Love Until Death
I was handcuffed and led into the woods. There was a lot of commotion, yellow crime scene tape sectioned of several rectangular spaces. I saw the body-bags but didn’t make the connection. Surely, I didn’t kill all of them. I don’t remember killing all of them. But then again if it wasn’t for the fact I was handcuffed and led into the woods by policemen, I didn’t remember being arrested either.
They led me to a body bag deep in the center of the woods. I could still hear the police radios hissing on and off.
“We found another one.”
The grip on my arm became tighter. I didn’t understand why: with all of the cops around, it was obvious I couldn’t get away. They started to unzip the body bag, and I immediately turned my head.
I don’t want to see this.
I didn’t do this.
I couldn’t have done this.
Those were all of the thoughts I had in my mind as they pulled the zipper down further.
I saw myself.
I was dressed in my favorite orange sweater that I wore for my seventh grade picture with huge matching plastic orange earrings. Even with my eyes closed, my makeup was flawless, and I appeared to have been smiling.
But how could I be dead if I was standing right here looking at myself?
Then the officer who was holding my left arm whispered in my ear.
“That’s what happens when you give up.”
I could smell the sulfur on his breath.
“And all of these other women believed in Love too.”
Then I heard screaming and I didn’t think it was possible to become more petrified than I already was, so I shrugged the officers off me and I ran. I figured I saw my own corpse; so they couldn’t kill me twice. I ran to my grandmother’s house and entered through the back door. I didn’t think anyone was there until I smelled the aroma of banana bread in the air. Then I heard her little voice.
I didn’t understand how she was walking and talking. She was only two months old, but she was. After the horror I had just witnessed, this was the most beautiful sight ever.
“Mommy, the man told me to give this to you.”
She handed me a letter which was folded in quarters. When I opened it, I saw that it was written in the most perfect handwriting ever:
Believe in me, and wait.
I woke up with my heart pounding, and I was crying. Sure I was scared. I mean I had seen my own corpse in my dream. But that wasn’t the root of my emotions.
Only my “SF” knows my whole story, because most of it is still too painful or horrifying to talk about, and he is the only one I trust with it, because he Loves me anyway. It started off typical enough:
My mother and father divorced.
Because my father was angry, he didn’t want anything to do with me.
Which led to extremely bad choices in men.
I was constantly abused: mentally, physically and sexually.
I would have said Spiritually as well, but at the time I thought my Spirit had left me.
Now I am different.
Very recently, I was listening to my daughter who has been going through a tough time in her marriage while trying to give her the best emotional support I could. She interrupted me and said, “I gotta give it to you Mom, despite all that you have been through (and she only knows some of my story) you still Love. How do you do it?”
I thought a long time before I answered. I thought about my “SF” and all he went (and is still going through) in the name of Love. I wanted to tell her that I wanted to be an example to him, but for some unknown reason that sounded arrogant, so I didn’t.
I simply said:
I don’t know all the answers baby, but what I do know is if I give up on Love, I will die.
© michele mitchell, 2013
Photo credit: http://www.longdistanceproductions.com