Spilled Milk: Based on a true story

by Randis, K. L

  I didn’t speak up then, so I’m speaking up now. I owe it to Brooke, and Adam, Thomas and Kat. I owe it to myself. I am asking that you issue the maximum sentence to David Nolan. Please do not let my failure to act repeat on generations to come.

  I stared at the letter a long time until I heard a silent knock on the door. Heather appeared and she leaned against the desk, taking the letter from my hand. “You got justice for more than one person in that courtroom today Brooke. You should be so proud of yourself.”

  I nodded, stunned. “Yea, but that means someone in my family knew what kind of person he was even back then. And they did nothing about it?”

  My heart ached. Who could leave two little children in the care of that monster, knowingly? I didn’t even recognize the name on the letter. Whoever he was, he was obviously so ashamed of what he went through that he couldn’t even bring himself to be around family anymore. Was a family’s reputation that important?

  Heather nodded. “The important part is that you knew what kind of person he was and you did something about it.”

  “How many more people Heather? Who else’s life did he ruin?”

  Heather shrugged. “I don’t think we’ll ever know, honey. But he’s in a place where he can’t hurt anyone anymore. Including you. Your life is far from ruined, it’s just starting.”

  “I wish I knew who it was so I could thank him.”

  “Thank him?”

  “For his letter, for coming forward so many years later. It’s not his fault. He told someone, and they didn’t listen. I don’t blame him. But I don’t regret what’s happened. I don’t think I’d be the person I am right now if I didn’t go through that. Maybe I would have just run off to college, ran away like he did.”

  Heather cocked her head to one side. “You’re the exception to every rule, you know that?” She reached out for a hug. “Now go, you have some celebrating to do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A Saylorsburg man was found guilty with raping a girl at his Kunkletown home twice on two separate occasions. David Nolan, 48, was found guilty after the jury deliberated for more than an hour following a two-day trial. Nolan, who had no prior criminal record, will be sentenced at a later date.

  I pushed the headline away after reading it for the hundredth time. There was so much missing information and emotion intertwined in those three unimpressive sentences.

  The newspaper lingered above the trash can as I looked down at the print suspended in air. I grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped out the article before I could change my mind, folding it in half. Maybe I would need a reminder now and then that he really was in jail, and this all really did happen.

  Two weeks later I got that reminder, in the form of a panicked phone call from Mom. “Brooke, did you get an unmarked letter in the mail?”

  “No, why?”

  “Your brothers did. And your sister. I got one too.”

  “What is it?”

  “Maybe you should come read it.”

  When I opened the front door at my mom’s she was one the phone. “I know, I know everyone got them. Just throw it out, if you want. Hey, Brooke is here, let me go.” She hung up the phone and pointed to the end of the table. A cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth.

  “What’s going on?” I looked at Jason who had picked up one of the envelopes on the corner of the table.

  He turned it over in his hand. “They used labels to show who it’s going to, no return sender, stamped from a postal office in Jersey?” He slid his finger under the sealed encasement and read the sheet of paper that was inside. He frowned and I walked over to him, reading over his shoulder.

  Brooke denies that she ever told anyone that her father sexually abused her. She denies that the allegations are true and states that he never touched her/sexually abused her.

  She tells me that her dream was during this past summer and she dreamt about a time when she was laying on her father’s bed and her father was asleep on the bed as well.

  She tells me that she told her boyfriend’s mother – Gina – about this dream a month or so ago. Brooke continued to deny allegations and denies that anyone – never mind her father have ever sexually abused her.

  Safety has been assessed; Brooke appears safe at this time. Sexual assault has been unsubstantiated.

  “Is this the interview social services did with me at the school? How did anyone get this?” I grabbed at the white envelopes sitting on the counter. “Who else got them?”

  “Everyone.” Mom flung her hands up in the air. “Aunt Jean, your cousins, grandparents…”

  “They sent this to Grandma and Grandpa?” I screamed.

  The sole page from the interview social services conducted made it seem like Earl’s conviction was a hoax. It was completely out of context with no explanation of why I had initially come forward blaming the abuse on dreams. Except for the core family members who were subpoenaed to court, I didn’t tell anyone about all the details. Jason still didn’t know about all the details. No one knew that I told social services they were dreams at first, we had established in court why. Now, I had over twenty people in my family opening their mail that morning to a letter they never should have seen.

  I was mortified. “Who sent this? How can we find out who sent this?”

  “I don’t think we can, baby,” said Jason.

  There was nothing but a single addressed label on the front and a stamp postmarked with the date. The location of the post office read Kilmer, NJ. Jason was right. Someone made it a point to make sure these letters didn’t get traced back to whoever sent them.

  “Mom, how am I supposed to explain this to everyone?”

  “I don’t know, maybe we can start calling everyone and…”

  “No,” Jason’s voiced boomed, “You’re not calling anyone.”

  His outburst startled me. “What do you mean Jason? I have to-”

  “If anyone in your family is going to question whether or not this really happened based on some shady attempt at blackmailing you then you don’t owe them any explanations. It’s not your place to have to explain to every family member every detail of what happened. They know what happened, and if they don’t believe you because of some letter then screw them.”

  I put my hand on his back as he turned away and ran his hand through his hair. “I mean what kind of sick bastard is still trying to control the situation from the other side of a damn prison wall?”

  I’d never seen him upset like that, but he was right. I shouldn’t have to give explanations. Not to them, not to anyone. The details of what happened to me were already exposed in abundance throughout the last two years. Those people I never had to see again. I didn’t need to re-traumatize myself by calling everyone in my family on top of it.

  “He worked in Jersey,” Mom said. She eyed Jason as he settled down. “He must have sent the letter to a buddy he worked with, had them send it out so it wouldn’t get back to him.”

  “Maybe, but Jason’s right. He just wants to prove he’s still in control. I still want to call grandma and grandpa though. I can’t stand them thinking I lied about anything.”

  The phone rang twice as I twirled my hair around my index finger. The front porch gave my some privacy while I made the call. When Grandpa picked up, I asked him if he had gotten any strange mail with information about me in it.

  “Oh uh, yea. We got that.” I opened my mouth to start talking and was cut off. “Don’t worry, I um, threw it out. Didn’t need your grandma reading that garbage.”

  “Thanks Grandpa.”

  Jason smiled at look on my face as I hung up.

  “He didn’t buy any of that, did he?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  The front door flung open and Adam waved a newspaper in my face. “What’s this?”

  “Oh, it’s okay Adam-”

  “It’s okay? It’s NOT okay!” He shouted.

  “No it’s fine, I already saw-”

  “Yea, y
ou and the whole town saw. Or read. Or whatever.” The newspaper hit the ground with a loud thwack as he looked up at me. “I’m tired of this, tired of being talked about and having our business in the paper all the time, all the damn time.”

  “Stop yelling, Adam who’s talking about you?”

  “Everyone! Not everyone is straight A superstar Miss Popular like you. We all didn’t have friends that would back us up about this, I had to listen to the names and the rumors about you and our family. People are sick, they’re twisted.”

  “People are sick, you can’t let it get to you though. Come on, you really think people didn’t say things to me?”

  “I don’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore.” He turned on his heel and headed for the front door as I looked at Jason who appeared just as confused as I was.

  “And you know what?” He stopped at the door, a shaking hand on the knob. “You always got what you wanted. You were always the favorite. I’m glad that stuff happened to you. You deserved to have your perfect life flipped upside down for once.”

  “Hey!” Jason lunged after Adam as he disappeared inside. “Don’t you dare say that-”

  “Jason, stop!” He skidded to a halt in my grip.

  “Are you kidding me? Did you hear what he just said?”

  “Yea, I heard.”

  “You’re gonna let him get away with that?”

  “He’s hurting Jason. Just leave him.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and sank into the porch swing.

  “We’re all hurting.”

  ***

  Heather was enraged when I told her about the letters. “How did he, I mean where...” She grunted into the phone. “All right look, can you bring me one of those letters? I’m getting to the bottom of this.”

  “Yea I can but Heather, you don’t need to. I know you’re probably swamped. I just wanted to let you guys know about it.”

  “Nonsense. Bring me a letter or two.”

  When I hung up Jason was sprawled across the couch in his boxers flipping through channels. “Can we just try and pretend we’re normal for one weekend? Maybe barricade the doors shut or something?”

  “You wanna do that to keep other people out or me in here?” I teased.

  “Both.” He grabbed my wrist and dragged me onto him, kissing my neck.

  “Yea that’s what I thought,” I said, laughing. “Okay so here’s some normal life for ya. What bills are we going to pay next week, because we sure don’t have the money to pay all of them.”

  He dragged a hand across his face. “Ugh, okay well rent is paid, groceries are done?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay. I guess pay the cell phone, we need to communicate with the outside world somehow.”

  “So no electric?”

  “They can’t shut it off anyway. Winter time laws, remember?”

  “Yea.” I melted off of him and onto the cushion to his right. “Have you thought about what we talked about?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Not much to think about. You have a stripper college friend who’s recruiting more stripper college friends and you think it’d be a good idea.”

  “The money would be a good idea. And not stripper, really, dancer. We’re not allowed to be naked since they serve alcohol in the club.”

  “Right. Dancer.”

  “Your sarcasm is noted.”

  “Really it’s up to you.” He leaned forward and put his chin in his hands. “Your body, your call. If you think it’ll be worth it, you know I’ll support you.”

  “I don’t think we have a choice.” I pointed to the stack of bills piled across the room. “You can’t do more than the seventy hours a week you already work. I can’t work more than thirty with my full course load. My mom needs two hundred dollars, and-”

  “Can you explain to me, again,” he said, touching the side of his head, “Why we can’t even pay our own bills, but you’re paying your moms?”

  “She needs it. It’s my fault he’s not there anymore.”

  I went to get up off the couch and Jason reached up and pulled me back down. “Come here, I didn’t mean it like that. I just, ugh I wish you didn’t have such a big heart sometimes.”

  He play tackled me to the ground when I stuck my tongue out at him.

  It turns out I wasn’t the only one giving my mom money every month. My aunts and uncles had pooled together to ensure most of her bills were covered. After a short while life kicked in and their own families, understandably, became their priorities. Mom started to look for money in other places, namely my brothers and sister.

  Since I was the only one who had moved out of the house, she started charging them a hundred dollars a week rent. I was also the only one putting myself through college, and their retail and manual labor jobs only went so far. I started working at Twisters as a dancer to make up the money mom fell short on.

  I was terrified the first night I walked into the dressing room. A lot of the girls walked around naked as they changed their outfits and I immediately noticed I was the youngest one there. “You got I.D?” A red haired scrawny woman with a mole on her left cheek eyed me up and down. “I need I.D before you can start.”

  It was simple enough. Get up on the stage, dance around, walk through the lounge and talk to the guys there between dances. Some guy paid me fifty dollars to talk to him, and only him, for a half hour. Another guy gave me a twenty to sit and have a drink with him. I always bought an energy drink to hide the fact I couldn’t drink yet.

  The back room is where I made bank almost every time. Every guy had a story. Divorcee, mid life crisis, bachelor party, hates his life, bored. The back room was a rounded purple dome room with submissive lighting that bounced off plush couches that lined the wall. Mirrors were everywhere you looked. A beefy security guard stood at the doorway to protect the hands-off policy.

  The first time I saw the room was because a guy paid me a hundred dollars just to go back there because I was insisting I didn’t want to. I didn’t know a thing about lap dances, and no one in there looked like they wanted to teach me. The guy was young, maybe late twenties, clean cut and I liked his cologne. He had come in with two other guys his age and they were floating money around to all the girls like it was candy.

  I straddled him and rocked my hips at first, pushing off of the couch. I stood up and awkwardly asked him what he thought I should do.

  “Jesus, you’ve really never done this before?”

  I shook my head and he patted the couch next to him. “Me either. My buddies are regulars but I appreciate my money too much to throw it away. No offense. Sit, talk with me.”

  “None taken.”

  “So uh, your eyes are pretty clear.” He studied my face. “Your body is way too hot to have had any children and you look like you’re about to cry when guys call you over. What’s the deal?”

  The body guard gave me a confused look as the time this guy paid for ticked away.

  “College. Need the money.”

  “Ah, I see.” He sipped his Corona. “You don’t belong here.”

  “Huh?”

  “You don’t belong in here. You seem different.”

  “You’re telling me? But the money’s good.”

  “How good?”

  “Almost four hundred a night.”

  “Four hundred a night?”

  “Five now that I got you back here.”

  We laughed and the guard pointed to a neon clock above the door. “Time’s up pal.”

  “Ah yea well,” he said, standing up. “Money well spent. I’ll see you again…” He trailed his voice, inviting me to tell him my name.

  “Brooke.”

  “What’s your real name?”

  “Brooke.”

  “You don’t use a stage name?”

  “I think I would just get confused when they called my name to dance.” I shrugged. “Seems easier to use a name I actually respond to.”

  He had a great smile. “Unbelievable. Well, nice to
meet you Brooke.”

  Two weeks later I unloaded my sack of cash onto the bed when I woke Jason up after my shift. “Jesus,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “You rob the place?”

  “Kinda. The other girl’s don’t really like me.”

  “I can see why. What time is it?”

  “Three.”

  “Have any friendly back room chats?”

  “Clearly,” I said, pointing. “You wouldn’t believe how many guys are desperate just to have someone to talk to. Can you believe I’ve never done a lap dance, not one.”

  “They want to take you into the back room and talk?”

  “Yea. It’s weird. They all say the same things too, I don’t belong there, I should quit. Maybe they think I’ll run off with them if they be gentlemen,” I said. “They all just want me to listen to them. Their lives kinda suck.”

  “Mine doesn’t.” Jason rolled me into bed on top of him. “I have a hot stripper girlfriend who comes home and saves all her energy for me.”

  The environment was wearing on me though. Guys weren’t always poster perfect. A lot of them were older, or had hygiene issues. I once sat and talked to a guy who told me it was his last night of freedom before he went to jail.

  The more I worked, the more I felt uneasy about it. The last night I worked there was when a Latino male insisted I meet him after the club closed for breakfast. He wouldn’t leave, or take no for an answer, and the bouncers had to man handle him out the front doors.

  “I just can’t do it anymore. I cry every night before I go in. I’m just sitting there thinking, I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  “So then why do you?” Midge called once a month to check in. I had sent her copies of the newspaper clippings when the trial was over. She sent me a card with a heartfelt message inside, telling me I was her hero.

  “Everything is just so messed up. I had this idea in my head that once the trial was over things would go back to normal.”