“A Pattern Arises from Past and Present Events” PART II
Members of the crowd, whose
lives were snagged by a narrow web of unjust and exclusionary beliefs, were
nervous. My emotions elevated as quickly
as a Mercury thermometer dipped into scalding water. Just like four years ago, my mouth and mind
were uncontrollable and betrayed my safety.
My voice, resounding, outlined the evils of oppression. The handful of
child predators, although merely a minority in the crowd, became furious and
wanted to silence the rebellion by killing me.
During my ranting, I coughed up a flaming ball of fury, which shot
daggers at those who were deserving of them.
Time grew wings. My Father and Martin continued their attack
by trying to destroy my transportation.
Losing my wheels meant a quick death for my “radical” ideas and me.
Although only a few members of the crowd had heard me speak in
It seems that my previous
speech in the “Square” unleashed an unstoppable power illustrated by the
emotional uproar it was causing today.
That event had established a citywide record for the number of police
dispatched to control a political rally.
Every available officer in
Each word that shot out of my
mouth stung members of the insurgence and by itself became a living
entity. Again I took note of the size of
the crowd. I realized that the crowd had
continued to swell. In number, the crowd
was fast approaching four hundred. The power of my words, and the danger they
could ignite was evident. When my mouth
opened, words flew forth as sharp as arrows.
They described the indignance of the
subjugation of women, children, minorities, disabled people, and the
frightening growth the power of White Supremacist’s Movement. The crowd continued to swell as fast as I
rattled on about the need to fight for equality, stop injustice and abuse of
all beings, especially childhood sexual abuse.
A buzz droned from the
growing crowd. It escalated and grew
louder and louder as I continued to speak.
It was nearly deafening. For a
moment I wondered if the buzz existed outside of my own head. Hatred! I was filled with hatred. Strangely the hatred coexisted with extreme
compassion. My heart held immense
compassion for the survivors of abuse and neglect. My gut however, nurtured
utter disgust for the dastardly, cold, and cowardly acts of abuse committed by
angry yet frightened white men toward society’s marginalized people. I couldn’t comprehend my emotions. I was bursting with passion and fight. Even though I didn’t know how it happened,
these intense feelings all at once, occupied the same cavities of my
heart. I don’t know why, but this
diatribe was different from the ruckus that I inspired four years ago. I swore that I would never again fall prey to
one of my public harangues. These
tirades were far too risky for me, as well as the marginalized people who
became enraged. But somehow, I had
become a voice for the masses. “The
masses” embodied the working poor, people with disabilities, elders,
adolescents, and children, ethnic and religious minorities and people who are
gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered. For me, these public drubbings had become
daunting responsibilities.
A sudden and shift occurred
in my head. I became very frightened for
my small service dog, Tasha. Sweet, loving Tasha,
a Shih-Tzu in a puppy cut was my faithful companion of seven years. When my family first arrived, I thought it
strange that they had brought her along.
Now, she was missing! Where was
she? Was she among those who had begun
to fall prey to the struggle that I had started? Was she amongst the dead? I began to break.
Luckily, as they had done
four years ago, the police arrived to end the fighting. With the police came the hope of protection
even though I knew that they were also there to stop me. Four years ago, as they would do today, the
newspapers ran front-page articles about the event. Back then as well as they would do today,
local news stations had sent reporters to the scene. Just as they did then, they also shot footage
and ran scenes of the gathering as breaking news stories on television. The
speech began to upset others as well.
I’ll never forget the angry reddened face of a man whom was obviously
drunk. In this case his gaze was at once icy and rabid. He was unmistakably wrathful. Even with all the danger I was fighting, I
cowered at the sight of him. He was the
kind of human being who could be a menace to children everywhere. I started to move around which was very easy
at first given the accessibility of the courtyard and the power of my electric
wheelchair. My mission was to keep
moving so I could avoid further injury.
My movement made me a difficult but not impossible mark. My attackers had difficulty in harming
me. They also could become harmed by
self-defense. I was carrying a small
hand pistol that belonged to my Dad.
Before my being committed to the psychiatric hospital I had stolen
it. In all of three seconds before being
admitted, I buried it just on the property line of the hospital. Today I had quickly retrieved it before
joining the other patients for a cigarette.
The area where I had hidden it was fairly secluded offering me a secure
space to conceal my weapon until I needed it.
I clearly needed the pistol now.
The hospital grounds began to
whirl around like a pinwheel in a hurricane.
I felt so dizzy that I thought that I would pass out. It was happening so fast. A whirring sound in my head started. I remember that each time I passed my brother
and father they would take a chunk out of my chair or me, easily breaking my
bones. I was furious. I refused to stop lecturing about a ‘’new
society’’ Small children were being hurt and someone needed to stop the
madness. I saw a little urchin of a child.
He was looking up at me from his hiding place where he was
protected. He wanted me to pick him
up. “Stay in your hiding place you will
be safe here” I said.
He had a dirty face, dirty
clothes, and was a scared, but precious little boy. “I’m too injured to pick
you up. If I could, I swear that I
would. And I promise that I would take
you someplace safe.”
I told him to think of a
happy time, person, or place and go there in his mind when he was scared. “Can I think of you when I’m scared?” He
asked!
“ Of course” I said.
“Anytime that you wish”
At this point in time, when
everything was so dizzying, shots rang out, but from where, and from whom? I blanked out. When I woke, there were at least six people
who appeared to be dead. Among the dead were my father and brother. I could still hear my mother screaming. She had lost her husband and son. Both lay dead in puddles of blood.
The police seemed
frozen. I no longer had my gun. I just sat in what was left of my chair and
felt searing pain coursing through my entire body. The worst was that I didn’t know where it was
coming from. I just knew that I was
covered in blood. I didn’t know if there
were any survivors. At first I wasn’t
even sure if I had survived the bloodbath.
The cherubic child where was he?
After the rally I was in a
state of shock, Everything was quiet except for the
sirens indicating the arrival of more police, my hysterical mother and some
moaning from the survivors. I could barely
see because both of my eyes had swollen shut from the injuries. Although I couldn’t see them, both of my eyes
had turned very black. . My left hand was the most severely mangled part of my
body and was broken in several places. I
was fairly certain that I had several broken ribs, huge swollen lips and a
broken face as a result of being bashed by a heavy object, probably a lead
pipe. My condition did not provide an
incentive to speak out again. What my
condition did indicate was the power that fear of exposure had on child
abusers. If I weren’t dead now, the next
time I would be…the next time? I was
crazy, but I was a product of severe and prolonged child abuse and torture.
Children, young adults,
parents with young children who needed day care and job flexibility, elderly
people, people of color, disabled people and even non-disabled, heterosexual,
white men gathered to hear the crazy “bleeding heart liberal” speak. Many of them came straight from the closest
watering hole. But they came; my message had been sent. Unfortunately at great expense to the
onlookers and myself which included the entire scope of marginalized people. I
had taken on a tremendous responsibility.
I knew not what the next step held for me, but I would soon find
out.