by Tiana Laveen
“Yup. Looks like your boyfriend has been busy. He must’ve scared the life out of her. She was even stuttering when she was talking to me about it. She didn’t mention him though, didn’t say one word about him. I don’t know what he said to her but it must’ve been mighty bad. Damn. Anyway, what’s his name?”
He gave her a cunning look, but the woman only tossed him a frown.
“Oh, come on, Snow. We used to talk to each other about who we were dating all the time.”
She sighed and ran her hand up and down her arm. “His name is Alex.”
“Alex, huh? Jim said the motherfucker was big as a damn tree and dressed like the Incredible Hulk, after the transformation.”
They both burst out laughing.
“Yeah, he is very muscular and quite tall… but he’s sweet, too. Good to me.”
A sad smile creased her face, while his chest tightened with hurt.
I wasn’t sweet to her most times. I wasn’t good to her most times, either…
“Good, baby. That’s what you deserve. I’m happy for you. Really I am.”
“Thank you.”
“Despite him and me getting into it on the phone, I’m sure he cares about you, and as someone who was once in his shoes, I know how he feels.” He reached out and caressed her chin. She blinked several times but kept her wits about her. “I was wrong, baby, the wrong man for you, but please don’t doubt for one damn minute that I loved you, ’cause I did. I didn’t let you know just how crushed I was when you called off the engagement, but I understood it. You saw the truth of the situation before I had.”
He got to his feet and pulled out his wallet. Setting his credit card on the counter, he waved the bartender over to pay their tab. “I just hope I can find me another Snow one day, you know, when I’m ready. Women like you are once in a lifetime, but I can always dream, ain’t that right, baby girl?” The bartender ran his card and gave him the card back. He quickly signed the receipt and tried to block the ache in his breaking heart.
He bent low and kissed her forehead. Though it killed him, he put one foot in front of the other and walked away…
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Plums, Pronunciations, and Punishments
…Several weeks later
It was unusually quiet for a Friday night. On a sigh, he glanced at his watch. 7 P.M. on the dot. Alex flipped through the Bassmaster magazine, reading about the latest and greatest fishing lures. They’d not received any calls for a few hours and the crew was cleaning up, eating, and messing around on their phones. A couple were taking catnaps after running long shifts.
Just then, the door chimed. He craned his neck towards the camera and took note of a short woman with a bag in her hand. She was talking to one of the guys on the first floor and before he knew it, he was being paged to come on down. Tossing the magazine aside, he got to his feet and trudged down the steps.
“Chief, this lady said she wanted to talk to you,” Randy explained before going back behind the desk.
“Good evenin’. I’m Chief Valentine, how can I help you?” He extended his hand and the woman, looking a bit shy, reached out and shook it.
“Hello, my name is Kimberly Murray. I am one of Mrs. Brassie’s great-granddaughters.”
“Oh… I’m pleased to meet you, Kimberly. I’m sorry about your loss. She was loved and will be greatly missed.”
“Yes … I definitely agree with you. She was a wonderful woman and we as a family are struggling with this sudden loss. That’s not why I’m here though.” She took a deep breath. “I would like to talk to you about something, please.” The woman glanced at the desk then back at him, as if she wished to have a bit of privacy.
Alex wrapped his arm around her shoulder and escorted her to a table across the way.
“Please, have a seat.”
The woman sat down, clutching the bag closer to her person before setting it on the table between them.
“I want to thank you and your guys for trying to save my great-grandmother’s life.” Her eyes welled with tears.
“Randy! Bring some tissue over here, please!” Alex shouted. The guy was on his feet in no time, rushing in their direction.
Moments later, the woman was thanking him, dabbing at her eyes, the tears flowing.
“Thank you,” she stated while blowing her nose.
“No problem, and as far as your great-grandmother, ma’am, that’s what we’re supposed to do. I appreciate the kindness, but that’s our job.”
“I understand that, but, my great-grandmother thought very fondly of you.” His face flushed with heat. “There wasn’t much that could be salvaged from the house, but she had a fire resistant safe. In it she kept some of her keepsakes, jewelry, photos, things like that. There were also quite a few journals, this being one of them.”
Kimberly dug in her bag and fished out a beat up, hardbound leather notebook with little red tabs in it, markers for different sections. She flipped through it and showed him a page. “When my mother told me she had spoken to you and she knew who you were, and that you were on the scene at the time of the fire, it clicked that you might be the same Alex Valentine in this journal.
“I then asked my mother about you and great-grandma, and she told me the woman would often tutor children and she believed you were in fact one of them. We both read this journal of hers from cover to cover, and I don’t…” She swallowed. “I don’t think I’ll ever be the same. Did my great-grandmother tutor you?”
Alex hesitated, but a little voice in his head, which sounded much like Snow, told him to reach across that table and pat the lady’s hand. He did so, and the woman smiled thankfully.
“I was in fact tutored by your great-grandmother, Kimberly.”
“Well then, I want you to see this. You need to read this for yourself. It’s quite a bit, but I put tabs on the parts where you are mentioned, so just skip through. Um, do you have a restroom?”
“Of course. Randy!”
“Yes, sir?”
“Please show Kimberly the bathroom and then take her on a tour of the fire station.”
“Yes, sir.”
The woman left him by himself, Randy leading the way. Alex sat there for a minute, then looked down at the handwritten pages, all inscribed in perfect penmanship…
Frank didn’t return today. That gave me ample time to take care of grading homework and tend to some gardening. One of our plum trees isn’t doing so well. I suspect some of the children in the neighborhood may be stealing them, yanking on the branches in their efforts far too hard. As I sit here sipping some coffee I feel at peace in the quiet house all by myself. I suppose most wives would be worried about their husbands not returning home. I wish I could understand their need to have their spouse by their side, but I am filled with great relief at his absence. Tomorrow we begin to read, “The Catcher in the Rye.”
It has become increasingly difficult to hide what is happening from my close associates and family. I do not wish for my marriage to end, but I do not want it to continue, either. I suppose that doesn’t make much sense. It is hard to explain but I am having difficulty concentrating. I feel peace when Frank isn’t home but when he arrives, I am filled with worry. I walk on eggshells. The anxiety cripples me, makes me sweat.
I’ve blamed myself for so long. Perhaps I was too aggressive. Frank suffers from depression. I surmise though he has not been formally diagnosed. Such a diagnosis would deem him unfit by his colleagues, according to him. He will not seek marital counseling, for he sees that as an invasion of privacy and stated that if I just do as he asks of me, there would be no issues.
I have tried that, to no avail. He changes the rules on a daily basis, and this I cannot cope with. When I think I’ve done my best, he moves the finishing line.
A rare occurrence happened earlier today. I am stiff and can barely move due to sore muscles from an altercation with Frank. He began to give chase after I slapped him in self-defense. I cannot say definitively, but he’d been drinki
ng I suspect.
I was frightened beyond measure. He seemed to have inhuman strength. The argument began when I told him I had lunch with fellow teachers, two of whom were male. I did not see this as an issue, but he stated it was something a promiscuous woman would do. I assured him I was not being unfaithful and didn’t see either of the men in a non-professional way. He did not believe me and told me I’d disrespected him. Once he slapped me and hit me about the head, I slapped him back. It was a reflex.
He then chased me through the house and the only way to escape him was to go outside. I never leave the house during our arguments but I felt my life was in danger. Much to my surprise, he came right after me.
However, there was a boy in our front yard by the plum trees. I saw him, but in my state of panic and fear I thought he was a mirage at first. But he was real. The boy had dark hair, his skin was a peachy color, and his cheeks were rosy. He was a tall lad, handsome and mischievous in appearance. Frank went away. I guess he saw the boy, too.
The young man approached me and helped me to my feet. Once he and I began to talk, I realized the poor thing had a terrible impairment. He stuttered. It was one of the worst cases I’d heard. The stammering made it quite difficult at times to understand what he was saying.
I imagined a boy of his age would be concerned about such a situation, and since I have the skillset to aid with these matters, while feeling indebted to him for disrupting the altercation, I offered to assist him. He refused but thanked me all the same. He said his name was Alex Valentine. I’d never seen him before, at least not to my knowledge. What a handsome, sweet young man.
Alex Valentine had a change of heart. We’re now working on his annunciations and words that specifically trigger his stammering. He confessed to me that his parents have recently divorced. I asked him if his stuttering has gotten worse since the breakup. He responded in the affirmative. I believe Alex has an anxiety driven speech impediment. It wasn’t the catalyst but it exacerbates the problem.
He explained to me that his parents have sent him to an array of speech pathologists and he has only improved marginally. I spoke to his mother on the phone and she has corroborated this information. I have some ideas however that I believe can help. He needs to be forced to slow down and think about his words before he speaks. He is impatient. His mind works faster than his tongue. We’ve even done breathing exercises, which seem to help.
I have just returned from the hospital. Once again, I have lied in order to protect my husband. I cannot take much more of this.
Alex, my tutoring pupil, came by for his lesson. He looked at me in the strangest of ways. He seemed so very angry. He denied having a problem when I asked what the matter was. He looked in my eyes and I knew, deep within my heart, he was upset. I am not sure if it was something I’d done, but he was abrupt when leaving. He is doing so well, I hope his problems at home are not affecting him in an adverse way.
The truth has come out. Alex was indeed angry after last week’s lesson but now I know why. Apparently, he was looking at a bruise on my face that I thought I had adequately covered with my foundation and powder.
Today, I had yet another bruise because of the fight Frank and I had over my gas mileage. Alex excused himself to go to the restroom but in reality, he went to beat the living daylights out of Frank.
I am deeply ashamed. I heard the ruckus and remained put for several seconds. I could hear Frank screaming, and I delighted in that. Alex is very big for his age, practically the size of a grown man, and I could only imagine the strength behind those blows. However, he has the mind of a child and thus, it was necessary for me to intervene. Not so much to protect Frank, but to help Alex.
I got up and pretended to be horrified, when inside, I was thrilled! Frank was panic stricken and bleeding. I’d never seen him so afraid.
When Alex left, Frank demanded that I cancel the remaining lessons. I refused, stating that the boy’s parents had paid a lot of money in cash, which I’d already given to him. That was a lie, but I knew Frank’s memory about such things was not always the sharpest. I have been doing this free of charge since his parents are in a financial bind right now but mostly because I simply want to.
Frank argued we had plenty of money, so we didn’t need theirs and could refund them. But I said it could cause shame and put undue attention on us if we abruptly pull the plug. This could trigger the boy to go and tell, maybe report the situation to his parents, and they could then go and tell others, possibly even the police. He saw my side of things.
My life has changed forever. Alex kept coming for his lessons, on his usual day and time. Frank has not touched me since their confrontation. The little boy stealing plums from my front yard saved my life. I no longer fear Frank the same way… seeing him afraid of Alex made me lose the little respect I had for him. He is so weak, so cowardly.
Alex, a young man going through a hard time with a stutter that has improved by at least 50% since he’s been in my care, stole both my fruit and my heart. He has no idea what he has done. I am so grateful for his time in my life. Not only for him confronting my husband with bravado I have rarely even seen adult men demonstrate, but because he’s an amazing boy.
His self-confidence is now soaring. He can speak and not trip over his words, and he is elated. I see joy in his eyes now, and pep in his step. He told me he finally lost his virginity. I wish our lessons had not been the facilitator to him fornicating, but I am happy all the same that this new sense of self has allowed this wonderful young man to see his true self, and all the inner strength, value, and love he possesses.
Today was Alex Valentine’s final lesson. Though he still has a few things to work on, I believe his stutter will be completely gone in due time as long he continues with his practice and exercises. He has done exceptionally well.
I cried when he walked out of my door for the last time. I am going to miss his jokes and beautiful presence. Now that his shyness has disappeared, I discovered he is quite silly, but still a great student. I told him he must stop by and see me sometimes, and he agreed to do so every now and again.
He is going to grow up to be a productive man and do great things in life. One day he will marry and have children who may never know that Alex was once a boy who could barely speak, but he managed to save the life of a woman in such distress. Additionally, I could barely speak up for myself, despite being a professional in the art of language.
Alex gave me a voice. He gave me the strength to stand up for myself. I’ve been in an abusive marriage. It is so hard to write that. I’ve been in denial for so long. Yes, I have been a battered woman at the hands of my husband. He doesn’t hit me anymore, but the scars of his actions on my heart, the cruelty, still remain. I deserve better. I will leave this chapter of my life, scribed in this journal, with my favorite scripture:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.
1 Corinthians 13:4
God sent me an angel. He placed him in my garden. He could not speak with his mouth, but he spoke with his heart.
Alex patted his eyes with the back of his hand. He’d tried blinking away the tears to no avail. He hoped that when Kimberly returned, he wouldn’t look distraught.
Mrs. Brassie, thank you… You will always live on in my heart. I see you are still teaching lessons, even after death…
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sirens and Bells
There was a ruckus of epic proportions outside the firm. In fact, it sounded much like a runaway train about to burst into the building and flatten each and every one of the occupants like pancakes.
“Did someone call 911?” somebody yelled. “I hear police sirens.”
Loud alarms, screaming, yelling and stomping ensued as the entire
place was flooded with spinning red lights from an outside source. Snow gathered amongst her colleagues as they pressed their noses to the break room window, only to see three fire trucks lined up one by one next to each other, two police cars and an ambulance. She seized with panic. Was the building on fire? None of the alarms had beeped and there was no hint of smoke or fire in the vicinity. Did someone get hurt? The loud chatter around her caused her brain to nearly swell as everyone clamored about, trying to decode the mystery of the emergency personnel arrival. As they all peered through the blinds, she witnessed a cop get out of one of the police cars with a large bullhorn.
“Ms. Snow Apperson, please come out with your left hand up…”
Necks twisted in her direction and there were murmurs, whispers and yelling. She didn’t miss the judgmental glances and gasps, as if she’d slaughtered someone and the police had come to collect their main suspect.
“What’s going on, Snow?” a fellow attorney asked. She shrugged and shook her head. What else could she do?
“Jesus, what did she do?” someone else questioned.
“I didn’t do anything!” she angrily stated as she worked through the crowd, her heart beating a mile a minute. She neared the doors to exit and give herself up for … what?
Hugh said Amber wasn’t going to file charges! I confronted Alex after Hugh told me what he’d done and he said he even had her sign a contract to keep her mouth shut. He showed it to me! Fuck! But even if this is about the fight we’d had, this is a bit overkill, isn’t it? I mean hell, it was a physical altercation and the tramp is alive. It wasn’t a decapitation, for goodness’ sake! Come out with my left hand up? That’s weird. What the hell is going on here?!
