. . . and the next.

  The following few weeks were quiet. Terrell stayed in the basement, smoking and watching TV. I followed my routine and Terrell did not talk to me. He did shoot me an angry glare whenever we happened to cross paths.

  I missed intimacy. I missed love. I wanted to be loved and to be held. I craved romance and flowers. I knew an apology was a stretch, but it didn’t keep me from hoping. Regardless, I was hurt when I never got so much as a hello after walking through the door after a long day at work.

  Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re thinking. How did I, a successful, beautiful, and confident child of God, end up with a man like this? Well, he wasn’t always like this. Two things I really enjoy are romance and sex, and he was good at both. I had just broken up with David’s father because he was cheating on me. I was vulnerable and, well, Terrell was there. He was very handsome when I first met him. Smooth, dark brown skin. Short, clean-cut, curly hair. Nice clean goatee, light brown eyes, and dimples. I am a sucker for dimples. He stood about six foot five and had a nice muscular build. In the beginning, he was very romantic. He took me out to dinner and brought me flowers. He pulled out my chair and always assured me that he was a faithful good man who would never cheat or lie. He had no difficulty expressing how sexy and beautiful he thought I was, and how infatuated he was with every little thing I did. He looked at me like I was the only girl in the world. I thought it was love. We got pregnant early in the relationship and the abuse started shortly after.