by Shawn Luther
I was mulling this over when I heard her open the bedroom door.
“Good morning sunshine!” I said again in a purposely loud voice, laughing when she grabbed her head in pain. She came into the kitchen to stand beside me and looked at the eggs. “Are you actually going to eat that?” She asked in disbelief putting her hand over her mouth.
“Yes and so are you,” I replied, smiling, as she turned green around the gills.
“Not!” She exclaimed, backing away as I spooned eggs onto a plate.
“Trust me, this is a surefire hangover cure” I said while pouring on the hot sauce.
“Seriously, I’m not eating that!” She insisted.
I sat down at the table with a shrug and started eating as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
She sat across from me and I noticed she looked a lot better this morning.
It is amazing how young faces recover from a rough night I thought.
We sat silently while she finished her coffee. She rose and put her cup in the sink.
“Hey listen,” she began, “thanks for letting me crash here last night but I have to go.”
I stood and put my plate in the sink, “what are you going to do?” I asked as she walked toward the door. She seemed uncomfortable suddenly, “I’ll figure something out.” She answered.
“Well if you find that you need a place to stay for a little while you know where I’m at.” I assured her. As she stepped out onto the porch she turned with a look of bewilderment and asked, “Are you this kind to everyone you have just met?”
I winked at her and said jokingly, “only the ones with pretty blues eyes.”
She blushed hard, and then she laughed, turned and walked away.
I watched as she walked off down the street then I closed the door.
Chapter 3
I spent my Saturday like I always do, cleaning the house and doing laundry.
After chores I grabbed my bat bag and took off to the batting cages a few blocks away.
I used to play softball back in the day. Now I enjoy going to the cages to relieve stress and take out my aggressions.
I swung and connected with ball after ball as Sabra kept popping up in my thoughts.
She had a long road ahead of her and I knew every bumpy rut in that road by heart.
I can’t think of one butch I know that hasn’t been down it.
You meet a woman that seems so sweet, kind, loving and honest only to find she’s just as big a lying cheating whore as the rest of them.
This may seem bitter to most but to some lesbians it is just a fact of life.
I swung hard as I could, the old anger rising at the thought.
The solid crack when ball hit bat was satisfying.
Sabra had asked me if I am this kind to everyone I met.
I could tell she was leery of strangers, even kind strangers.
I had been a good listener last night. I hadn’t had time to tell her why I felt her pain. I felt her pain because I had grown up the same way.
My father had beaten the shit out of me as well.
My mother was an alcoholic and drank herself to death when I was little.
I suddenly realized that I had stopped swinging and was dripping sweat.
My anger had dissipated.
I exited the cages getting a towel from my bag and replacing it with the bat.
Toweling my sweaty face as I walked home I tried to push the past back where it belonged.
I decided while I walked that I wanted to go out and get drunk tonight.
When I got home, I showered and decided to take a nap before going out.
I slept fitfully with old demons coming back to haunt me.
I woke a few hours later in a cold sweat. I knew I had the nightmare again.
I used to get them every night, but as I grew older they only come occasionally.
As I sat up in bed, I began to recall the nightmare.
I knew that thinking of what Sabra had been through had brought it on.
The nightmare from when I was 9. My mother and father were screaming at each one another.
The words they spoke were dripping with hatred and bile. I did not know what the cause was this time. It did not matter what made them start fighting. I learned at a young age to run and hide when it started. So I ran that day, I ran and hid in the hall closet.
I burrowed until I was way back in the corner.
I covered myself with whatever I could find to hide under. The screaming hadn’t stopped and I knew it might go on for hours. I shoved my fingers into my ears to drown them out.
I remembered shaking and crying for hours until I fell asleep. I remembered waking up in the dark closet to silence. I sat huddled in the dark terrified. When I crawled out of the closet I found an empty house.
I remembered walking through the house calling out for my mother and realizing she wasn't there. They were all gone; the police had hauled my father off to jail and taken my mother to the hospital. I found out later my older sister had taken my brother to the hospital. They all had forgotten about me.
I shoved the memories from my mind and got out of bed.
I needed to go get plowed more now than I did before.
The memories of the past always made me want to get drunk.
I turned on the stereo, put some Black Sabbath and cranked it up to about 10 decibels.
Loud music has always had a calming effect on me for some odd reason.
As I listened to Ozzy singing “Mama I’m coming home,” I dressed to go out.
I tried to push my past and Sabra out of my thoughts.
I wanted to go and check on her. She told me last night where Tiffany’s apartment was. “I could just drop by.” I reasoned out loud. I decided against it and prepared for my night out instead. She knew where I lived if she needed me. I chose a black dress shirt, jeans and my biker boots from my closet and went through my going out routine. I spent more time than usual on my hair and decided to wear jewelry for the first time in forever. I splashed on cologne and stepped into the bedroom to survey myself in the full-length mirror. I decided I did not look too bad for almost 40.
At 5’8” I am a bit taller than average in height. There are many lines around my eyes now. I have silver creeping in among my collar length blonde hair. I have never considered myself beautiful by any stretch of imagination. I am told by some I am handsome. I smiled and said to the room, “I like that; yes handsome is not so bad at all.”
I turned off the stereo, flipped off the light and headed for the club.
As I walked the few blocks to the bar I started to wonder if Sabra would be there. I seriously doubted it because she had a lot going on right now. She was, more than likely, trying to find a place to live. Hell for all I knew she could have convinced Tiffany to rethink her choice to go back to her boyfriend. The way the lesbian world works they could both be at the bar! “Who cares?” I ask the dark empty street.
I just wanted to drink and forget. I walk into the bar, my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. It is Saturday night and the Cat House is always packed on Saturday night. As I made my way to the last empty stool at the bar I do a quick scan of the room.
Sabra was not there, I felt a momentary pang of disappointment. I sat at the bar and order myself a beer and turned to watch the crowd.
Joan Jett was screaming about how she loves rock and roll. A few women are dancing. When the bartender returns with my beer I give her my credit card. “Start me a tab.” I holler over the music. I take a swallow from the cold beer and turn my barstool returning my attention toward the crowd. I like to people watch, as a form of sport you might say. I played a little game in my head. I would watch a person and do a little profile of them in my head. Then I would sit and watch to see how close I had come to pegging them.
There was a short woman sitting right beside the dance floor and I started with her.
She had her chair turned backwards and hand her hands draped over the back.
I noticed she was drinking bourbon and coke. I had only been there a short time and she was already on her second drink.
She looked like a female Danny DeVito, which was comical. I do not mean to be ugly but she was acting just like him. Well more like the character he played on the sitcom Taxi. I noticed that her hand was shaking a bit when she raised her glass to drink. Every time a woman would walk by her she would say something distasteful and sexist. Surely she did not expect to pick up someone acting like that. I pegged her as having low self-esteem. Shit, I think we all have that. I wondered why her hands were shaking. After each drink the shaking is less noticeable. Ah! She is an Alcoholic.
Sabra never came into the bar. I chided myself for waiting for her. I continued my game for the better part of the night. I had about 80% of the crowd assessed when the bartender bellowed last call.
I hadn’t succeeded in getting plowed as I had planned. I downed the rest of my beer and headed home. I had one more pathetic Saturday night under my belt. I walked home with my head down thinking about my evening. I hardly ever interacted with anyone at the bar. I just played my stupid little game and watched. I normally just stayed at home until loneliness drives me out and about. I've been this way since my last partner decided to take a powder. Not offering one word of explanation. I travel a bit for my photography. I am happy at home when I’m not working.
I raised my head as I approached my yard, shocked by what I saw. Sabra was face down on my porch. I thought she had passed out drunk waiting for me.
I did not realize until I reach out and tried to wake her that she had been beaten severely. I gently turned her over feeling a rage rise inside me when I saw her face. Her left eye was swollen shut and an ugly purplish black. The entire left side of her face was swollen.
There was blood oozing out of her nose. It looked as if it is broken.
Her lip busted wide open and bleeding.
“Sabra, what the hell happened?” I demanded, “Who did this to you?” She did not answer but moaned when I pulled her onto my lap. Someone had beaten the hell out of her. I tried to ask her again who had done this to her but she was far too out of it.
“Let’s get you in the house. I need to get a better look at these wounds.” I said, while gently picking her up.
I carried her into the house laid on the couch. She looked even worse in the light. I hurried to the bathroom to get some wet washcloths and the first aid kit.
When I returned she was trying to sit up. “No baby girl! You need to stay down and let me clean you up a bit!” I said, as she collapsed back onto the couch.
She remained quiet and still while I gently cleaned away the blood. Once I cleaned the blood away her face wasn’t as frightening as it first appeared but she had a split lip and a small cut above her left eye.
I applied antibiotic ointment to her cuts. When I finished I got up and went get her something cold to drink. I went into the bathroom to get pain medication prescribed for my last knee injury. I returned to the living room with the pills and the glass. She sat up, wincing and holding her rib cage taking the glass. As she swallowed the pills I asked her worriedly “Do we need to get you to the emergency room?” She shook her head violently. After she had a few sips of water she leaned back. I pleaded with her, “We need to go to the hospital Sabra!” I raised up her shirt to see her ribs. She pushed my hands away and lowered her shirt before I could get a look. “No! I do not need hospital bills on top of everything else!” She said firmly.
I let it go and began to doctor her wounds as she tried to speak through split and swollen lips.
Sabra had gone to Tiffany’s to bring back her belongings. She was angry when she got to the apartment. Sabra used her key to enter after putting her ear to the door to make sure nobody was home. She went direct to the kitchen and retrieved two garbage bags to put her things in. That’s all she needed because she did not own much. She did not want to see or talk to Tiffany so she hurried through the apartment collecting her belongings. Sabra was in the bedroom getting the last of her belongings when she heard the front door slam. She froze in her tracks. Someone must have seen her going into the apartment. “Fuck!” She thought.
She heard Tiffany pleading with the boyfriend. “Rudy stop! Please just calm down and let me go talk to her.”
“Fuck no!” He screamed. “I want that little dyke bitch out of here right fucking now!”
Sabra found herself trapped, she had no place to go but out through the gauntlet. Angry men scared her; she had a flashback of her father’s many beatings. Suddenly something happened. The cold, dangerous calm that takes over when a battered woman has finally had enough, took hold of Sabra. Her insides were in knots of fear she gathered all the pain and anger around her like a shield.
She was tired of taking shit! She marched out of the bedroom and stopped two feet before Rudy. Sabra looked him right in the eye and said, “You can have the little tramp! I was just on my way out.” That’s when he hit her, full force closed fist, right in the face. She fell back but stayed on her feet somehow. All the pain, hurt and anger of the years made her fight. She fought him back for all she was worth. Sabra told me she got in some good licks but the last she remembered was his elbow coming towards her face.
Chapter 4
I sat in stunned silence just looking at this brave woman’s battered face. She tried to sit up again but cried out hurting and fell back. “Raise up your shirt and let’s see those ribs,” I asked gently. When Sabra raised her shirt I knew right away that Rudy had kicked her repeatedly in the ribs after she had been knocked out. The whole right side of her rib cage was turning black and blue. That fucking cowardly bastard had kicked her when she was down.
As I pulled her shirt off gently over her head I told her, “We should get you to the hospital to have X-rays of your ribs Sabra!” She just looked at me with a blank stare.
“Seriously honey, you could have broken ribs and internal problems.” I pleaded but she only shook her head.
I was angry now. I was so pissed that this bitch punk had hurt her. I felt the old anger from my own past well up inside me. “Well at least let’s call the police and file assault and battery charges against him.” I pleaded. Sabra just closed her eyes and before I could finish my argument she had passed out.
I knew the medication was doing its job and she would sleep for a while. I picked her up, mindful of her ribs, and carried her into the bedroom.
Laying her in my bed I covered her with a quilt from the closet. I got her a fresh glass of water and put it on the bedside table.
I sat on the bed beside her for a few minutes, just looking at her. I could not let him get away with this.
After making sure she was breathing ok and sleeping peacefully I walked out of the bedroom closing the door. I left the lamp on so if she woke up she would not be afraid and could see where she was.
I could not let him get away with this. If Sabra did not want me to call the police I could not do much about that. I knew I was going to fix him but good.
While Sabra slept I sat and drank coffee for two hours and thinking up a plan.
I know plans thought up at four am after sitting around stewing are never a good idea. I did not care. I was sure this punk was going to pay for what he did to Sabra. He was going to pay one way or another.
I went in to check on Sabra at six. I found her curled up in the fetal position crying.
I sat down beside her and asked stupidly “Are you in pain?” She replied with a slow nod.
I got up and went to get her a fresh glass of Ice water and more meds. I also got a large ice pack from the freezer. When I returned, I helped her swallow the pills. I lay the ice pack over her injured ribs and sat with her until she drifted back to sleep.
I took care of her all-day Sunday. I was awake before dawn on Monday morning. I was going to Mo’s to plan for our “Come to Jesus” meeting with Rudy.
Sabra was still out of it.
I lean over and kissed he
r head, then looked one last time at her battered face.
I left her sleeping, went into the kitchen and picked up the phone. I was going to need some help. I called my friend Monica. I only had to tell her I needed her and she agreed to help. She did not even ask for an explanation.
After hanging up with Monica I went back into the bedroom and wrote a short note.
“I left you a pain pill if you wake up and need it. I went to take care of some business. I’ll be back soon. Please do not leave!” I signed the note and left her there sleeping. I left the bedside light on even though it would be fully light out soon. I did not want her to wake up in the dark and be afraid.
I left my home and headed for my friends Monica’s house.
Monica has been my friend since grade school. She goes by Mo because she hates her name about as much as I hate mine. To other people we were Mo and Jo. She was 6’3“, broad shouldered and strong as a mule. Any time I needed anything no questions asked, Mo was my girl. I pulled up to Mo’s house and she was waiting with a grin.
Chapter 5
We made it to Tiffany’s apartment just as the sun was starting to ease its way up into the pink sky. I parked the truck in a lot across the street. I began to tell my dear friend about what had happened. She just listened with a scowl. After I finished my tale I went over my plan to make Tiffany’s boyfriend pay for what he had done to Sabra. We both fell silent. I knew what she was thinking.
When we were in high school a girl named Lisa Porthuge had been raped and dumped on the side of rural road outside the small-town where we lived.
The boy who raped her was Eric Pitts.
Eric was the 19-year-old son of Mac Pitts, a rich oilman who practically owned the whole town.
The rape was reported to the county sheriff. Everyone assumed justice would be served. That was my first lesson in rich privilege.
The girl was from a poor family that lived in a rundown farmhouse with too many mouths to feed.
