In another life (or what feels like it), I lived in Riverside, California. I was young, single, childless and basically had very few worries. I lived with two other young singles in a house in a nice-ish neighborhood. It wasn't a fancy block of houses, but it was comfortably middle-class. Across the street lived a tall, sophisticated looking woman about the age of my own mother. I imagined that she was an utter snob because she was always dressed like Martha Stewart and she had two beautiful dogs that trailed along obediently. And she never ever smiled.
The only thing that didn't jive with my image of her was the two-year-old girl that she seemed to care for on a regular basis. Such a perfect snob of a woman, I thought, would never volunteer to babysit anyone, even a grandchild. It was even more strange that I never saw the child's parents.
One evening, a search helicopter was circling above our neighborhood. Things like that were always going on in Riverside, so it wasn't a big shock. We locked our doors and ate our supper while watching curiously out the windows. Then we heard the police car sirens. My roommate waved me over to our front window as the police cars came chasing a car that screeched to a stop almost directly in front of our house! We crouched down with just our eyes peeking above the sill of the picture window to see the action. A man jumped out of the car and ran into the woman's house just across the street. It happened so fast that I barely saw the man.
The police got out of their cars with their guns pulled and crouched in wait. It was just like a movie. Next, the SWAT team arrived - no joke! My roommate and I thought that the snobby woman was being held hostage or something . . .The SWAT team entered the house - again, just like the movies, although they didn't break the door down. We held our breath.
Then the woman came walking out of the house, calm and cold as ever. She didn't seem surprised or hassled at all. She was carrying the little girl, too, as if they were just on their way to the grocery store or park or something. Moments later, the SWAT team brought out a very tatooed individual in a wife-beater. He looked as criminal as the woman looked polished.
I remember being so stunned by the whole scene, but mostly by the woman. How could a person be so stoic in such a terrible situation? I was sure that she must have known the man somehow and so she wasn't terribly surprised that he entered the house. That would explain why she wasn't scared, right? But wouldn't a normal person be shaken, angry, embarrassed? Wouldn't a normal person be crying or yelling or hiding their head? Yet, she had the same demeanor that evening that she did every day when she walked out to her mailbox. It was just such a puzzle to me that her cool image is burned into my memory.
Today, that woman came to my mind and I realized that I understand her now. I know why she was so cool. She definitely knew the man and his ways, which is why she wasn't surprised. But, more than that, she had been through this before or something similar. She had been through this scene enough that she was tired of it. Maybe the first time something like that happened she had felt fear and shame and sadness. She had probably reacted with passion back then. But how many times had he disrupted her life? More than three times, I'm sure. Regularly, I'd guess. When it keeps cycling around to the same drama and same pain a person grows scarred and stops feeling anything. She just went through the motions and went on with her life.
I get it now.
I've stopped being embarrassed by the monthly news article featuring my husband's mugshot on the front page. I don't cringe anymore when someone says, "You've been through so much. You're so strong." I even manage to keep my head up when I walk past the same police officers that once rifled through my home and accused me of child abuse. I'm not sure the shame will ever fade, but I'm done reacting to it. I may not have become that cold woman yet, but we have similar scars. I know that I have faced godawful moments with the same stoic face.
And that's yet another reason I need to get out of here.
No comments:
Post a Comment