The Answer is Within, Janice K. Whitney [best black authors txt] 📗

I love you but I will not tolerate you using it. It is destroying the man that I fell in love with.”
Reaching for the bag, he said “I’m sorry and you are right. I will get rid of this and will not touch the stuff anymore. I will try to cut down on the drinking too. I have been doing both too much.” Not thinking, she let him take the bag from her. Reassured by his acknowledgment of his alcohol and drug problem she relented and believed him.
A few weeks went by with him coming home in time for dinner. Randy was being more considerate and attentive to her and the kids then he had been in a very long time. He was still drinking but not in the excessive manner that he had been doing. Compromising by have his beer at home in the evening. The meanness was gone and Trish started to relax and believe that the future would be better after all.
Then Randy came back to the house late one morning with his friend Mitch. He was in a very good mood, grabbing a six pack of beer out of the refrigerator; he told her that Mitch and himself were going out for a boat ride in the bay. She said, “Have fun, but be careful.” As she watched them leave, a feeling of foreboding enveloped her. The afternoon turned to evening, the evening turning to night. Finally, at 3am in the morning, Randy came home. She knew he was not only drunk but also extremely high on the crystal meth. On this high was the angry Randy that she knew too well.
He stomped around the house she got up and went out to the living room. Randy was in an extremely foul mood. “What do you want, bitch?” he snarled at her when he saw her standing there in the threshold to the living room. She switched from angry questions of her own in her mind to, “I was wondering if you wanted something to eat.”
“No, go back to bed.” was his cold replied. Trish did as she was told knowing that it would be better to leave him alone. Only he did something different that night. He went to the son’s room yelling at him, swearing at him, telling him to get the hell out of the house. There was no reason for his actions, though the two had not been getting along since the boy had reached adolescence. They both for sometime been using her as the tug-a-war rope between them.
Alarmed she got back out of bed and started out the bedroom door when her son and Randy went by her in the hallway, pushing her aside. Her teenage son’s face closed tight in anger he was just barely able to control. She followed them out through the house, her pleading with Randy to be reasonable and leave the boy alone. They went out the front door; her son was seemingly heading for the transit stop, which did not even run at that time of night. Reaching the steps off the front deck. Trish realized that she would not be able to stop Randy herself and went to get the portable telephone, calling 911.
By the time, the female dispatcher answered her call; Randy was screaming obscenities at her son. In seconds, they were in a physical fight down the street. She could not see exactly what was going on due the poorly lit street. Crying now, she told the dispatcher what was going on and that she need a police officer immediately. The dispatcher told her that a squad car was on its way and asked more questions of what was in progress. Trish told her that she could not see them anymore or hear anything. She was started getting hysterical, at which the speaker on the other end talked to her, calming Trish down as best she could. Then the dispatcher asked if she could see the two now.
At that moment, Randy came into area of the house outside light’s radius. Seeing him, Trish, now very frightened, told the dispatcher that she had to go now. Firmly the dispatcher told her to stay on the line, not to hang up. Seeing her on the telephone, Randy’s face became suffused with rage, charged her, screaming, “I told you never to 911 me!” Grabbing the telephone out of her hand and throwing it through the open front door back into the house.
With his attention at where he was pitching the telephone, she turned and ran down the steps of the front deck and around the side of the house. She got to the backyard and stopped, listening to see if he was following her. He was not. However, the backyard had limited escape routes due to being mostly surrounded by five-foot fences. Trish then went down the other side of the house until she got to the front corner and peeking around the house, looked to see if he was still standing there. Not seeing him, she assumed he had gone back into the house. Looking for someplace to hide from him, she saw her camp trailer parked in the street and ran to the side that he could not see. That was where she was standing, barefoot in her summer nightgown, when the police car got there not more then a few seconds after she had stopped by the trailer. They had come from the direction that was hard for Randy to see, but she was right there in plain view. They shut their headlights off, leaving the car in the middle of the street, two officers got out and came up to her.
She stood there crying and shivering though it was a warm summer night. Concerned, one asked if she wanted a blanket. Trish said no, lied, saying she was OK. The officers asked her if Randy was still here. She told them that he was in the house. Then they wanted to know where her son was and she had to say she did not know because he had not come back after their fight down the street. One of the officers asked her if Randy had a firearm. Alarmed she told them that he had a pistol in the house but she had moved it from its usual place several weeks ago, hiding it. She had also hidden her hunting rifle and shoot gun as a precaution. She did not think that he knew that and would have a hard time finding it. With the information, they had, they told her to stay where she was, and walked up to the front lawn. Stopping in the middle, they ordered Randy to come out with his hands up in the air.
He yelled back that this was his house and they had no right to trespass. One of the officers replied, “Sir, we were called here on a domestic dispute and we can’t leave until you come out so that we may talk to you.”
Randy then came out on the front deck with his hands up above his head. He was semi-calm until the other two police cars arrived at that precise moment. Then he went ballistic, screaming obscenities and accusations of their prejudices against men like himself. Two of the new officers came over to Trish and asked her how old her son was. She told them that he was seventeen years old. During this time Randy started a scuffle with one of the officers, their patience stretched, they hand cuffed him and read him his rights.
The way she was facing, she saw her son coming back up the street. Relief that he wasn’t lying hurt somewhere flooded her. He came up to her and the officers, battered and bruised. One of the officers looked at him and asked him if Randy had been the one that did that. He told them yes. That he had tried to avoid a fight by walking away from Randy, but that he had attacked him from behind. Her son, built like a bear, stated that when he got Randy in a headlock, he seemed to have lost any urge to keep hitting him. That was when he and his “step-father” parted ways. Likely hood was that Randy had not realized just how big and strong her son had grown into and still growing.
The officer then informed them that since he was a minor that Randy would be going to jail. They did not have the option of pressing charges. They spoke as if she would not press charges, but she knew she would have and she told them so. They looked at her kindly and said that from their past experiences, most of the time, the wives or girlfriends failed to do that.
Reflecting on her lack of filing charges that first time, she said she knew for she had not called the police even when Randy had started hitting her. However, being her child was the victim this time; she was going to be sure that her “assumed spouse” went to jail. She was stupid enough to have let herself be victimized but Randy’s violent behavior had gone too far.
Her daughter came up to them, having stayed out of Randy’s way until she felt it was safe to come out of her room. Now she put her arms around her mother and brother. They all broke down crying, with the officers looking away, as the raw emotions took control.
One of the officers stayed behind as the other officers put Randy in one of the squad cars, looked at the kids saying, “Take care of your mother and each other. You will be contacted about further legal matters, such as court dates, ECT. Here is my card with my telephone numbers where you can reach me if you have any questions or concerns. Please feel free to call. Good night.” He then turned and walked to his car.
Exhausted and still highly emotional, they went back into the house. They sat for awhile in the living room discussing the events of the night. Planning on what should be done the next day. Trish would have to wait until Monday to file a restraining order. At least, Randy would be locked up until arraignment on Monday. They would start packing his belongings tomorrow.
The weeks that followed were a blur; going to court was the worse part. Seeing him brought heartache and deep sadness to Trish. He just looked at her with hatred when he did look at her.
She had a great deal of support from her family and friends; all telling her what a relief it must be for her to be rid of him. They did not know that even with everything that had happened, she still loved him. Time does heal, but not always to the depth needed. Pain was ever constant, not as severe as the beginning weeks, months, but still there.
Here she stood in front of a pay telephone, a year, and a half after that horrid night, debating to call him, needing so badly to know that he was all right. That he