Part Five Now is Now

I answered the phone

Besides the dreams, there were a few areas of my life in which Myron haunted me, or the thought of him spilled over into my daily life. Sure it was usually in the back of my head, not foremost in my mind, but the truth is it was a very long time until I could truly say that a day went by that I didn’t think of him, or his actions or our horrible life together.

Sometimes, even though he was many miles away and we had been separated for many years, he would find a way to sneak back into my life. He’d find a way to torment me across the miles and make sure that I wasn’t living a peaceful, easy life.

So it was one Summer day, all was quiet in my house, the kids were playing outside and I had a day off from work. I was going about my business in the usual way, a little housework, some surfing the internet, a little working on some of my books. Suddenly, out of the silence the phone rang. And with that ring came an eerie sense of dread. A feeling I knew too well yet still sometimes forgot to pay heed. And so this time, when the phone rang, I answered it.



I answered the phone, even though I felt I shouldn’t. Even though I didn’t recognize the number and even though I had a terrible feeling about whomever was on the other end. I answered the phone anyway.

What met me on the other end was Myron’s gruff voice, accusatory, icy and critical. I knew the voice all too well. And even after months – perhaps years of not speaking with him, his tone was the same, his demeanour hadn’t changed. He was still angry, still unhappy, still intimidating. It was obvious from his words that he still blamed me for his not being able to see the kids. And he wanted me to know it.

I listened quietly to his harsh words, thinking momentarily that I should stand up to him, should stick up for myself. I pondered telling him that Jake’s real birthday, which was apparently the reason for his call, was August the 12th , 2 days ago and not the 14th like he thought. But I remembered all the times I had reminded him of this fact only to have my words fall on deaf ears. So I said nothing.

I contemplated telling him that there was no need for him to raise his voice to me, to talk to me in such a manner. But it was a fleeting thought and my fear and insecurities took over and I said nothing. I clammed up, my jaw jammed and I stood dumbfounded on my end of the conversation, just as I had been all those years ago.

Wishing I hadn’t answered the phone, I was frozen in my footsteps and my jaw was wired shut. There were so many things I wish I would have said to him, things I wish I would have done, or wouldn’t have done. I wish I wouldn’t have answered the phone. If only I had just let it ring. But I didn’t. I answered the phone.

I answered the phone.



That one phone call led to a small setback of sorts. It led to a partial regression in my self esteem, self worth and in my being able to trust those I was close to. But thankfully as time wears on, each minor setback gets smaller and smaller every time. One day I know, Myron will call and I will answer the phone. And I’ll be calm, cool and collected as if I were talking to a vacuum cleaner salesperson. I won’t get anxious, my heart won’t begin to race and I wont feel fear boiling in my veins. I’ll be nonchalant and confident when I hang up the phone after having spoken with Myron for the very last time and I’ll say to myself with pride “I answered the phone. I answered the phone.”
It’s not the End

It’s been 12 or so years since Myron and I lived together. Since I had any sort of relationship with him. But still after all this time some of it still gets to me. Occasionally, there are still times, fleeting moments when I feel all the emotions of the past and I tend to beat myself up for it. Thinking that it all happened so long ago, I should have dealt with it by now.
But then I re-read this piece or that piece and reworking this book, getting it ready for print and I notice something.
The things that happened to me, and other people like Granny, at the hands of Myron, were not normal , typical or usual . Now that I have had some time to distance myself from these situations and the numbness has gone, I can see how not-normal all this was. I lived with the abuse and mistreatment, thinking it was normal, acting as if it was just another day, though at the same time, deep in my heart knowing it was not okay, for so many years. So many years I acted a part that I wasn’t willing or properly prepared to play. So many years I walked around half awake, numb to the pain that surrounded me. So many years I merely survived. I suppose it’s not surprising that sometimes, still the reality of it gets to me.

But slowly I have learned to let myself feel all the emotions I wasn’t able to feel at the time. Emotions like, sadness, hurt, anger, shame and betrayal. Emotions I suppressed. Emotions I couldn’t let myself feel if I wanted to survive. Sometimes now I feel weak. Some days, though these days are getting fewer and further in between, I just want to curl up in my bed and cry all day long. Sometimes, even still, I have trouble trusting people that I know in my heart would never ever hurt me. But now I know that's okay because I am growing. I am getting stronger every day, but I am not perfect. And that is okay, too.







It’s times like these
When she feels she might explode
From holding it all in
For so long,
Too long
She realizes she’s distanced herself
And separated (from the people who love her)
Built walls around her heart
(Don’t get hurt.
… Won’t get hurt)

This sadness once again invades
Permeates and takes over her being
Seeps into her pores
Darkness bleeding into and out of her veins
It’s shadowy hold taking her
Trapping her inside
Yet wanting to free her
Wanting to be set free

What she longs for
Is this sadness to pass
The pain to disappear, to the heavens
To lie safe in his arms and talk
Until no more words will come
And cry until the tears
Have all dried up

It’s times like these
When her world is dark and alone
And a river of tears threatens to drown her
That she struggles to keep afloat
Reach for the sky and hold
Her head up high
And find that little voice inside
It’s times like these
She opens up
And lets it all flow out
It’s times like these she opens up
And lets the love flow in





Much Appreciated


I am now so far away from the person I was at the beginning of my spiritual journey that it is sometimes hard to believe I was ever that sad and desperately lonely little girl. The person I was back then seems like a mere shadow of the woman I have become. Perhaps a sliver of the woman I am meant to ultimately BE. Writing this account has not only helped me process hurtful events from y past, but has also helped me learn and grow in different ways. And helped me move through my feelings of despair and intense loneliness and pain through the darkened tunnel and toward the light of the here and now.

No longer do I feel the deep sadness and grief that were ever present in my mind when I first began writing this book. The realisation of my True inner Self and the discovery of my place in this beautiful Universe have opened me up to a whole new way of looking at my life. I have developed a new way of viewing life in general and the Universe as a whole. So, while these experiences were extremely painful, they have moulded me into the person I am today. And because of that, I wouldn’t change a thing!

I now believe with all of my being in the laws of cause and effect. I am undeniably aware that the energy I send out to the Universe is the energy that will eventually be returned to me. I learned, through all my heartache and grief, an invaluable life lesson. I learned to be forever mindful of the energy I send out to the Universe so that I am pleased with what I receive. I discovered, through sheer trial and error that an effective way to ensure that I am pleased with what comes back to me is to stay in the mode of Appreciation. To be sincerely thankful for all that I have, all that I witness and all that I am in every waking moment of this life.

~To Appreciate~ To be aware of the value, importance or magnitude of. To esteem adequately or highly. To show gratitude for. ~

Appreciation is a positive Energy vibration that most often equals that which you most desire in your daily living experience. It has been said that the energetic vibration of Appreciation is the closest vibration to our core spiritual energy. It is one of the highest vibrations that can be experienced by us in this realm – here on earth.


I know that being in the mode of Appreciation is the right place to be because it feels good to me. It feels good in my here and now.

I see a flower in the garden and I appreciate the beauty within it. That feels good. I see a bird soaring high above me in the sky and I appreciate his gracefulness and freedom. That feels good to me. I hear the sound of my children laughing as they splash in the backyard pool and I appreciate their joyful innocence. That feels good to me, too. I feel the dewy grass beneath my feet as I walk across the lawn to pick up the morning paper and I appreciate its softness and comfort. That feels good to me. I step outside my back door in the morning and smell the sweet scent of fresh bread baking at the house next door and I appreciate the alluring aroma. That feels good to me, too.


Appreciation is the best manner for me to live my life within, not only because it feels good, but also because it sends out positive vibrations to the Universe. It guarantees wonderful future experiences as the Universe responds again and again to these vibrations with more positive vibrations. So the more I appreciate my life and the beauty and wonder that every day brings, the more I have faith that each new day will behold more beauty, more wonder and more appreciation than the day before.





















Always Learning

As I said before I am truly thankful for my past experiences. As awful as they were I am thankful for each and every one. For, had I not endured them I may never have learned the valuable lessons I now carry with me each day.


I have learned that life is what I make it. All of my expectations make life and everything in it, just what I wish (or fear) it to be. So I have learned to be careful of how I look at people and how I judge people; even those I think I know. I have learned that I have a hand in creating my world and that I do not want to create anything that is not exactly what I want in my life.

I have learned that Spirit speaks to me whenever I am open and quiet to listen. There is never any reason to doubt or fear because I have access to all of the answers I need. I never need to doubt myself or fear that the messages I get are wrong. They come to me for a reason. And I have learned that not trusting myself or believing someone else has the answers while I do not can lead me down a path I do not wish to go. I must trust in myself. I have learned that if I listen, wisdom will come.

I have learned that I must reply on myself, first and foremost and I must not look to someone else to make me feel better, or comfortable or whole. I need to be able to give these things to myself, before I am able to properly receive them from another person.

I have learned that there is a little girl inside of me that is small and sensitive, but has all the love in the world to give. She needs to feel safe and she wants to be able to trust despite misplacing her trust in the past. She is resilient and strong and she knows that each day is a new day and she can be free from things that have harmed her in the past. She is ready to live this life! Now is now!


Epilogue

Willow’s wisps

It has been through the tears, the pain, the breaking down into nothingness that an old self has died and a new one has emerged. Up, up, up and out of the ashes, dusting off my naked body, I find my new self stronger peaceful, nearly unshakeable.

I look to the sky and the world around me for guidance and my gaze stops on the sleepy branches of the mighty weeping willow. I see myself in her. She is strong but sways so surely in the wind. Though weeping she may be, she remains silent and true to herself.

And though the storms rage on around her, she stands ever tall and proud. And while the thunder rolls and claps its song and the lightning threatens to strike, she holds her arms up high. Boughs resilient, supple. She believes, as I believe, in her power, her inner strength.

Down on my knees, fallen, these tears wash away like purifying rains from the heavens. I wrap myself up in these pale willow leaves and sing myself back to sleep.
Rock-a-by
Rock-a-by
Rock-a-by

Part Four: Free at Last

Blood on the Floor


I'd had that terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach all day, so
when I saw Myron drive past the Food Bank several times as I stood
in the line up waiting to get in, I wasn't the least bit surprised.
If anything, I was somewhat relieved to know exactly where he was
even if I didn't have a clue what he was up to. Before I actually
managed to get inside the busy building and pick up our food hamper,
Myron drove past me at least four times. This was highly unusual
because, not only was Myron not going to the Food Bank that day
because it was "Families Only" day, but the Food Bank itself was at
the edge of town on a seldom used road. So it was hardly as if he
was "on his way" somewhere. As usual his presence had me shaken so
I was especially glad that Nita and I had decided to make the trek
together that morning. She was able to leave 2 of her kids at home
with Jed, but like always I had to bring mine with. Usually I
walked to and from the Food Bank and everywhere else I needed to
go. Just me and the kids.

I was also particularly grateful that Nita had arranged for a ride
home for us. What with 3 kids between us and enough groceries to
supply 2 families for at least a week, the walk home across town
would have been long and arduous to say the least. Thankfully Doug,
Nita's best friend had a truck and nothing to do that morning. And
thankfully also, he was a genuinely nice guy who didn't mind helping
out a friend in need. Or the friend of a friend in need for that
matter.

After Nita and I had received our monthly hampers from the generous
folks at the Food Bank, we sat outside on the curb and waited for
Doug. Nita scarcely had time to finish her cigarette when he pulled
up in his truck. With a smile on his face as always he asked "Hey,
beautifuls need a ride somewhere?" We all piled in and buckled up
the kids as best we could while Doug loaded our groceries in the
back. Just as we were about to drive off Myron drove past us yet
again. By this time I was visibly shaken and Doug could see it on
my face. "Has that asshole been buggin' you again, Lor?" he queried
with genuine concern. As I fumbled for words and choked back tears,
Nita answered for me. "Yeah Doug, he's been following her around
again." Then she added, "You better just come to my house Lor". We
all agreed that this would be the safest plan of action. So off we
drove, Doug, me and the Kids and Nita and Adam, at ease at least for
the moment.

We determined it would be most convenient if we stopped by my
apartment on the way to Nita's house. This way, I could unload my
groceries and grab what the kids and I would need for the rest of
the day and the night if we decided to sleep over. Quickly as I
could I raced up stairs with the diaper bag. While Nita stayed in
the truck with the kids, Doug packed my groceries up the stairs and
helped me put away the stuff that needed refrigeration. As Doug and
I headed back down the stairs and locked up the apartment, who
should drive by one more time but Myron.


This time he cast Doug the most vicious glance and yelled at him out the window of his car "You better watch out, Doug! Ha Ha!" And drove off down the street. The
three of us, along with just about everyone else we knew, were used
to Myron's threats and accusations, so we didn't make too much of
the spectacle. I tried my best to downplay his actions for the
benefit of the kids who sat in the truck with looks of confusion on
their tiny faces.


After we got to Nita's house Doug hung around for a while helping
Nita unpack the groceries and put them away. While they did that I
hung out in the kitchen with them getting lunch ready for the kids.
We had 6 kids in all that day, which wasn't at all unusual. As well
as Nita's three boys, David, Jacob and Adam, and my two kids, Jakob
and Cassidee, or Cassie-Annie as Nita's boys called her, we also had
Louie. Louie, whose real name was Desmond was Nita's nephew. The
two year old son of Nita's younger sister Destiny was Cassidee's
best little playmate as they were born just a month apart.
Cassidee's birthday was in January and Louie's in February.

All things considered, we were having a relaxing afternoon at Nita's
cozy little house. The kids were watching movies in the living room
and the adults were enjoying some good conversation and laughter in
the kitchen. Despite the antics from Myron earlier that day, most
of us were having a fine time. Cassidee and Louie were probably
having the most fun of all. Every chance they could get, whenever
they were out of sight of a parent, they would empty all of Nita's
CD collection out of their cases, spread them all out over the
floor, and dance upon them. It was as if they thought the shiny
plastic objects were a special little dance floor just for them.
When I walked in to the living room and saw the disaster it was all
I could do not to laugh out loud. But I kept my composure and
cleaned up the mess quietly. While doing this I could hear voices
in the kitchen, this time they weren't only Doug and Nita's.


After carefully putting the CDs away for the third time, I returned
to the Kitchen to see Destiny's friend Kim standing in the doorway.
She looked as though she had seen a ghost. Before she could come
in, I glanced behind her and could instantly tell what she was upset
about. Myron was standing directly behind her with the most
menacing look on his face. We hurriedly rushed Kim in the house and
double locked the doors. Myron left, almost immediately but not
without whispering an ominous warning to me through the side
window "I'll be back with a club!" He promised. That vow sent
chills up my spine and by the look on everyone's faces I could tell
I wasn't the only one who was upset. So much for our nice quiet
afternoon.







After we fed all the kids and got the kitchen cleaned up again, Kim
decided it was finally safe for her to go home. Myron hadn't come
back as he promised and we all decide he wasn't going to. This was
most likely just another one of his idle threats. So Doug decided
that since he had to go home for dinner anyways, he'd drop Kim off
at her house on the way. It was as great idea as Kim was certainly
not feeling like walking around town by herself. Especially now
that it was beginning to get dark. So Doug decided he would do what
he had to do and come back to check on us just as soon as he could,
leaving us his cell phone, just in case. Just in case Myron came
back before Doug did. Just in case he was even more intoxicated
than he had been earlier. Just incase he was even angrier at me
than he had been before. With Myron around it seemed there were
always so many things to worry about, so many `just in case's.


While Doug was gone, Nita and I were both a little uneasy. Neither
one of us were wimpy chicks, but there was just something about
Myron, his behaviour, his attitude, his mere presence that set us on
edge and put the fear in us. I know that silently we were both
eagerly awaiting Doug's return. He could have stayed there with us
the entire day and night and that would have been just fine with
us.

Despite the unusual circumstances, the kids were having a ball as
they normally do when there are just too many of them in one room.
And Nita and I decided that to get our minds off Myron's antics,
we'd play some cribbage. And heck, perhaps we'd even have a drink.
Nita had some left over Christmas vodka in the cupboard. Not being
much of a drinker, she had no problem saving it for a special
occasion. While this occasion wasn't exactly special, it certainly
did call for something to calm the nerves and lighten the mood. So
Nita mixed us up a couple of Bloody Caesar's, extra salty and extra
spicy for me, and we sat at the kitchen table and played crib.

It wasn't long into our game when our concentration was broken by a
sound in the backyard. It was hard to distinguish, but sounded like
someone walking through the yard. Aloud Nita and I both
suggested "Doug's back" We waited and waited for the knock at the
door, but it never came. Reluctantly, as I could still hear
footsteps outside and they sounded like they were very close to the
house, I peered outside the blue curtains of Nita's kitchen window
just in time the see Myron walking around the corner and on to the
street. Almost as if he knew I was watching or maybe because he was
sure I would, he turned around and flashed me an malevolent
smile. "Told ya I'd be back" And off he walked. Nita and I guessed
that he was making yet another trip to the liquor store as Nita's
house was about half way between Myron's house and Downtown. But he
certainly did not have to walk through her yard to get there. He
was definitely going out of his way to torment us for some
mysterious reason.





By the time Doug finally did arrive, Myron had walked by Nita's
house two more times. Once on his way back form the liquor store,
with bottles of booze in hand. This time, instead of saying
anything he just stood outside in the yard seemingly waiting for
someone to notice him. By then I was getting really freaked out, so
Nita was the one who poked her head out the curtains. Sure enough
she said, he was in the yard, leaned up against the shed in the back
yard having a cigarette just as nonchalantly as could be. As if it
was normal to walk through someone's yard again and again for no
apparent reason but to cause alarm. As if it was usual to stop in
the yard in the dark and smoke a cigarette alone, leaned up against
the shed like a thug.

The last time he showed his face at Nita's house that night was just
shortly before Doug arrived. This time it seemed he was getting a
bit more brazen. Nita and I conjectured that perhaps an afternoon
of non-stop trips to the liquor store had Myron feeling ten feet
tall and bullet proof. Not only did he unnecessarily cut through
Nita's front and back yard on the way to the store, but he also slid
open her kitchen window, parted the curtains and stuck his head in.
And in doing so he uttered the oddest most perplexing statement I
had ever heard. "If it happens more than twice, it's stalking!" he
stated before he closed the curtains and left.

The sheer oddity of this situation and the peculiarity of his
remarks had Nita and me in a panic. What did he mean? Why did he say
that?

When Doug arrived, we were both near tears. It had been one
heck of a day and it certainly wasn't getting any better. Doug was
reassuring as usual. "Oh don't worry about him, girls. He's not
gonna do anything while I am around. I'll just stay here. I'll stay
all night if I have to"

No sooner did those words leave Doug's mouth than we heard a
terrible smashing sound coming from the back yard. The smashing
sounded unmistakably like breaking glass.
"What the fuck did he just do?" Doug said the words that were in
everyone's minds. There was no question that Myron had been
responsible for the breaking glass, but just what had broken was yet
to be discovered.

As Doug hastily opened Nita's back door, to see what all the action
was, we could clearly see his truck. And every window in it had
been smashed to bits including his side view mirrors. Suddenly I
realized just what he had meant when he said he'd be back with a
club. Seeing what Myron had done to his truck had severely pissed
Doug off. "that's the last straw" he fumed. "'I've had enough of
this. I'll be right back" With that, Doug proceeded to walk the few
short blocks to Myron's to see what his beef was.

Nita and I were on the edge of our seats, anxiously awaiting Doug's
return and hoping that Myron didn't come back here in the mean
time. Myron had been getting gradually more and more twisted over
the last few weeks and Nita and I were both frightened of what he
could do. Especially since we had so many children with us.
Yes, Doug had left us his cell phone for emergencies, but somehow
that did not give either one of us reassurance that Myron wouldn't
harm us.


When Doug finally came back several minutes later he was walking
kind of funny and didn't look quite right. Something had definitely
gone down at Myron's house. When I looked at his face I could see
that something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Doug's
face was as white as a ghost and he looked as if he was about to
pass out. I was about to ask what happened when I noticed blood on
Doug's right hand. Did he hurt Myron? Did they fight? Then I
noticed the blood wasn't just on his hand but all down his arm and
his leg. On his face. Quietly, faintly Doug whispered a
sound "hhhehh." I did not understand what he was saying.

As Doug staggered into the kitchen, his legs gave way and he fell
in a large heap on the floor. He tried to get up, but could only
manage to lay down flat on his back. His breathing was heavy and
forced and his movement was slow and methodical. And the blood just
kept coming. It was pouring and pouring and pouring. I could not
tell where it was coming from but it was definitely Doug's blood.
My mind was racing trying to fit the pieces together and my stomach
was churning at the sight of my friend so covered in his own blood.


Quietly I heard Doug whisper to Nita "Call 911 he stabbed me"

As Doug lied in a pool of blood on Nita's kitchen floor waiting for
the ambulance, minutes seemed like hours. I tried desperately to
keep all the kids confined to the living room so they couldn't see
what had happened. At the same time, I wanted to be by Doug's side
to make sure he was going to be alright. I was so shaken and guilt
ridden that I could barely think straight. "I'm sorry Doug, I'm
sorry Doug was all I could say while we waited for the ambulance to
arrive. Over and over again. "I'm sorry Doug" through sobs. "I am
so sorry."

"It's ok sweetie, it's not your fault." Doug whispered between
forced breaths. But as the pool of blood surrounding my friend grew
larger and larger I realized I didn't believe him.




















It's the blood
It's the blood
That I remember most
Next the shaking
The convulsing
The beads of sweat
On his forehead
And the feelings
Of guilt
That perhaps it truly
Was my fault.
And the bright lights
that so illuminated
almost magnified
that horrible pool
of electric plasma
Expanding
Expanding
Till it covered every
Last white spot
on the cold linoleum floor
And the pale blue-grey hue
Of the man lying within
That crimson pond
And the words
So unreal, faint
Like a distant echo
It's okay, Sweetie.
I'm okay
And the blood
And the blood
All the blood









High Alert

“This is Myron…” whispered the gravelly voice on the answering machine. After a short pause, he continued. “The father of the children…” Almost as if I didn’t know him by name alone. Next a longer pause as if he was deciding what to say next. “I will be in town on Saturday for Jakob’s birthday so you can’t say you’re not forewarned.” Then, seemingly as an afterthought, though in the same gruff voice and disdainful tone he added “Have a nice week.”

That one brief voice mail was enough to completely set me on edge. To send my blood pressure sky-rocketing, start my heart pounding and drive my mind racing in to an endless spiral of “what-if”s. Just the sound of his contemptuous voice was enough to start the picture reel in my mind of all the terrible things that once had been. These memories, though so long buried are certainly not forgotten and at times like these the mere sound of his voice could easily set my restless mind in motion.


It didn’t really matter to me that Myron had ended the message with a faint attempt at congeniality. Every cell in my body screamed silently in protest at his feigned efforts. Though several years had passed since Myron had physically hurt me, my body reacted as though not a day had gone by. So no matter how many times I tried to console myself, reassuring that was then, this is now, nothing seemed to dull the edginess I always felt when I knew he’d be around.


Nor did it matter that he was calling because of Jakob’s birthday. My son’s birthday was Thursday August the 12th not Saturday August 14th as Myron mistakenly thought. For some years now, despite repeated corrections from me; Myron insisted that Jake’s birthday was August the 14th. After a while I didn’t bother trying to set him straight anymore. Yes, Myron was at the hospital the day Jakob was born, but I guess he didn’t quite remember. Perhaps repeated trips from the maternity ward to the local strip-bar to quench his fatherly thirst had clouded not only his judgment, but his memory as well.

Hanging up the phone that day, I couldn’t help but think aloud “Jesus Christ, here we go again. I am getting so tired of this shit.” Thankfully, the kids weren’t home to hear me. But it was true. I was getting tired. Not only was I tired of the endless mind games, guilt trips and accusations, but I was tired of being afraid. I was tired of sleeping with a knife under my pillow and steel pipes and baseball bats at the front and back doors. I was tired of having to go talk to each one of my neighbors each time I thought Myron might be in town. I was tired of having to make new safety plans that involved innocent people that were all too willing to help us should he come around, angry.

I was tired of having to borrow my brother’s Pit Bull Terrier for protection in case he broke into my house whilst I slept. I was tired of having my friends come knocking on my door warning “Myron’s in town, Lor, you better come stay with us”. I was tired of waking up at midnight and looking out the window watching every shadow then checking on the kids, just to be safe. I was tired of having to spend the night at my mother’s for no reason at all except that I had “that feeling” again.

I was tired of having to explain our situation to new teachers every time the kids had to change schools. I was tired of changing my phone number because Myron had somehow gotten it again. I was tired of moving into a new house, a new neighbourhood or even a new town or Province because he had found us one more time. I was tired of not making new friends for fear that something could happen to one of them if Myron had spiraled into one of his jealous fits. After nearly eight years of separation from Myron Dallas Effa I was tired. I was just plain tired.





Windows shut tight despite the sweltering heat
And doors locked, barricaded speak of a danger imminent
Cell phones plugged in turned on
Neighbours in the back and on both sides are on high alert

The broken sleep I do manage to get is interrupted
Time and again
First by a faint noise outside
Is that him? Is he here?
Then by two dogs barking down the alley
Are they warning?
Finally by a shadowy figure faintly visible
Behind the grape vines of the house next door

Startled, relieved I breathe
I knew he was near
The lump in my throat and pit in my stomach assured me
He was on his way
These warning signs have yet to steer me wrong

Though I know he can see me watching him watching
He does not turn or look away
Smugly, slyly he continues to stare me down
As if invincible above any law

A steely calm begins to wash over me
Survival instincts take over
Replacing the tension, nervous fear of falling asleep
Lest I awaken to find him
Once more
In my house
In my bed
In me
The coolness brings with it thoughts, nay wishes
That have danced round my mind
Countless times before
Memorized by now, each one of them
I am certain I could execute
Each and every scenario
Effortlessly emotionless perfectly

Never am I disappointed nor disgusted with my self
For plotting such deadly scenes

For, the woman trapped inside me
Who devises these schemes
Would die the very instant
Such a plan was executed
Thus giving birth
At that same moment
To a new life
A new
Fearless
Me





And then, the Dreams

Since leaving Myron, the dreams would come, off and on, usually in the form of frightening nightmares though sometimes they were horrifying flashbacks, sometimes memories I had suppressed and sometimes they were scenarios of what might have been. Always, I would wake up, sweating, and afraid, each nightmare taking me back to that place, that awful place. Sometimes I would go weeks or months with not a thought or a dream of him, but then something would trigger a memory, often an event, or a date would bring Myron in to my daily focus. This would inevitably spill over into my night.

In the beginning, I didn’t record any of these dreams. I wanted them over, forgotten erased. But after some time, possibly a few years, it became evident that these dreams were a part of my therapy. They were a way for me to process the events that I hadn’t dealt with yet. It was then I decided to record them. I realized I could work within my dreams on healing parts of me that Myron had wounded. Things he had stolen from me, I now could replace.

So I made it a priority, a mission, instead of being plagued by nightmares of my ex husband to use them to try and make myself whole again. I would, within the dream, do things I never thought possible in real life. I would take back my power and release myself form the hold that Myron still had on me, both in my waking life and as I slept.


Nightmare and revelation

In this dream Myron had found the kids and I and was in our house. I spent the majority of the dream being hunted by him and trying to keep him away from my kids. I was trying to get to my Mom and my Brother who were also in the house, but at the same time I was trying to stay away from Myron and keep him away from the kids. He had various weapons, metal bars (which he often used when fighting in real life) which he was swinging at me, knives that he was slashing me with.

The whole scenario went on for quite some time, with me running down back staircases, trying to get away, holding both kids, and each time he would find me and get just close enough to hit me or cut me. Then I would get away once more and the same thing kept happening over and over again. At one point found a phone so I thought I could dial 911, but when I picked up the receiver I noticed that the numbers were all mixed up and I couldn’t find the 9.

I ended up finally getting the kids to safety in my Mom’s car. And we locked all the car doors and they drove away. I stayed behind in the house to make sure he didn’t see them or follow them.

For some reason I went back inside the house, possibly to do what I could never do in real life. When I got to where he was, he saw that the kids were gone and became furious with me. He reached up and pulled a light bulb right out of the socket with his bare hands. Of course it broke, but he wasn’t bleeding.

He was slashing at me with the broken bulb and was cutting me all over my chest and arms. I could see my own blood everywhere and my clothes were all shredded up. Somehow, he dropped the light bulb and I picked it up and while he was bending down to get it I hit him over the head with a heavy metal plate. So then he was lying on the ground. And he was still breathing though not moving very much.

At this point, I knew I had to do something if I ever wanted to be free from him. I looked at the broken light bulb in my hand and decided I had to do it NOW! Before he came to. So I carefully cut his jugular with the sharpest point of the light bulb. It was as if in slow motion. I stuck the shard into his neck as far as it would go and the blood was slowly seeping out. I was beginning to relax when he started to move and I realized this was not going to kill him. Then I realized how mad he was going to be that I cut him. I was terrified! Right when he started rolling around, I woke up.

After I woke up I began to say to myself “Why do I keep having nightmares about him still after all this time?” I realized that a little bit of it is fear. I still am a bit afraid that he might show up and try to hurt me or the kids, but then I noticed something. I felt like I was victimizing myself by asking that question.
So I asked myself a similar question, but in a different “Why do I keep giving myself nightmares of him?”

The answer to this question was quite surprising.
It didn’t boil down to fear at all at least not completely. I am actually feeling guilty, for having given my kids that kind of dad. But also, I realized that these dreams of Myron, of me hurting him were one way of me re-doing the past, of changing things that I had no way to change then. This was my way of fighting back safely.



Truck driving skull crushing dream

After not dreaming of Myron for quite some time I had another, pretty violent and gory, dream. Without going into the gruesome details, as this dream was explicitly violent, here is the gist of it.

Myron was chasing me, following me through the halls of a large building. It was dark, but somewhat like an apartment or perhaps a factory or commercial building.

As per usual, I would hide and he would find me, again and again.
This time though I got violent with him, clubbing and clubbing him over his head with a huge wooden bat.

Of course after each blow he would still get up and walk, coming after me again.
Finally after what seemed like an eternity of playing this game with him, I hit him and his skull smashed into tiny pieces. The top of his head sort of crumbled. I was then able to get away, safely with no fear of him following me and taking revenge.

When I got down to the parking garage, I hopped into a truck and started to drive. Suddenly, Myron showed up from out of nowhere, like a bad horror film and got in front of the truck, begging me to help him. He wanted to get in, so I could drive him to a hospital or somewhere to get help. His head was now somewhat healed, though still scabby and disgusting, it wasn’t the gaping mess it had been after I initially inflicted the blows. I wasn't going to let him in the truck, but somehow he managed to get in anyway.

He made his way to the driver’s seat and pushed me to the passengers side.
Somehow, whilst trying to remain in the driver’s seat, to retain control of the slowly moving vehicle, my hand ended up on his head which caused me to completely cave in the entire top of his skull.

This was the worst part of the dream as I could feel it all so lifelike. His head was very soft and scabby. After I did this, Myron looked at me, pitifully and was telling me that I should feel badly for what I had done. Oddly, I was completely remorseless. I even began to think thoughts like “you deserved that". This dream ended with me driving the truck, and he injured, slumped in the passenger seat. I was feeling rather emotionless; in fact I was cool as a cucumber.



Stick Pins

In this dream, Myron was in the house with the kids and I had to run to the basement to get something. The basement was dark and I was having trouble finding the item.
I heard Jake screaming, blood curdling screams so ran up the stairs to see what was wrong.
Myron was on the couch with Jake. He was holding him down hurting him.

He had my little boy in a locking hold and was twisting him around; contorting his tiny body in ways a body shouldn’t move. Jake was screaming like I had never heard before and the screaming didn’t stop.
I tried to get Myron to stop, by first asking him, then yelling. Then I started hitting him unafraid of his retaliation. He wouldn’t stop hurting Jake . Instead he began poking him with a pin. It was a stick pin with a red tip on it.

I continued kicking Myron and yelling at him and trying to pry Jake away from him to no avail. So I did some quick thinking and decided that if I kicked Myron in the groin, he'd have to let Jake go. So I did. I kicked him as hard as I could repeatedly. Over and over again, but it just wasn't working. Myron was so strong and so crazy that nothing fazed him. Even repeated kicks in the genitals, didn’t appear to hurt him.

He began poking me with the stick pin, now. And while it hurt tremendously, I was relieved that at least for the moment he was leaving Jake alone.

Just then I saw Cassidee sort of standing, watching, kind of dazed.
I said to Cass "Go get me a knife. Get me a knife!"

I decided that now was the time. The only way to get Jakob free and save ourselves would be to kill him.

But Cassidee didn’t budge. It was as if she was frozen in place. I was terrified and trying desperately to figure out what to do, how to save us. Then I heard a voice from the dream say to me "She can see him standing behind her".


To this day, I still have no idea of the significance of that dream voice. It must have been talking about Myron, but how could he have been standing behind her? And how could she possibly have seen what was behind her if she was looking at me.

SO many questions still remain unanswered, about this dream voice, but the closest I can get to an accurate interpretation t is that figuratively, and symbolically, since Myron is her Dad, she didn’t want to help me kill him, as that would be like killing part of herself. She can see him, standing behind her like a father should, maybe she quietly hoped for a true father, standing behind her in good times and bad. Perhaps she knew if she killed him that would never ever come to pass. As unlikely as that was, perhaps Cass was holding on to the only hope she had. How could I try and take that away from her? She had already lost so much.




Someone Please Call 911

This time I dreamed I was alone with Myron in an apartment, ground floor. He was angry and began to yell about something. My younger brother, Shawn came in to the apartment and Myron began yelling and cursing at him. They started fighting physically.

The fight ended up in somewhat of a wrestling match and they headed toward the bedroom where there was a mattress on the floor. The person who was my brother was now another man whom I did not recognize. And Myron was on top of him and beating him badly. Suddenly after a huge blow to the head, the man collapsed in a lifeless heap. I thought he was dead and began to panic, but then heard him breathing slowly so knew he was alive. Though he seemed to be in a bit of a coma.

I ran to the phone called 911 (knowing now that I could make things right in the dream by calling 911 for all the times I didn’t make the call in real life). The 911 operator answered and knew who I was and also knew Myron. She was very nice and told me she'd send somebody right over.

The wait seemed like forever and Myron was trying to leave the house. The front door wasn't working so he tried to leave out the Patio doors. But a car pulled up just then which prevented him from leaving. I thought it was the people the 911 had dispatched but it turned out to be an elderly couple. They stayed long enough to prevent Myron from fleeing before the ambulance and police arrived.


Even in a dream, if felt nice to have some help and support in my fights against Myron. To feel cared for and protected against him.
Rebirth and a Key

This dream started with Myron in the house with me. There were a few others there as well. Myron was stalking me throughout this entire dream. I was sneaking around from room to room finding different places to hide. At one point I found an orange blanket to hide under which made me think of recent chakra work I have been doing, the second chakra.


Eventually he found me and forced me onto the bed and made me have sex with him. The room was dark and the bedding was very dark maroon, this also felt like chakra colours, representing the base chakra.

I went along with it, because in this dream Myron was very angry his face was all contorted he felt ugly and evil, so I did not resist. But the entire time I had a sick feeling. I was revolted. Even his body looked hideous. There was no fear in this dream, unlike previous dreams of this sort, but a lot of mixed feelings, disgust, repulsion, shame etc.

I somehow managed to get up and get away and found my way into another room, which was still dark, but a bit less so. This room had a blue-ish tint to it and felt a lot more calming. I felt I was going to be okay in this room. If only Myron didn't find me.

I stayed in there for a while, but eventually realized I should go shower so made my way to the bathroom. I got in the shower, which had a bright yellow shower curtain. Again I thought of chakra colours, this representing the Power chakra. I was already naked, so didn't need to remove my clothing.

Myron came in while I was showering and suddenly i had an overwhelming urge to kill him. He tired to get into the shower with me and then I noticed I was holding a crystal knife. I wasn't angry or scared at all; just felt there was something I needed to do.

So as he was getting into the shower I began slashing at him with my crystal knife. I could feel so intensely each time the knife cut him, it was like poking into a piece of meat. But somehow I knew I needed to do this. He began to bleed and slowly I could see the life draining out of him as the blood was also dripping.

Eventually the more I slashed and sliced, Myron became smaller and deflated. Until he was finally just a slumped over lump on the bathroom floor.

I got out of the shower after washing myself under the warm water and walked around the house.

I went to the first floor where a few people from the WS were gathered and told them I had to go to the basement.

Once I got down to the basement I noticed it looked like my Gramma's basement, but with purple curtains on the windows. I thought of the crown chakra.

In this part of the dream I was searching for a child, it seemed the child belonged to someone else and I had adopted him as my own. I was searching the rooms for him and each time I thought I was in the last room, there seemed to be just one more and then another. It was not as dark as usual down there, so made the searching much easier.

Eventually I found the little boy I had been searching for. He was hiding pretty much in plain sight but seemed to be trapped inside of a mesh tent like housing. I got him out hugged him, set him at the kitchen table and gave him some food.

I then realized I still wasn't fully dressed. I put my pants on and then doing up my zipper; found I had a key on me. This was a very important key. I had been hiding it in my womb, for a long time, but it was now free from hiding and for me to use.


After this dream I try to remember always that I was given this key as a gift. And I try to remember to use it as often as I can. With awareness comes knowledge and with that, true inner strength.

~



While many of these Nightmares do seem excessively violent, and they are, they did for me, what I couldn’t do in real life at the time I was with Myron. Taking him out, slashing at him and cutting him up is about destroying the bits of energy and power he still had over me. So finding the crystal knife, and killing him was exactly what needed to be done. Not only was Myron a ghost inside my head, even after all these years, but his memory itself was a real living thought form, capable, because I was letting it, of inflicting much damage even still. Because that thought form was still holding me hostage, still had power over me and still was consuming my energy it needed to be totally eliminated.

The womb and the key signifying my power; the power of life or death is sacred. Being able to slay Myron, finally after all this time enables something new to take its place. This time eliminating my fear and setting my soul free. Myself becoming liberated from the things that once had haunted me. And from darkness now I move toward the light.

Part Three: Opening the Door

Glass Houses

What?
What did you say?
SHOUT!
Tell me AGAIN!
I guess I can ‘t hear you.
Will you teach me
the way?
I don ‘t understand.
Please make me listen.
I surely won‘t
mind you
If I can‘t hear
your voice.
SHOUT!
At me
Show me
the back of your hand.
Grab me
by my hair.
Drag me around.
Okay,
now I hear you.
I think I see
the way.
Am I black yet?
Am I blue?
Did I learn
my lesson?
I deserved that,
I know.
Rant, rave,
Yell at me.
Now I see the look
in your eye.
Next time I ‘;ll mind you.
The next time I ‘;ll listen.
But I won‘t throw stones
at your pretty glass house.







THE VOID


Do not hit me again
I hurt
Do not beat me again
I ache
I ache on the inside
Not just outwardly
I ache to be held
To be needed
To be loved
The need is so deep
That I take what you give
In a desperate attempt
To fill up
The void


Part Three: Opening the Door

Breaking Away


Was it Easter? It seems like that should be a happier time of year. Like the memories of Easter should be pleasant, joyful. But no. Not these. These dark recollections of past events are anything but happy. Though, as I look back on it now I can see how this Easter was the turning point in my life. It is the marker that separates the world I lived in then and the world I have subsequently created for myself. It is the dividing wall between the frightened little girl, ready to do as she was told, no matter what the cost, and a powerful magickal woman. That Easter as well, though it brings with it a slew of horrifying flash-back type memories was the day on which my darling little girl was conceived. Ironic, yes that out of such darkness can emerge such a beautiful loving child. But as terrifying as that chapter of my life really was, the fact that out of the pit of blackness and despair grew my two darling babies sends me into a state of awe at the wonder of the Universe.

Just thinking back on it now is enough to give me nightmares even after all this time. Although it has been almost seven years since that particular Easter I can recall the events as if it were yesterday. I remember lying in bed unable to sleep, fearful that the moment I did, Myron would come banging on the door. Many times I had been too slow to answer the door only to find it already smashed by the time I had sprinted to open it. I was determined not to let that happen this time. This time I was going to open the door before he had a chance to smash it open. I had entertained the thought of leaving the door unlocked, but with a 10 month old baby in the house, that didn’t seem like a safe alternative.

I remember watching Jakob as he slept so soundly beside me. He had a crib in his own bedroom across the hall, but we seldom used it. As a breastfeeding mother I found it so much easier to have him sleep with me. The 2 am feedings were so much easier when I didn’t have to get up and walk to his room and we could both go right back to sleep after the feeding.
Aside form the convenience of the sleeping arrangements, there was something comforting about having my new baby boy sleeping so close to me. This particular night, however, I wished I had left Jakob in the crib in his own bedroom. When I heard the sound of the glass in our back door shatter, Jake must have heard it too. For he woke up with a start almost as soon as I did. I don’t know if it was the smashing glass and the sound of the wood cracking that frightened him or hearing his father roar, but something had upset him. So much so in fact that a baby that hardly ever cried was sobbing and nearly screaming.


I was torn between wanting to console my baby boy and knowing that I must go unlock the door and let Myron in. I was sure he wouldn’t stop smashing on the door until he got inside and wanted to save our house from the damages. I also knew that the longer it took me to get to the door, the angrier Myron would be. So I left Jakob alone in his little bed for a moment so I could open the door for his Daddy.

After I let Myron in, I immediately went back to the bedroom, to console little Jakob. My husband followed me quietly all the way, which relieved me immensely. I had expected him to be fuming mad at being locked out. I was fully prepared to get an earful and perhaps even a smack or a shove.

When I got to Jake he was still crying and I tried my best to calm him down. This must have upset Myron, because the instant he heard Jakes cries he went off. He began shouting at me to “Shut the kid up, Lor!”
And continued with absurd accusations.
“What did you shake him to make him cry?”
“You’re tryin’ to piss me off you fuckin cunt? I knew it! You pinched the kid! You made him cry!”

I tried to ignore Myron’s insane rantings so I could nurse Jakob calmly. I knew that Myron would keep accusing me until Jakob quieted. And I was right. It didn’t make any sense to me why I would want to pinch my own baby to make him cry. Or why I would deliberately try to upset Myron. This was exactly the opposite of what I was trying to do. Of what I mostly tried to do. Walking on eggshells and looking the other way, biting my tongue and apologizing for things that were not my fault had become second nature to me during that period of my life.
Just when I thought everything was okay, Jakob was relaxing and Myron had stopped yelling, he would start up again. “Quit shaking the kid, Bitch!” He ordered. “If you don’t shut him up, I’m gonna throw you both through that plate glass window” gesturing toward our bedroom window. “How would ya like that, Lor?” I didn’t answer Myron’s insane accusation and threat. Instead I sighed, then held my breath and silently prayed for something to calm my husband down.
For a moment it seemed my prayers had been answered. Jakob had fallen into a peaceful sleep so I carefully moved him into his little bed.

And Myron too had appeared to have passed out. Relieved, I carefully, quietly rolled over and out of the bed so as not to wake either Myron or sleeping Jakob. I had to go to the bathroom terribly.

I finished my business without flushing the toilet or replacing the empty toilet paper roll for fear the noise would wake Myron up. As quietly as I could I turned the squeaky doorknob and slowly ever so slowly opened the creaky bathroom door.
“Thought you could get away eh, bitch?” Myron laughed menacingly.
Silently, I shook my head as he slammed to bathroom door behind us both, locking me in the bathroom with him. “I gotta shit” he informed me.
With that, I turned to let myself out of the bathroom. Though Myron had already taken his pants down, he flew across the bathroom and slammed the door shut again. “You’re not going anywhere. What do you want to go pinch the kid and make him cry again? You can stay here with me”
I tried to protest “Myron, I am tired. I just want to go back to bed.” I pleaded weakly.
“Aren’t you my wife?” he questioned. “Don’t you belong with your husband?”
Confused and frightened I agreed “Yeah, I am your wife”
“Well then you can stay in here with your husband; where you belong.”
And so, as usual when Myron got forceful, I did as he told me to do. It was so much easier than arguing with him. And it was certainly so very much safer.

So I stood there, silent in the bathroom while Myron sat on the toilet, reading the paper. It wasn’t until he was ready to use the toilet paper that I realized that I had neglected to put a new roll on the holder.
As quickly as I could, I opened the bathroom closet and got a new roll out and handed it to Myron. I mistakenly thought he would be grateful or perhaps pleased at my efforts. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Without using the toilet paper I offered, he threw it into the bathtub. “Was that supposed to be funny? Nothing to wipe my ass with. Ha! Ha! Yeah, Myron’s shitting and there’s no ass wipe! Fuck you, Bitch!” he hollered.
“Myron, I got you some…” I whispered an attempt to defend myself. It was cut short by and arm across the chest. Myron threw me up against the door, still ranting. “What kind of a wife hides the toilet paper so her old man can’t wipe his ass?”
Terrified that Myron was going to hit me, I started to sob. “I am sorry, Myron. I didn’t mean to… “
Cut off again “I need a joint. Where’s my weed?”
I honestly did not know, but racked my brain trying to remember where I had seen him last stash his marijuana. But I couldn’t come up with anything. So I stuttered again softly “I, I’m not sure Myron”
“Yeah you probably hid that too, eh?”
With that he flung open the bathroom door and grabbed me by the arm. “Looks like I’ll jut have to pick some more. Come on, bitch!”

So, Myron dragged me by one arm and my hair to Jakob’s bedroom. He had a few small marijuana plants growing in the closet of Jakob’s room. When he opened the door to Jakob’s room, the light from the closet was clearly visible. “What? You didn’t turn the lights off like I told ya to?” He grilled me.
“Oh my God!” I thought. I had been so busy with Jakob and Easter that I had forgotten all about the plants. The lights were supposed to be turned off at 10 pm, but I had been sleeping. And I had forgotten to turn them off when I woke up. Now I knew he was going to be even angrier than he already was.

“You fuckin’ cunt!” he roared. You trying to get me busted? All the neighbours can see the light through the curtains. Now I’m gonna have to cut them all down. Where’s the scissors?”
Speedily I searched the closet for the scissors so that Myron could cut down his plants. Finally I found them lying underneath one of the empty pots, but before I could hand them to Myron, fluorescent lights had begun to smash. Broken glass was flying everywhere and I was grateful that little Jakob wasn’t sleeping in his bedroom.
After handing Myron the scissors, I tried to leave the room. I was going to get the broom and dustpan and begin cleaning up the glass. Grabbing me by the hair on the back of my neck, Myron, growled as he stared deep into my watery eyes, “I told you Bitch! You aren’t going Any Where!” For emphasis he clenched the scissors and shook them at me. I flinched a bit and jumped away. This apparently amused Myron because he laughed at me “ya scared, Lor? Does that scare you? Ha ha ha!”

And then he raised his arm as if to hit me, but instead stabbed the scissors into the headboard of Jakob’s crib. Again and again and again, he stabbed tiny holes in Jakob’s wooden crib. Standing there, in shock, my mind was reeling. What if…? What if…? What if…?
What if Jakob had not been sleeping with me that night? What if? What if his crib wasn’t empty?
And so, silently as I stood there watching Myron in his slow motion madness, stabbing the crib over and over again, looking for a reaction that I was unable to give, I made myself and Jakob a solemn promise. I vowed that this would be the last night that Jakob and I would ever spend with his daddy.

The deep serenity I felt while making the vow was quickly shattered by Jakob's little cries. Something, either the light smashing, doors slamming, Myron yelling, or the crib being hacked at had woken him up. That was my cue to leave. The one sure way to put Jakob back to sleep was to breastfeed him. Truth be told, somehow that usually calmed me down as well. This particular night I could use a
little calming down.

Jake and I had a few quiet moments alone before Myron joined us. I
had hoped that I could just go to sleep with Jakob and get that
night over with. Myron had other plans, though. He climbed into
bed with Jakob and me before I could get my little baby back to
sleep. Myron however seemed to want my undivided attention.
"You better not cross me, Lor" he warned. Although his warning was
grave and malicious, I had no idea what he was talking about. This
wasn't unusual though. Myron often talked gibberish and nonsense to
me and to other people too. There were times when, if we were out
visiting and Myron had been drinking, I would have to translate what
Myron was saying into language that could be understood by the other
party. This time, though, I kept quiet, hoping he would just go to
sleep. Hoping that we could all get some rest.

The fact that I didn't answer Myron did not seem to bother him. He
kept right on bantering. "I said you better not cross me, you
fuckin bitch. Or you'll be sorry!"

The truth was I was already sorry. So very sorry. Myron made me sorry
every day that I had ever dated him, ever lived with him and sorry that I ever
said “I do”.

"I said if you cross me again, Lor I'll fuckin' kill ya! Got it?"
and with that he grabbed me by the hair on the back of my neck and
gave it a jerk. I tensed up and jerked involuntarily just a bit
which caused Jake to startle somewhat. I was hoping against hope
that Jakob wouldn't wake up. It was getting close to three in the
morning and my baby needed his sleep. Not to mention, if Jakob were
to wake up again it would certainly start Myron off on another
raving spell over how I had deliberately made Jakob cry just to piss Myron off. Thankfully, Jakob just opened his eyes for a moment cooed a little coo and continued suckling.

"Take off your pants." My husband ordered. I thought that if I pretended to be asleep I wouldn't be forced into something I didn't want to do.
"Didn't you hear me, Lor? I SAID take off your pants. I wanna fuck ya." It was apparent that my plan to pretend I was asleep was not going to work. Myron was already working on trying to get my pajama
pants down. The last thing I wanted to do while I was breastfeeding
my baby was to have his hands on me. Groping at me, demanding. But
I knew from past experience that if I didn't give Myron exactly what
he wanted when he wanted it, sex included, he would get violent.

The first time I ever told him I didn't feel like having sex he jumped up out of bed, threw the lamp across the room, dumped the dresser over and punched a hole in the wall.
The whole time hollering accusations at me. "Who ya fuckin' Lor? You must be fuckin
someone else if ya don't wanna fuck me!"

So, desperately wanting to avoid a repeat of that situation, I
rolled towards Myron and helped him with my pants. In the back of
my mind I was thinking ahead to after the union. Perhaps he would
finally go to sleep. Myron had been home for three or four hours by
this time and I was feeling both physically and emotionally exhausted.
But, to my dismay, when the act was finally over, Myron did not roll
over and go to sleep. Instead he started ranting again. I was
beginning to get the impression that he was not merely drunk. His
mood swings and aggression seemed to be indicative of something a
lot harder than alcohol. I suspected that he had probably been
smoking crack or something like it.

"Where'd ya put my smokes?" he inquired ridiculously. Why would I
have his cigarettes? I thought to myself. When I didn't answer he
asked again. So I began to explain that I did not have his
cigarettes "Myron, I don't know where they are." I answered
"Fuck you, Lor. I left them right here. Now they're gone" he said
gesturing towards the night table.
Confused, I tried to explain that this wasn't true. I hadn't seen
any cigarettes since he had been home. I had assumed he smoked them
all while he was out, which he often did. "Shut the fuck up. Lor.
Did I ask you to talk?" he bellowed.

"uh…" I tried to protest but was stopped short by a forearm over my
mouth. "Shut the fuck up or I'll kill ya" Myron growled . If I had
wanted to speak I wouldn't have been able to as I could barely
breathe with his arm over my entire face. He finally removed his arm
so I could breathe but my relief was quickly overshadowed. The
instant he did that he climbed back on top of me. I cringed at the
thought of what was in store for me again. This time though,
instead of trying to force himself on me he began biting me. With
what seemed like the force of his entire jaw he bit me again and
again on my left shoulder. The pain was excruciating but I didn't
scream or cry or protest. I silently took his torture, afraid to
make a sound. I was partly afraid that if I made any noise it would
wake up the baby and I so badly did not want to subject Jakob to
this abuse once again. And I was partly truly afraid that Myron
really would kill me if I made a sound. Over and over again he bit
me, like a dog chewing on a bone. Each time daring me "if ya cry,
Lor, I'll kill ya".

Finally, after what seemed an eternity of biting and threatening me,
Myron remembered he needed a smoke. It was 4:30 am when Myron left
the bedroom to search for a cigarette. At first I didn't move an
inch. I just lay there quietly in shock, cuddling my baby.


Though, I soon realized that I still, after all these hours, had not gone
to the bathroom. As nervous as I was that Myron would be furious if
I got up, I had to relieve myself. As quietly as I could, I tiptoed
across the bedroom, and slowly opened the door. The sound pf that
door creaking seemed to be amplified a thousand times. Still I
hoped Myron wouldn't hear it. Perhaps he'd be downstairs or maybe
passed out on the couch. But once I finally got the door open
enough to get out, I saw where Myron actually was. He was leaned up
against the wall in the hallway with a smirk on his face. "Where
the fuck do you think you're goin'? I thought I told you you're not
leaving this room." He reminded me. "but Myron I have to go pee" I
whispered quietly.

"Get back in that room before I kill ya Lor"
And so I did. At that moment I honestly believed that he could and
would kill me if I didn't do exactly what he wanted to me to do. And I
tried not to think of what would happen to Jakob afterward.
On my way back to the bed Myron helped me along by shoving me onto
the bed where I laid motionless for what seemed like forever. I was
very careful not to move a muscle because each time I did Myron
would threaten "I'll fuckin kill ya, Lor. I will. I ain't scared."
For the next hour and a half or two hours I lay there as still as I
could, not making any noise, just listening to the sound of Myron's
breathing. When finally his breathing slowed down and it was
apparent he was asleep, I let out a sigh of relief.
Frightened beyond belief and worried about the safety of my son, I wanted
nothing more than to get out of that room, that house and never ever
go back. But I was immobilized with fear. I could not move until I was sure
he was soundly asleep. Until I was positive he would not wake up.
My life and the life of my son depended on it.

It was nearly getting light out when I decided it was time to make
my move. Carefully, ever so carefully I put my arm under Jakob and
scooped him up. As quickly and quietly as I could I tiptoed into
Jakob's bedroom and set him down in his crib. Careful to place him
at the end opposite where Myron had been stabbing. As swiftly as I
could I went to the kitchen to get a garbage bag to put our things
in. On my way back I grabbed my purse off the counter and slung it
over my shoulder. As frightened as I was, I was possessed by a new
kind of calm as I knew this was what I had to do to save our lives.
When I got back to Jake's room I emptied his dresser drawers and
filled the garbage bag with as much baby clothes as would fit.
Without a second thought I dressed my baby up in his hat, coat and
booties, and put on my sweater and shoes and headed out the door.
Within minutes Jakob and I were running down our street to my
friend's house a block and a half away, stroller, garbage bag and
all.






Shaking spitting twisting turning trying to get away from
The wrath anger confusion passion no compassion
Held captive enslaved hostage a slave
Prisoner in this abode the room spinning
Struggling pleading begging convincing?
Commanding quietly demanding whispering freedom
Strong arm fore arm arm-bar holds me keeps me pushes me away
Darkness shadow stillness calm breathing heavy breathing quiets sleep
Tip-toeing cautiously light footed sure footed
Crying baby, baby crying shh baby shhh
Almost gone away vanishing disappeared not here anymore
Heart pounding feet pounding blood rushing
Mind racing legs racing breaking free
Out of the cage trap snare confinement impound
Close the gate lock it fasten padlock deadbolt deadlock
Gas! Match lit spark sulphur WHOOSH!
Flame fire blazing roaring swallowing engulfing awakening
Warms my face hands cold heart
Flames subside ebb silence embers ashes dust a memory
Run! Quickened pace slows relaxes unwinds rest saunter stroll
Untie the rope bondage throw down shackles cuffs chains
Don’t look back turn around reverse revert regress progress breathe










Cold, cold Christmas


Do you think
That if I left
You wouldn’t come after me?
Do you suppose
That if I walked out
You’d let me leave in Peace?
Or do you believe
As I do
That you’d come running after me
Chasing me
With your gun in hand
Hunting me down
Like your prey
A wounded animal
I am not,
But I behave as one
For as long
As I allow you
To treat me as such






A House In Ruins

I had been at home alone with the kids most of the day. Cassidee was only a couple of months old and the three of us, Jakob Cassidee and I were living in a cute little two bedroom house in a small country town called Vernon. My mom was living in Vernon at that time as well. During nearly the entire time I was pregnant with Cassidee Jake and I had lived with my Mom in a small two bedroom apartment. We had gotten our own place around Christmas. Myron wasn’t living with the kids and I, but made himself at home whenever he felt like it.

On this particular day I had that old feeling again. I knew in my gut that he was about to explode. Myron had been out drinking that day and had stopped by my house once in the afternoon heavily intoxicated. I decided then that I didn’t want to be home, should Myron decide to pay us a visit later, after his drinking binge was over.

After a short visit with Jakob and checking to see what kind of booze I had in my fridge, Myron took a bottle of wine I had been saving for a special occasion, downed the entire bottle and left. Fearing the worst and knowing to trust that feeling in the pit of my stomach, I immediately called my mom and asked her to come get Jakob and I. I did not feel safe with Jakob only a toddler and Cass still a newborn being left in the house with a drunk, should he return. We made plans to spend the night at my Mother’s house, just to be on the safe side. I was having that eerie foreboding feeling again and had learned to always listen to my gut.

Mom came and picked us up shortly thereafter and we spent the afternoon quietly, the four of us. I had nearly forgotten why I was there, to keep us safe should Myron come back to our house drunk. Except for a few mildly threatening phone calls from Myron, angry that he had gone to out house and we weren’t home, angry at his loss of control at not knowing where we had gone, the evening was pleasant, comfortable, a welcome change of pace from the weeks preceding.

We all went to bed early slightly exhausted from the events of the day and slept soundly, feeling safe until we were awakened by the sound of the telephone. I stayed in bed, while I listened to my Mom answer the phone “hello… who is this?

Myron she’s sleeping. I won’t wake her up!” And with that she hung up the phone. Myron called several more times after that, each time my mom explained she wasn’t going to wake me up. Finally I got out of bed, unable to sleep, wondering what he was doing, where he was and if he was going to show up at the door. Mom got up too and we talked for a while. Myron, in his drunken stupor had phoned to find out where we were. “Where’s my Wife? Where’s my wife?”

Part Two: The Escalator

Sooner

When I hear you say
You’re beautiful
I tell my self
You mean
I’m ugly
I’m stupid
I'm fat

What I hear
When you tell me
You need me
Is that you just
Can't wait
To get away

And sometimes
When you tell me
How much
You love me
I wonder
How could you?

If you slapped me
Around
And yelled at me
You're such a stupid bitch!
I'd wonder
Why
You didn't
Say so
Sooner.



Your Slippers are Burning!


When we got home from court the house was cold. Granny was sleeping sitting upright in her chair by the wood stove. Her doctor had often told her it wasn’t good for her legs to sit that way, but she sometimes still did it anyway. She was supposed to prop her legs up on some cushions or a stool to keep the blood flowing to her feet. When her kidneys weren’t functioning properly as they often didn’t Granny’s legs got very swollen and she had trouble getting around. Sometimes, she couldn’t even walk by herself.

She must have been asleep for quite some time because the fire was out and the wood stove was not even warm anymore. She had a blanket on her lap and was wearing her winter coat. That wasn’t unusual for her. She often fell asleep that way. Even though it was winter there was still a lot of work to be done on the farm. At 84 years old, Granny did a good job of keeping up with the work, but some days it was just too much for her. I couldn’t help but feel some pity for the old lady, seeing her sleeping there like that.

Eyes closed, head tilted, hands clasped over the magazine on her lap, fingers tightly holding her crumpled up Kleenex. From the fuzzy hood of her parka all the way down to her furry rabbit hair slippers, Granny reminded me of a small child as she dozed bundled up in her chair. Just as peaceful and helpless as could be.

There was no wood in the house for a fire, so Myron went outside to gather some.
“Wake her up, Lor” he barked at me on his way out. “Wake her up!” I shot him a confused glance so he repeated the order and added “Tell her to start the fire!”

I could not believe what he was saying. Granny was sick. She had just gotten released from the hospital yesterday after yet another blood transfusion. This time they had given her seven pints of blood. No wonder she was tired. Why would I want to wake her?

Surely Myron or I could start the fire I thought to myself. “We should let her sleep” I protested. Myron slammed the door and stormed outside angry at my disobedience.


The slamming door woke Granny who roused gradually. She looked around slowly and managed a faint smile at me. She started to sit up, but was unusually weak so she slumped back down in her chair. Granny and I talked a little bit about the happenings earlier in the day at the Courthouse and I told her what had happened. We had suspected that Myron might have been sent away to jail that day, but alas court was remanded for two weeks.

“Oh, well that’s good.” Granny said “there’s still a lot of pruning to be done ya know?” I agreed it was good for Granny if Myron could stay home to prune the apple trees. It saved her from having to find some other hired help. At least for now.

I admitted to myself that I secretly wished that the sentencing was today and that the judge would have sent Myron to jail for a while. It would have been nice for me and for Granny to have some time away from Myron. He seemed to get especially ornery in the winter. And lately both Granny and I were walking on eggshells around the house much of the time. True, Myron spent most of his free time away from the house drinking at the bar, but when he eventually returned his mood was always sour.

When Myron came back in with an armload of wood; he dropped it down on the living room floor. Wood scattered all over eventually tumbling down the stairs. Bark chips and snow dotted the carpet. “There ya go Granny, you bitch.” He growled “Now you can start your fire.”

Myron was mad that Granny had let the house get cold while we were out. He wasted no time telling her just what he thought about that. “What? You couldn’t have kept the fire going while we were gone so it would be warm when we got home? Do I have to do fucking everything around here?”

Granny knew better than to argue with Myron when he already had his mind made up over something. Years of living with him had taught her that it was better for everyone to just agree with him. Placating was often the only way. Things could escalate quickly when he was in this state and just about anything could set him off. Sometimes even agreeing with him could send Myron into a tailspin of fury. Often he would retaliate aggressively to a perceived hint of sarcasm or taunting in the other’s voice. Quietly granny retorted “oh, Myron…” and let out a small near silent sigh.


Of course granny didn’t get up to start the fire. This didn’t surprise me in the least as she couldn’t walk due to her swollen legs and feet. Myron however was not only surprised by this, but was terribly displeased. “Get the fuck up Granny! Light the fuckin’ fire!” He continued. Granny didn’t say a word and Myron continued the badgering so I interrupted “Oh Myron, Granny can’t walk, I’ll start the fire. I just need a light”
“Fuck that Lor, she’s fakin’ it. The bitch can walk” he snarled.

I had never heard anything more absurd in my life. Myron knew how sick granny had been lately. The doctors suspected her kidney problems were from living in the orchard for more than 40 years. Long term exposure to pesticides and sprays has been known to cause, among other things, sever kidney damage. When granny’s kidneys stopped functioning properly, the poisons built up in her blood and she would get very sick. The fluids would build up in her body, particularly her legs and feet, making it nearly impossible for granny to walk. Doctor’s orders said granny was to stay off her feet, legs elevated for most of the day, but granny was for too stubborn for that. In the orchard, there was always work to be done.


Eventually it was necessary for her to go to the hospital for a blood transfusion. This time she got almost twice the amount of blood she usually got and somehow it didn’t seem to help half as much. Granny couldn’t walk when we brought her home from the hospital the day before and Myron knew that. He pushed the wheelchair out to the truck and helped her get in for god’s sake! What was he thinking?

“Get up Granny! Get up! I know you can walk ya dumb bitch!” Myron growled at his aging sickly grandmother. “GET THE FUCK UP!” Still Granny did not budge. She could not. I felt I had to protect Granny from his abuse so I insisted once more “Myron if you just give me your lighter, I’ll start the fire.”

“Fuck you, Lor! The bitch is fakin it. You’ll see. I’ll make her walk”
Granny and I shared a confused and somewhat frightened glance “make her walk?” What did that mean?


“Watch this Lor. I’ll make the bitch walk.”
“Huh Granny? I bet you could walk if your legs were on fire couldn’t ya granny?”
I was disgusted. And confused. Why in the world was Myron making such a big deal about lighting the fire? And why was he treating his Granny this way?

“Hey, Lor? I bet she could walk if I lit her on fire!” and with that he reached in to his coat pocket and pulled out his lighter. Bending down in front of his elderly grandmother, Myron flicked the blue lighter in his hand. With a grin and a growl he held the flame to granny’s feet. Before I had time to stop him Myron had set granny’s rabbit hair moccasins on fire. They were burning. They were burning. And burning.

Granny tried to move her legs but she could not. All she could manage was try to bat at the flames with the magazine she had in her lap. That did nothing to stop the fire, but actually fanned the flames somewhat. Screaming in disbelief at Myron “what the hell are you doing?” I grabbed a pillow from the sofa and batted out the flames. When the fire was out I pulled off Granny’s slippers and ran out the kitchen door. Without even thinking about it I threw the charred slippers off the balcony. They landed, still smoldering in the snow bank below.

I cautiously walked back in the house sickened by what I had just witnessed. To my surprise and utter relief, Myron had gone. Just where he had gone off to I did not know. Nor did I care. I was just relieved that his fit of anger was over, at least for the time being. Granny, still sitting in her chair was trembling slightly, but I could tell she was just as relieved as I was that Myron had left. Probably even more so.
As I tried to comfort granny and clean up Myron’s woody mess his deranged words were still running through my mind “I bet you could walk if your legs were on fire couldn’t ya Granny?”

Well, she didn’t.











If you back me into a corner
Push with all your might
Scream at me
Spit on me
Tell me that you're right
Does it make you feel
Better
Superior
Big?
Or do you feel
Now
As small as you look?


I’ve Fallen, but I’ve got to get up


It was late at night; Myron had been drinking as per usual at this time in our lives. On this particular night he had also done some LSD. I had been around him before when he had been doing hallucinogenic and he didn’t usually become violent. Usually I could breathe a sigh of relief if he was doing mind expanding drugs because I knew I’d bee safe. For whatever reason these types of drugs took the pressure off Myron and the fear out of me, for I knew he wasn’t going to get angry, he wasn’t going to explode and above all else, he wasn’t likely to hurt me.

At this time we were living in a double-wide trailer just outside of town. It was less than a ten minute drive, so close enough if we needed anything but also nice and private. Oh how Myron loved to have his privacy.




In the Rialto, Burning


After work, late one Summer day I had agreed to meet Myron and some friends at the local bar and everyday hang-out The Rialto hotel. Just about any day of the week, you could go to the Rialto and find friends and family there, mingling, drinking, letting off some steam after a hard days work.


Alone on the Farm


It was a chilly Saturday in February 1996 and I was at the farm alone. The house was quiet. Cold. The fruit wood was green and wet from snow. No matter what I did, the fire in the woodstove just wouldn’t throw any heat. A slow smolder was about all I could manage. I was still wearing my winter coat and boots, even though I’d been home for more than 2 hours. I went to the hospital to visit granny, but she had been asleep, so I left her the items she had asked for and drove straight back home. In retrospect, I probably should have woken her up, but she looked so peaceful and free from pain, that I just couldn‘t bear to disturb her slumber.

Despite having 13 cats with kittens, 3 adult dogs with seven puppies, numerous chickens and ducks and a few bunnies, things were surprisingly quiet on the farm that afternoon. With Granny in the hospital and Myron in jail for the weekend I was by myself for a while. So I decided I‘d clean the house up a bit. With Granny being so sick lately and me working two jobs plus the farm work all summer, the house really needed some attention. This was the perfect time to get some heavy duty cleaning done. Granny was due home from the hospital on Monday and Myron would be home from jail tomorrow, so I had plenty of time to get everything ship shape.

I was just finishing up in the kitchen when I heard someone pulling in to the driveway down below. It sounded almost like Granny’s truck, but that was impossible, because I had the truck. I ran outside on to the deck where I had a good view of the driveway below. I got there just in time to see Frank tottering out of his truck. I could tell by the look on his weathered 86 yr old face exactly what he was about to tell me.

”Granny‘s gone” he said solemnly. I gulped back my tears as Frank slowly continued. ”I was there with her when she went” Frank explained. “I just came from the hospital. She went in her sleep, ya know.”

Frank could see I was very upset by the news, although I wasn’t terribly surprised. He reassured “its okay. It’s better this way. She’s better off now.”

“I know, Frank.” I nodded awkwardly.

“I wanted to come tell you first” he said “because granny loved you. You took good care of the old woman, Lori” Frank complimented.

That unusually compassionate comment from Frank did it for me. It opened up a flood of emotion I had been bottling for some time. I was bawling.

Frank, visibly disturbed by my sudden intense display of emotion took that as a cue to leave.

“Now I gotta go call that cunt Francis. That woman’s a cunt ya know.” Frank stated in his gravelly old voice.
“I can’t stand her, but I’ve got to call her and let her know the old woman’s gone. That fucking bitch will probably come down here just to see what she can steal.”

Frank’s attitude toward Francis lightened my mood some. I found I was chuckling out loud.

“You take care of your self, Lori. Don’t let that Myron push you around. Ok? “
And with that, he got in his truck and drove off just as quickly a he pulled in to the driveway.



Spewing forth
Spitting out
Filth, nastiness
Angry hurtful words
They cut me to the quick
Like a knife
So sharp and jagged
Slice me into
Irrelevant pieces
Shards of my self
Now lay scattered
about the floor
your tongue slashes away
though I’m already
mortally wounded
your cruel and spiteful
Merciless chatter
Hits me again and again
Like heavy blows
From a leaden fist
Carrying gusts
Of hard hearted invective
To take away my pride
And bury my self confidence
Deep in the bottomless pit
Where your inner self
Does dwell



A Valentine’s Day Funeral


On the way to the funeral on Monday morning, Myron was unusually quiet. He had been to the doctor earlier that morning to get some Ativan for his anxiety. Whatever the doctor gave him sure seemed to be working because his mood had drastically changed from the anger and hostility he had been displaying earlier. In fact, he had been in quite an antagonistic mood since he got home from jail on Sunday evening so the change was more than welcome.

We arrived at the church a bit late even though we just lived down the road. As usual, Myron had to take a detour to the liquor store and get a drink. I didn‘t think he should be drinking while he was on tranquilizers so I told him that, but my concern was irrelevant. Myron got a bottle of rum anyway. I was relieved that he had only had time to have one drink by the time we got tot the church.

Mike was already there waiting for us when we pulled into the parking lot. On the way in to the church we ran in to Cam. Aside from the two of them, I don‘t recall seeing anyone else I knew at the funeral. I think I might have been in a state of shock though, because the rest of the funeral was a bit of a blur to me.

I'm sure there must have been quite a few of our friends at the church. The entire cathedral was full. Granny had lived in Osoyoos since the 1940s so she knew a lot of people. Her days as a traveling fruit peddler led her to meet numerous people from Osoyoos to Merritt and back. Many of these customers had come to the service to pay their respects to their traveling fruit peddler and friend. As well, there was family from Kelowna, and the United States as well as her fellow church goers.

Although the church was full, one person kept my attention for most of the service. Frank was sitting ahead and slightly to the right of me. Every time he sobbed or pulled out his hanky to wipe away a tear, I was taken out of my fog and back to the present situation.

The two hour funeral seemed to have only lasted a few moments. After it was over, we headed straight to Granny’s house to rest. When we arrived we quickly realized we wouldn’t be staying long as Francis, Granny’s eldest daughter and Myron’s mother was in the house.


Francis swiftly informed us that we were going to have to move out of the house as soon as possible. Francis planned to sell the house as well as the property that it sat on ASAP. That news was enough to send Myron over the edge. Up until then, we thought that we would be getting at least part of the house or orchard when Granny died. Granny had told us that we could have a lot to build a house on in return for all the years of work the two of us had put in to the Farm.

Myron’s once calm mood quickly changed to one of anger, hostility and violence. Francis warned that if I did not get him out of the house, she was going to call the police.

“Come on Lor. We’re fuckin’ leaving!" Myron shouted as he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out of the house. We didn’t even get a chance to change out of our funeral clothes. We just hopped in the car and sped out of the driveway. Our first stop on our way to Doung,The Birdman’s house to see Dave was, of course, the liquor store. Dave, in his earlier days had worked for grany on the farm as well, and was also sad to see her go. We stayed at Dave’s house, reminiscing about good old times with granny until all the booze was gone, then went to refill the supply. The next stop after returning to the liquor store was Harfman‘s farm in Oliver.

Mike wasn’t there when we arrived, but his Mom Lynne knew exactly where to find him. She was certain he’d be at the local hotel having a beer. She was right. That was precisely where we found him.

We had one beer with Mike and it seemed as though Myron was starting to relax some. Mike, being the easy going, clown that he usually was seemed to be able to lighten Myron‘s mood, no matter what the trouble was. I was eternally grateful for that.

Since it was Valentine’s Day, Mike had planned on buying Nikki, his girlfriend at the time, a bouquet of roses. He asked me to go with him “Come on kiddo, you look like you could use some air”. I hadn’t realized it until Mike pointed it out, but I didn’t really feel very well.

“Yeah, sure.” I replied and we promptly left the bar to go to the flower shop just down the block. I knew that because I was with Mike I didn’t have to ask Myron for permission to go anywhere. One thing I liked about hanging around with Mike, besides the fact that he was fun to be around, was that Myron was always nice to me when Mike was there.

Although I had only known Mike for a few years, we were pretty good friends and it felt like I had known him my whole life. We had always had a sort of connection and we could talk about anything. Mike was one of the few friends of ours who actually knew what our relationship was really like. I always felt safe when Mike was around. I knew he’d never let Myron do anything to hurt me.

When Mike and I got back to the hotel with the flowers, Myron was pretty drunk. I hadn’t seen him this way in quite some time. I made excuses for Myron as usual, telling myself that his state was normal considering everything he’d been through the last few weeks. First, there was Granny dying and the funeral this morning, then there was the news from his Mom that we’d have to leave the farm with nowhere to go, and on top of that there were the weekends that Myron was spending in Jail. All of this stress had to be piling up on him.

Mike and I had just ordered our drinks when out of the blue Myron blurted out that we were leaving. We were going to the Indian reservation to buy some coke. Mike better come now if he wanted a ride home. Mike was trying to quit doing cocaine so wanted no part of that, but wanted a ride home so he could deliver the roses to Nikki. I was pretty sure that I was pregnant, although I hadn’t told anyone except Mike so not only did I not feel like drinking, but I certainly didn’t want anything to do with drugs. Especially cocaine! As usual there was no arguing with Myron once he had his mind made up on something. So off I drove, the three of us and Mike with his flowers to the res to buy cocaine.

Perhaps because it was early afternoon on Valentine‘s Day or maybe because Myron was already in a foul mood, he was having a hard time getting any coke. After trying three different dealers on the res and two in Oliver, Mike and I decided to give it up and just go back to the bar.

We were both getting tired and hungry. Of course Myron had a bottle of rum with him so he didn’t need to go anywhere. He would have been content to drive around all day until he found his dope. Mike somehow convinced Myron that we should all go back to the bar for some food.

Apparently Mike had gotten a hold of his old dealer who had agreed to meet us at the bar at 7pm. It was nearly 4 now, so we didn't have that long to wait. Mike thought we could sit down relax and maybe Myron could sober up some. It was a good plan, but unfortunately things didn’t exactly go according to plans.

Shortly after we sat down, Myron excused himself “gotta piss" he informed us. When he still hadn’t returned to our table 20 minutes later, Mike decided he’d better go see what was taking so long. By this time I was starting to feel a bit woozy. The early pregnancy, no food all day, the stress of the day and two beers at noon had starting to take their toll on me. I was tired and nauseous. Now, more than ever, I was sure I was pregnant.

"Hey kiddo, the car‘s gone." Mike informed me on his return. "Shit!" I exclaimed. "He‘s way to drunk to drive. How the hell did he get the keys from my purse?" Mike and I were pondering our next course of action when the food arrived. Although I was feeling queasy I tried to eat a little.

I had eaten a couple of French fries and some zucchini sticks and my stomach had settled some when Myron showed up at about 5:30. He’d been gone for over an hour. He had obviously found what he was looking for. Unfortunately, cocaine, or crack as I suspected did nothing to lighten his already dark mood. Mike and I exchanged a cautious glance. I think he could tell I was a little afraid.

"Gimme the keys Myron" Mike demanded
"Fuck you!" Myron responded.
Just then, Rhonda, the bartender, and an old friend and drinking buddy of Myron’s came over. "Give Mike the keys Myron. You shouldn’t be driving". Rhonda and Myron had always been pretty close, so he listened to her and gave the car keys to Mike.

As usual, Myron was discontent to sit around and wait, even though Mike‘s buddy would be there in less than half an hour. So we got back in the car and continued the hunt this time with Mike at the wheel. Myron was out of money by now, but he was convinced we wouldn’t need any. When I asked him how he planned to pay for the cocaine he snarled “we’ll just cuff it, Lor. We’ll cuff it. Ha ha ha!”

Even though we’d already been there once that day, Mike drove us back to his buddy’s house on the reservation. Shortly after he went in, Mike came out with exactly the news we had anticipated. No dope. Since it was getting dangerously close to 7pm now, our next stop on the mission was back to the bar, yet again. Hopefully Mike’s buddy would meet us there, we could pick up the goods and then I could go back home to Osoyoos.

When we got to the bar, Mike left the car running with the keys in the ignition and Valentine’s Day roses for his girlfriend Nikki in the back seat beside me. He quickly ran inside the bar to look for his buddy while Myron and I waited in the car. Just as quickly as Mike got out, Myron hopped in the driver’s seat and sped off. I protested "Myron you can’t just leave him here" "Fuck you cunt" he coldly replied. "But Myron, we've got his flowers for Nikki, they cost him a hundred bucks" I reasoned. To that Myron replied in disgust and anger "Shut the fuck up before I drive you, Lor!"

Whack! It was too late. Before I could think about closing my mouth, Myron had punched me right in the nose. The blood started to pour down my face and all over my sweater. The sight of my own blood all over me made my already upset stomach even more nauseous.

Then suddenly, before I knew what was happening we hit a patch of ice and the Hyundai started sliding across the road.
Over...
And over...
And over...
Then down...
down...
down...

When we finally finished rolling and sliding down the embankment we came to a stop at the bottom of a frozen pond. I was still very upset and in pain from Myron’s large fist in the face only moments earlier, but I tried to stop the tears and wipe the blood from my face.

I regained my composure just in time to watch Myron silently get out of the car. Relieved, I sighed and just let him go. Hopefully he‘ll leave me alone for a minute or two now, so that I could pull myself together. It was always so hard to stop crying or being upset when all he was doing was yelling and cursing at me.

I foolishly assumed that the reason Myron had gotten out of the car was so that he could get us out of this situation. I thought he would try to find a way to get the car out of the frozen pond. We were stuck in an iced over pond at the bottom of a steep embankment and I wasn‘t sure if we’d ever get out of there, but one thing about Myron was that he was as determined as he was strong.

After waiting in the cold darkness of the Hyundai for about 15 minutes my nose had finally stopped bleeding. The blood however was replaced by a pounding headache. Myron had broken my nose twice before so I was accustomed to the pain that accompanied it.

However, once the throbbing in my head had begun to dull, I realized that Myron wasn‘t going to get us out of there. In fact, it seemed that he wasn‘t even there anymore. I looked around outside in time to catch a faint glimpse of Myron’s boots as he crawled up the hill. Although the feeling in my gut told me I was fooling myself, I hoped against hope that Myron was leaving to go get help.

After what seems like an eternity, but was probably only about 20 minutes I was freezing, tired, scared, and in pain. It was obvious that Myron had not gone to get help. I made up my mind then to go get some help myself. Somehow, despite my pounding headache and my stiff sore body I managed to drag my self up the hill in the dark and make my way to the mall nearly three miles away.

I scrounged in the bottom of my purse and prayed I would find a quarter so I wouldn‘t have to go inside a store looking the way I did. Eyes puffy, face bloody, nose swollen and hair matted with blood. Luckily, I had one quarter so I plugged it in the phone and called my little brother, Shawn.

I left out most of the details, as was usually when something had happened with Myron, but told Shawn what he needed to know. As far as he knew, I was in a car accident and had broken my nose because of it. He said he’d find a ride and come and get me right away. So I slumped down on the cold asphalt beside the payphone and shivered as I cried to myself quietly and waited for help to arrive.

Shawn and Doug or “The Bird Man” as he was known to most of us because of his love of birds, arrived much sooner than I had expected them too. I was so relieved; freezing cold and in pain, all I wanted to go was lie down and go to sleep. The ride home was pretty quiet. I could tell that Doug wanted to ask what had happened to me, how my nose got broken and where Myron was, but for some reason he didn‘t say a word. He just drove me quietly back to granny’s farm. I was hoping against hope that when I arrived, Francis would still be there and that Myron wouldn’t be. At that point the sight of Myron’s Mom or anyone for that matter including the devil himself would have been comforting to me.

Nobody was there, though and that was a relief too. That last person I wanted to see that night was Myron. I had never seen him this angry before and I was afraid of what he might do to me if we were at home alone. Once Shawn realized I had the house to myself, he said goodbye and went back home. Immediately after he left, I went to bed.

I must have only been asleep for a couple of hours when I was awakened by the sound of someone pounding profusely on the front door. As soon as I realized that it was Myron and that he was very angry at being locked out, I got up to go let him in. I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror on my way to the door and was taken aback by my own reflection. That black, blue, and yellow, puffy face couldn’t have been me, could it?


I scarcely had time to realize what was happening when Myron had broken down the door and come at me. If he was mad at me before, he was ten times more so now. He grabbed me by the back of the hair dragged me down the hall and threw me on to the bed. One hard blow to my already broken nose made the blood start pouring again.


The rage in his eyes was like nothing Id ever seen before. Myron was cursing and ranting at me all the while striking and beating me. He got off me for a moment and I thought that it was over. When I saw him getting the neck ties out of the dresser drawer I had no idea what to expect.





Amnesty?

The silk ties
Feel like sandpaper
On the tender skin
Of my wrists
Ankles, neck
The satin sheets
Feel like razor blades
Under my bruised, injured flesh
The mattress
Beneath my broken bones
Reminiscent of a granite slab
The carpeting like a sponge
Sodden with my blood
The air around me
Heavy like a stone
The room threatening
Aggressive
Yet forewarning
Go away
Turn and run
Too late now
To heed the advice
Now the glint
of the knife
Gives me hope
Of reprieve
Amnesty?
a pardon?
or perhaps
The execution


Assassin

Thoughts of death
Flood my mind
But seem comforting, now
The terror and confusion
Have been replaced by a steely calm
I am numb now
I feel no pain
And I watch
From a distance
Above outside my body
Detached emotionless
The words I hear
Are not my own
But the muffled sounds
Of some other woman
Petitioning for her life
I love you
She says
I’m your wife
She explains
You don’t want to hurt me
I love you
The severity
Of the situation
Hidden
By the look in her eyes
The gravity veiled
By loving words
Softly spoken
To the would be Assassin


Creosote Doesn't Wash off Puppies


Things were pretty quiet from the time Granny died, until Jakob was born. I don’t know if it was because I was pregnant that Myron didn’t explode as much or because we didn’t see each other often. I was working still and Myron was often out doing other things, I usually didn’t want to go, preferred to stay home and sleep while Myron was off drinking and doing who-knows-what. Often we only saw each other briefly in passing and that was fine with me. There had been a noticeable change in Myron after Granny’s passing and I for one, was in no rush to get in his way, and had no desire to come to blows over anything. Fear for my unborn son, fear for our future and a general uneasiness about our situation made me just want to be alone in our little trailer, most of the time.


It was mid July the year Jakob was born, 1996. That particular
summer was especially hot mainly since I spent the majority of it
very pregnant and camping out in a fourteen foot travel trailer.

Packed into the tin can we called home for a season was my pregnant
self, Myron and our 2 large dogs Sally and Princess and Sally's
five little puppies. The trailer was parked in the shade of an enormous
weeping willow and several elm trees and as close to the lake as we
could get it. Osoyoos has a reputation as having some of the
hottest weather in Canada and that summer certainly did not disappoint.

With a limited power supply, (only one extension cord running under the dirt road to the nearest neighbors outside outlet) we could only do with one small fan to cool us down. That night the air was sweltering and the only relief from the heat was an occasional tepid breeze coming in off the lake. Our tiny travel trailer seemed even smaller on hot summer nights like that one.

At about eight and a half months pregnant, sleep was a precious
commodity to me most nights. That night, though, it was even more
elusive. I was sleeping with one eye and both ears open as was
usual when Myron was out drinking in town. This particular night,
my senses were at a heightened awareness and my nerves were even
more raw than usual.

Myron had been getting gradually more and more ornery over the last
few days. I knew he was about to blow. His rage from the day
before ended in a coffee mug being thrown at me and just narrowly
missing my head but coming full force through the rear window of
the trailer. Shards of broken glass and cold coffee all over me, the
bed and the dogs still did not satisfy his need for control of the
situation and of me. Somehow I knew that this incident was far
from the major blow-out that was heading my way. I could see it in
Myron's eyes and feel it in my bones.

This particular night, since I knew Myron would be out late, I let
Princess my wolf-dog sleep in the trailer with me. Normally Sally
was my pal but since she had puppies a little more than a month
earlier, Princess and I had formed a new bond. Sally and the seven
puppies slept curled up together under the trailer.

Princess and Sally always seemed to get skittish when Myron was in
one of his moods. It was as if they could sense the tension in the
air. Princess, still unaware of Myron's abusive streak, stood by
me, defiantly protective, but Sally knew enough to make her self
scarce when Myron got this way. She had been on the receiving end
of his boot when she was still a pup herself. Jumpy as puppies
are, Sally was bouncing around and snapping at the air when she tipped
over Myron's beer that was sitting on the ground between his feet.
I wasn't there at the time of the incident, but arrived shortly
after to see my new little puppy with a very badly broken leg.

We took Sal to the veterinarian right away, and he fixed her up as
best he could. Of course Myron made up some cockamamie story about
Sally falling over a tree in the orchard and landing in a hole. By
the look on the Veterinarian's face I could tell that he scarcely
believed Myron's ridiculous tale. Ever since then, Sally kept her
distance from the man that hurt her so. The small trailer was a bit
crowded with a large dog sharing my space, but the security
Princess gave me, if even for a short while, was worth being cramped up a
bit.

When Myron finally arrived home well after midnight that evening he
was noticeably intoxicated. I was never sure just which substances
he had been into on any given night but the smell of whiskey on his
breath was unmistakable. The moment I awoke, mere seconds before
he busted the already broken trailer door open, I could tell he was
ready to explode.

"Where the fuck were you? Bitch!" he burst out as he barged trough
the swinging metal door.

"You were supposed to come to the barbecue after work" he continued
angrier with each consecutive word.

I can see now, in hindsight that Myron was probably more angry at
not having a ride home from his friend's house or the bar than he
was upset that I didn't accompany him. At the time, I was too far
in shock and dismay to try and rationalize or make sense of his
demands, accusations or insults. I tried to explain my self, but
as usual my protests fell on deaf ears.



The truth was I just didn't feel like going anywhere. I had
to work early the next morning, the heat was making me nauseous and I
was having these cramps that seemed strangely similar to
contractions. All I wanted to do was stay home and get some rest.
Myron however did not see things quite so clearly.

He stormed outside smashing and fumbling around in the near-dark. For
what he was searching I couldn't be sure, but I could hear him
breaking twigs for kindling and starting the campfire. When I
peered out the broken window to see Myron holding two of the
puppies
and a can of creosote, my head began to spin. Terror struck me as
I realized what he was about to do.




I was able to grab all the puppies away from Myron, and one by one drag them to the lake to wash the creosote off of them. Oily and sticky it didn’t come off well and what did come off the puppies ended up on me. Adding to the burns I had on the back of my hands from the contact with the solvent.

I washed the puppies completely in the warm Osoyoos Lake and waited for Myron to pass out inside the trailer. Thankful that he was now asleep, I put the pups back with Sally, their Mamma and quietly crawled inside the trailer to get a little rest of my own.








Willow




A couple of years went by after the creosote incident and Myron grew increasingly cruel to our animals. As pets, I adored all of our animals, every last one of them and could never understand how a person could be so cruel, so cold and unfeeling to any of these beautiful creatures. Not Myron. He seemed to see them IN a different light and had no problem abusing our pets and treating them badly.

The incident with Willow was by far the most severe, though there are many that I don’t write of here, such as the time he threw his most beloved dog Patches off the second story balcony and when he kicked our cat Billy so that he slinked when he walked, belly to the ground for a week, that compare in cruelty.


"How the fuck could you let this happen, bitch?" Myron screamed at me in anger.

"I... I..." I stammered as I tried to choke back tears. I knew that if I cried Myron's anger would only escalate past its already heightened point. Still, as hard as I tried, I could not fight the tears. The sight of the puppy lying bleeding in my arms was just too much to bear. Willow had been my Christmas present to Jakob for his second
Christmas. We had only had her for a few days, but we had grown attached to her nonetheless.

It was boxing day and we picked her up from the farm only a couple of days earlier, but Jakob and I had already formed a bond with Willow. Being Border collie and still a
pup made her a lively addition to our small family. Both Jakob and I were instantly attached to Willow and her puppyish ways.



As I stood dumbfounded, shocked, with Willow in my arms, I tried to drown out Myron's voice. There must be something I can do, I thought to myself. Surely there is some way I can save my dying puppy. But try as I might I could not come up with a solution. The car that hit Willow was driving so fast, that it really did a lot of damage.

I resigned to myself that although there was nothing I could do to save her life, I'd at least make sure her last hours or minutes were as comfortable as they could be. So I carefully took Willow down to the basement and laid her down on a pile of soft blankets. "You'll be okay Willow," I assured her softly as I stroked her tiny body. She looked up at me briefly, and I could tell by the look in her
fading eyes that she understood me and that eased my heartache some.



I stayed there with Willow as long as I could, determined to sit with her until she closed her eyes forever. Myron had other plans, though and the sound of him screaming at me from upstairs broke the somber silence in the basement. As he stormed down the stairs, his voice got louder and more and more gruff.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Bitch?" He demanded. I couldn't respond as I had no idea what he was ranting about. "What had I done?" I thought to my self.


Myron's raving continued despite my obviously emotional state. "You get off on torturing the poor dog?" He grilled me. "You are a sick bitch, Lor, sittin there watchin' her die like that. Yer fucking sick! You must be if you get off on torturing the dog!" he roared.

His endless accusations, continued non-stop until finally I felt the need to explain. To defend myself. "But, I'm not sick. I'm not torturing her. Myron I'm just trying to make Willow feel better. She's dying."
"Yeah, I know she's dying, cunt. You are just prolonging her agony. Get the fuck out of the way bitch!" Myron screamed as he yanked me by the arm and out of the way. It wasn't until I was half way up the stairs that I realized what he was planning. When I saw the glimmer of the hatchet in Myron's hand I knew for sure I wasn't the sick one. "What is he going to do to our little puppy?" I screamed silently. "Why doesn't he just leave her to die in peace?"


My horror at the sudden realization of the events that were about to transpire made me weak. I felt as though I was going to collapse. But I managed to walk up the stairs and go to my son so that he couldn't see what Daddy was doing to his puppy.

Just before I closed the basement door, I caught a glimpse of the sickening scene that was unfolding in my basement. That frightening image of Willow lying on the cold hard concrete and the axe severing her head from the rest of her lifeless body will stay forever in my mind. I closed my eyes as tightly as I could to try to escape the sight. And ran as fast as my wobbly legs would take me away from the
sound of the axe repeatedly hitting the concrete floor. Try as I might, though, I could not drown out the sound of hatchet hitting concrete.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Again and again and again!
Thwack!
Thwack, thwack!









*** Author’s Note ***

The day that Willow died was just a couple days after Christmas, it was cold out and snow blanketed the ground.
My brother Shawn and a good friend, Cam stopped by to see Myron and took him somewhere.
This relieved me immensely. I was often glad to have him gone for the day. To be alone, just Jakob and I with no stress, no worries, just free to be ourselves with no fear of Myrons actions or reactions.
This day he took with him the body of our little puppy. Willow fit inside a shoe box, she was still so small. As I watched the three of them walk away, Myron, Cam and my brother, I could see that Myron was carrying the box. Cam put it in the back of the truck.

To this day I still beleive that no words were spoken about what was in the box..
And how Myron actually got the package to Cam's property and buried it without telling either Cam or my brother what was inside is still a bit of a mystery.
But what's most disturbing to me about all of this is how the box with our puppy inside it was discovered the following Spring.
Apparently, the snow had melted on Cam's property and he found a small shoe box, half buried, half on top of the earth.
So Cam opened up the box to see what was inside.
At first he didn't want to tell me "You don't wanna know Lor." He repeated a couple of times "You don't wanna know!"
"It was Willow, wasn't it Cam?"
I knew it was. But what I didn't know was the state that Cam had found the puppy in.
Not only had Willow's head been severed from her small puppy body by Myron's hatchett, but so too had each one of her paws.