Breaking the Cycle Read online

  “The car, the home, even the names are part of your past life.” Irene took Momma’s hand and held it tight. “The members of the Safe Haven are going to help you start anew.” Momma managed a smile, albeit fake. “Let’s hurry! We’re leaving from Gate 8.”

  When we got to the gate, Irene flashed three tickets at the uniformed agent who waved us on. Within minutes, we were seated comfortably on the train in two double seats facing each other: Momma and me on one side, Irene on the other. She handed each of us a ticket. “Hang on to these. The conductor will collect them a little later.”

  I was likely to faint when I read the name on my ticket. “Rhonda?” What kind of name is Rhonda, I thought to myself. I leaned over, trying to see Momma’s ticket. “What does yours say?”

  “Gladys.” She chuckled. “Gladys Stevenson.”

  “That’s right,” Irene confirmed, letting out a slight giggle of her own. “From this moment on, you are Gladys and Rhonda Stevenson from San Antonio, Texas.”

  “Texas?” I fell out laughing at the mere thought of it. “Shouldn’t we have accents or something?”

  “Not necessarily.” Irene started eyeing Momma’s purse. She held out her palm. “Hand over your wallet. Any identification that has your old name on it.”

  Momma hesitated for a brief moment and then complied, taking her driver’s license and our insurance cards out and placing them in Irene’s hand. “I can keep the pictures, can’t I? They’re all the memories I have.”

  “Do they have names written on the back?”

  “No. No names.”

  “Then you can keep them.” Irene stood up and headed toward the door of the car, swinging it open and stepping out on the platform separating it from the next car. The platform was surrounded by an air-tight rubber seal. Momma and I both gasped as we watched her fling Momma’s things out of a slightly ajar window. She came back inside, sealed the door, and took her seat. “There, it’s done. Now off to Maine we go.”

  I looked down at my ticket again. The destination was Portland, Maine. That seemed fifty million miles away to me. It was a place I had only read about in books. I glanced back up at Irene. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  I hesitated, not sure whether or not I should mind my own business. “Irene isn’t your real name, is it?”

  “No, and my kids are really not Sheila, Alice, and Adam either.” We all shared a good laugh. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it soon enough. It’s kind of like playing a game; except the stakes are higher and all mistakes have serious repercussions. Both of you have to make sure you never mention your real names again.”

  “Cool!” I exclaimed, treating it like an espionage mission. “This is going to be a blast!”

  Momma didn’t seem as excited. “What about Kandace’s, I mean Rhonda’s education?”

  “The school records, immunization forms, and everything else have been taken care of,” Irene soothingly reassured her. “Just relax and enjoy the train ride. You both must be mentally and physically exhausted.”

  I had to admit she had a valid point. As if to confirm her suspicions, Momma and I were both asleep within the next fifteen minutes.

  After we got to Portland, Irene hailed a cab and shuffled us inside. She explained Safe Haven in more detail on our way there. It was originally started by a group of Catholic nuns in the early 1940s and had been going strong ever since. The only people who knew the exact location were those who stayed there at one point or another. She stressed that we must never reveal the location to anyone, or Safe Haven would become not only unsafe but downright dangerous. All the women and children there were hiding from something or someone, including her, and the protection of the group rested totally upon the shoulders of the residents. No one ever dropped by for visits because no one was ever invited. The length of stay per family depended upon a variety of factors, including but not limited to, gaining steady employment, progress in the therapy sessions because everyone was required to undergo some form of therapy or counseling, and emotional strength to go forward alone.

  Momma assured Irene that we would be there two, three months tops. She didn’t want to impose on them any longer than that. I couldn’t fathom how she came to that time frame, considering she was always so reliant on Josh throughout their marriage, but I kept my two cents to myself.

  Safe Haven was breathtaking. It was right on the coast and sat on at least a hundred acres. It looked like something out of a movie. There were huge, thick wooden doors with a silver knocker positioned in the middle of each one, cobblestone floors throughout the entry level, and the biggest fireplace I had ever seen in the living room.

  Everyone was so nice, it was incredible. Sheila and I hit it off right away. She was a tall brunette with deep-set gray eyes like her mother. It looked like Irene had literally spit her out. Her younger siblings were adorable and jumped all over my lap until I couldn’t feel my legs. I didn’t mind. It was refreshing to be around happiness for a change. I hoped some of it would rub off on me.

  There were ten families currently residing at Safe Haven, excluding us, and the upstairs was divided into four wings. Irene introduced us to Maddie, who ran the day-to-day operations while Irene was traveling cross-country rescuing troubled souls. She was a heavyset woman with pale skin and salt and pepper hair. She huffed and puffed up the flight of stairs and showed us to our room in the south wing. It had twin beds and a private bath. Momma’s face frowned up the second Maddie left.

  “Not much space in here, Kandace.”

  “You mean Rhonda!” I lashed out at her, correcting her mistake. “We have to be extremely careful, Momma. You heard what Irene said.”

  “Well, it’s easier for you,” she replied, with an edge of sarcasm in her voice. “You never call me Nina anyway. You still get to call me Momma. I’m the one that has to adjust.”

  I sat down beside her on the bed. “We both have to adjust, Gladys.” We both chuckled. “I love you, Momma.”

  “I love you too, Baby.” Momma embraced me again and it hit me that she had hugged me more times in the space of one day than she had the entire time she was married. “Are you hungry? Irene said they saved us some dinner.”

  “No, it’s really late.” I got up and heaved my duffel bag onto the other bed, unzipping it to search for the large red tee I always slept in. “I think I’m going to hit the sack. Tomorrow’s a brand-new day.”

  “And a brand-new life,” Momma added, turning down her own bed. “I’m too tired to even change. That nap on the train helped, but I’m still worn out.”

  I went into the bathroom to change and brush my teeth. When I returned, Momma was snoring softly. I covered up her legs and got into my own bed. My new bed in my new room in my new home. I wondered what Josh was doing at that very moment. Probably pacing the floor or throwing dishes against the wall or some other immature behavior. Maybe he was actually concerned and had the local police over there filing a report. I was glad Momma didn’t leave him a note. He didn’t deserve one. He didn’t deserve anything.

  One Year Later

  Momma lasted three weeks. Three lousy weeks before she went crawling back to Josh. Irene had arranged for her to wait tables at a Mom and Pop restaurant in town. She hated it and came home exhausted every night. As far as I was concerned, anything was a step up from scrubbing toilets and changing funky sheets at that motel. I guess she didn’t see it that way.

  One night, Maddie went into town to pick her up, and the other waitress, Peaches, told her that “Gladys” had asked one of the regular customers, a trucker who went by the handle of Red Dragon, for a ride out of town. I was devastated when I heard the news and didn’t eat for four days. Everyone tried to console me, but to no avail. How could Momma do that to me? How could she choose a man over her own flesh and blood?

  I tried to convince myself that she hadn’t gone back to Josh. I dialed our old number and it was disconnected so I decided to call Mrs. Cowan. She was elated to hear
my voice and asked me why I didn’t mention that I was moving to Atlanta to stay with relatives. The Atlanta comment threw me for a loop. Mrs. Cowan told me that Momma had personally explained the situation to her when she and Josh were cleaning out the apartment and piling everything into the back of a U-Haul. She said they left no forwarding address and the landlord was pissed because the rent was two months in arrears when they fled like bandits in the night. I promised Mrs. Cowan I would write and tell her the truth. I was too upset to go into it over the phone. She wished me well and told me that she would keep me in her prayers. I told her that she had always been in my prayers and thanked her for being a surrogate grandmother during my stay in Richmond. I could hear her weeping on the other end of the line and I fought back my own tears until we hung up. Then I buried my head in a pillow and cried myself to sleep.

  Standing here on the coastline, watching the waves crash against the shore, I have no regrets about leaving. I wish Momma could be here. I wish she could have been stronger and I realize now that I will never see her again. Sure, miracles can happen but I sense a closure to my past life and, in my heart, I know she’ll never come looking for me. She made her choice and I made mine.

  For the first time, I am on the honor roll at school. I even tutor some of the younger kids here at Safe Haven in math and science. Those have always been my stronger subjects. Sheila and I are going to a school dance tonight. I am so nervous. There’s this boy, William, who I’m crazy about. I’m not sure if he’s ever noticed me. If he hasn’t, if he never does, that’s still okay. Someone else will come along, someone capable of loving me for me, and when he does, the way he will touch me will be with love and affection. No man will ever beat on me. Not ever again.

  Grandma, wherever you are, I want you to know that I’ve turned my life over to God. I even attend church every Sunday now and sing in the youth choir. Pastor Geoff is always telling the congregation what a beautiful voice I have and it makes me feel proud. I’m singing the Easter solo next Sunday. I wish you could be here to hear me. I wish Momma could be here, too.

  I can’t promise that I’ll grow up to be a surgeon or a lawyer or a famous singer. I can promise that, no matter what I grow up to be, I’ll be happy. I’ll be happy because I know, at least for this family, that the cycle of violence has finally been broken.

  Zane is the New York Times Bestselling author of ten books (Afterburn, Addicted with a Twist, Skyscraper, Nervous, The Sisters of APF, Gettin’ Buck Wild: The Sex Chronicles 2, The Heat Seekers, Shame on it All, Addicted, and The Sex Chronicles: Shattering the Myth ) and the editor or contributor of several anthologies including the upcoming Love is Never Painless and the Publisher of Strebor Books International. She resides in the Washington, D.C. Metropolitan Area.

  GOD DOES ANSWER PRAYERS

  J.L. WOODSON

  The beeping noise hummed under the sound of frantic voices. Consistent, like a dripping faucet, it wore on Steven’s nerves.

  What is that noise? Steven opened his eyes. People in green, blood-covered hospital suits stood over him with surgical tools, preparing to do something to his body, but he didn’t know what. He could hear them faintly, and their faces were covered with bright white masks so he couldn’t tell male from female, or doctor from nurse.

  All he could really hear was that consistent beeping noise from the heart monitor. And then it happened. The beeps became slower, slower, slooooooower. His twelve-year-old heart was slowing by the second.

  Steven still hadn’t realized that, somehow, he could see everything perched from his spot right above the operating table. How did he get there?

  “What are they doing?”

  It looked like they were trying to save his life or something, but he wondered how that could be when he felt fine. “He’s bleeding out. Get the clamps,” one of the nurses yelled.

  He scanned the room—green tiled walls, bright white lights, and extra surgical equipment stood near the bed where his body lay on the white sheets. A flutter of activity took place near the upper part of his body as nurses passed tools, followed quick commands, and overall moved in synchronization as though this entire act were a dance.

  For some strange reason, they were still trying to save his life, but they actually walked straight past the “real” him. A glance to his left found his mother and father both crying behind a large plate-glass window. His father’s face radiated shame, while his mother kept on banging on the glass, mouthing the words, “Save… him… please.”

  Who was she talking about? She couldn’t have been talking about him. He was sitting up, feeling fine, and watching everything. Steven’s face wrinkled in confusion, until one of the doctors lowered the window shade, blocking out the view of his parents. Steven slowly glanced behind him, and shock exploded from every corner of his mind. His own reflection glared back at him. He looked exactly like the Steven he remembered and, at the same time, looked nothing like the Steven he had been for twelve years.

  Jumping further away from the table, he soon hovered in the upper corner of the room as questions whirled in his mind. How could that be me? I’m standing right here. It was painful to see himself lying on an emergency room table as doctors feverishly worked on his body, trying to get his heart back to a normal speed. Now he knew the reason for his parents’ tears. But how did he get like this? How did Steven end up on that table? Steven wasn’t in a gang, so that couldn’t have been it. There were no accidental shootings at school that day, so that was out of the question.

  Steven was startled by the loud beeping sound, which suddenly switched from a beep to a flat, solid tone.

  “He’s flat lining. Get the paddles.”

  A nurse disappeared and a few seconds later, a loud bursting noise came from behind him. He turned around and quickly moved out of the way as a nurse rolled in the cart with electric shock paddles. The nurse splattered liquid on the paddles and placed them on his chest. “Clear.” She paused, then added, “No pulse, Doctor.”

  “I need more. Give me three cc’s of—”

  Steven hovered there, witnessing how fast everything was flashing before his eyes. “Ouch, what the—” Although Steven wasn’t connected to his body anymore, he could still feel the shock every time the jolt of electricity passed through his body. He also felt weak, as though he were fading, drifting away.

  “Clear.”

  Steven lowered to the ground.

  “We’re losing him…” one of the nurses screamed.

  What happened to me?

  “Clear!”

  “Run!”

  That one word would keep Steven up all night.

  “If he somehow gets into the house tonight,” his mother said softly while stroking his head, “I want you to run. Run as fast as you can, as far as you can. Just get away this time.”

  She had said those words some thirty minutes before he brushed his teeth, slipped on his green and blue plaid pajamas, and went to bed. Her full lips trailed a tender kiss on his forehead, leaving a thin print of burgundy lipstick as a reminder of a goodnight. The goodnight that happened right before he saw the flowered robe covering her full figure disappear from his bedroom into the dimly lit hallway. Right before the fear in her tear-filled, dark brown eyes could strike worry in Steven’s heart. She didn’t have to say who “he” was. In Steven’s mind, “he” was synonymous with evil. And evil, at least in their house, was synonymous with “Dad.”

  But Steven hadn’t listened to his mother. He lay in bed, wide-awake, eyes shifting swiftly in each direction, waiting for something to jump out. In his heart, Steven realized that he couldn’t leave anymore than she could; anymore than she had ever tried. Who would protect her if he left her alone?

  Steven was stronger now, almost as tall as his dad. He’d even taken karate classes and definitely knew how to take a man down. So why hadn’t he lifted a finger when Hector came bursting through the door? Why was he trembling in the corner of the living room like the last leaf on a snow-frosted tree, watching a
n instant replay of another world champion Southside of Chicago fight? Why? He’d stepped in front of his mother once before and it didn’t matter. It would only happen again tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next. Watching didn’t matter. Watching was normal. Steven had heard the second verse of the same song so many times. And by now, he could definitely sing it from memory.

  Angry blows rained down on his mother’s body, purple bruises welling up where smooth, dark brown skin should be. As the living room became another battleground of curses and screams, Steven now understood exactly what his Aunt Vinah meant when she said, “When the shit hits the fan, you don’t want to be standing downwind.” Steven, at twelve years old, could tell anyone that upwind wasn’t all that great either.

  As his parents fought, every bitter word, every single blow, was like they were aimed directly at him, hurting him worse than any whippings his mother had every given him. It was always about money. Always about responsibility. Always about the fact that drugs were more important to Hector than his family. If Steven had never been born, maybe… things would’ve been different? At least, he wouldn’t be around to see whether or not that was the truth. He couldn’t stand to see this happen to them. Mainly, it was painful for him to watch bad things happen to his mother. But, staying in a bedroom listening wasn’t much better.

  Steven sunk down even further into the corner, under the painting of Lake Michigan and the portrait of silver-haired Grandma Mildred, hoping that she was able to see and hear from her place in heaven, the torturing words slicing and stabbing the soul of a twelve-year-old boy. He always picked the corner of a room to keep safe. And so far it had worked. He had learned from experience that flying objects didn’t land in corners. No way! They whipped in and out like a boomerang and either landed on the floor near his feet, or sailed back into reach of one of his parents. Watching his parents fight was as unreal as a video game or an action movie. Only this was one episode he couldn’t turn off and didn’t want to watch. And, oh, how he wished he could simply change the channel. How he prayed that he could.