Darkness Before Dawn (17 page)

I tried frantically to remember what I'd read about self-defense in these situations. I had slept through this chapter in health class, thinking it boring and unnecessary. What was it? Kick him? Scratch him? Spray mace? All of that seemed foolish and futile now.

“Stop!”
I screamed as I gathered all my strength and pushed him away from me. I took the moment to duck away from him, trying to find a place to run in the dimly lit room. He lunged after me, grabbing the back of my dress, which ripped as I pulled away from him. I jumped on the sofa, then on the table, knocking over the wine glasses. “Don't touch me! Let me out of here!”

“I told you to just relax!” he repeated. “Quit acting like such a baby!”

I was terrified. I no longer felt like an adult. I felt like a child who had jumped into the deep end of the pool and I needed help, quickly. I wanted my mom, my dad, daylight—anything to get me away from this golden-eyed creature
who held me against my will.
“No!”
I screamed.
“No!
Leave me alone!” I ran behind the sofa, grabbing a wine bottle from the table.

“Grow up, Keisha,” Jonathan snarled. Gone was his smooth, mellow voice and his gentle attitude.

“No!”
I yelled again. I threw the empty bottle at him. He ducked it easily, laughing. I tried to reason with him as I ran from corner to corner of the small apartment. “If you do this, I swear I will tell!” she warned. “You'll lose your job, your dad will lose his job, you'll go to jail, and ...”

“I couldn't care less about my father,” Jonathan said harshly, interrupting me.

I couldn't think of anything else to threaten him with. I was breathing hard and trying not to give in to the hysteria I felt.

He had calmed down a bit, and he looked at me coolly. He was once again in control. “And you'll tell what?” he jeered. “That you came over here alone in that sexy little silver dress? That you sneaked out of the house and lied to your parents to be with me? That you kissed me like a woman kisses a man, not like a high school girl kisses a boy? Is that what you want to tell?”

I wept real tears then for I knew he was right. He would walk away unpunished.

“You'll look like a fool if this ever gets out,” he told me. His voice was slow and manipulating. “All your friends, all your teachers will know what you have done. Your parents will look at you in disgust.” He smiled as he watched me cry. “It will be all your fault, you know.”

Jonathan glanced at himself in the mirror above the sofa. He smoothed his hair a bit, smiled, and watch himself walk toward me. I stood trembling behind the chair. Terrified, I ran once more to the door, screaming for help and fruitlessly rattling the locked doorknob.

“Help!”
I screamed. “Somebody, please help me!” I screamed as loud as I could and pounded on the door praying that someone, anyone would hear me. No one did.

He grabbed my shoulder, spun me around to face him, then reached into his pants pocket and took out the key to the inside door lock. He laughed and tossed it on the floor. “You won't be needing this,” he said softly.

Still crying, I spit in his face. “Unlock the door, you pervert!”

Jonathan never took his eyes from me. He calmly wiped off his face, then reached into his pocket once more. This time he brought out a small, silver-handled knife. It gleamed with sharp intention in the darkness. I felt its sharp pointed tip at my neck. “Silence!” he said quietly. “Do as I say and you won't get hurt. Relax. That's what I've been telling you all evening. Just relax.” The soothing voice was back, but his tone was harsh and cruel.

Crying and trembling, I tried once more to kick him and lunge away, but I felt the knife point pierce my neck. I cried out as a small drop of blood joined the point of the knife and rolled down the length of the silver necklace. “Just relax,” he said again. “If you fight me again,” he warned me viciously, “I will have to hurt you.”

“Well, you're just going to have to hurt me!” I screamed
as I twisted my body and pushed him off balance. “But you are
not
man enough to handle me!” I spoke with a confidence that I really didn't feel. He hesitated for just a second before he tried to grab my arm. I used that second to lunge for the knife and grab it from him.

He laughed, grabbed my wrist, and tried to twist the knife away from me. But that wasn't so easy. I screamed and gripped it firmly, moving with him in a horrible sort of dance as he tried to make the knife his once more. He pulled my arm over my head, right at the level of his face, and squeezed my wrist to make me release it. But I held on, closing my eyes and pulling my arm back down with all my strength, down to my waist, and around in back of me.

I opened my eyes when I heard
him
scream, and suddenly he let me go. In trying to get away from him, I had pulled the knife down right across his face. A huge bright red diagonal slice from the top of his hairline, across his left eye, past his nose, and across his lips to his chin marred his once-perfect face. My eyes widened in horror as I saw what I had done. He held his face in his hands, groaning.

I dropped the knife as if it were made of fire, looked quickly to the floor, located the key, and had the door open in a second. I had no time to find my coat or shoes or purse. I ran barefoot down the stairs out of the building and into the fifteen-degree night wearing only my torn silver dress.

It was snowing heavily
and I was alone. Large white flakes seemed to pour from the sky, making the street lights look fuzzy and silvery. Snow fell on my bare back and arms and down my dress. My bare feet sank into the newly fallen snow, burning and freezing them at the same time. I wasn't sure where I was, what time it was, or where to go. My trembling increased—my brain wouldn't work. I had no idea what to do. I thought vaguely that I should try to find a pay phone, but I couldn't see one in either direction of the dimly lit street, and the thought passed as I shivered violently in the darkness. No lights could be seen in any of the windows, no cars moved on the narrow streets. A strong gust of wind blasted me, pelting me with more snow, freezing even my eyelashes with ice, reminding me that I was
almost naked and in need of help in a hurry. I rang the doorbells of every building that I could find with one, but no one answered. Fifteen minutes passed. I tried banging on several doors of other buildings I passed, but all were locked, dark, and snow-covered. I knew thirty or forty minutes had passed, and still not one single car had driven down that street. I wandered down the street, trying to think, but it was so cold. My brain felt like frozen mud. I tried to force myself to go on, but my mind seemed to freeze along with my body, and I collapsed by a mailbox near the corner, unable to move any longer. I guess I faded into unconsciousness. All I remember is the snow, which continued to fall, silent and silver.

“What you doin' out here, girlie, 'sides freezin' to death?” The old woman shuffled closer and gently kicked my bare leg. “Hey! You dead or alive?” I heard her from what seemed like a great distance.

“Help me,” I managed to say before I faded away once more.

The woman, who was wrapped in several coats and shawls, removed one of her coats. I vaguely remember that she wrapped it around my body, and lifted me effortlessly into her arms. She walked down the block, turned into an alley, and disappeared into a basement door. The building was warm, and I stirred as the heat from the coat and the furnace that filled most of that basement began to warm me. The woman set me gently on an old mattress in the corner and covered me with another coat. I opened my
eyes slowly. At first I looked around with fear, then I saw the kindly eyes of a strange old woman. She looked vaguely familiar. I relaxed and I guess I passed out again.

When I woke up, the woman was gently bathing my swollen and icy feet, massaging them back into circulation. She carefully washed my wounds—the cut on my neck, the bruises on my arms. It felt good. I dozed a little, so grateful for the kind touches, the soft words.

The old woman dug around in the bottom of one of the many cardboard boxes lined against the walls of the basement. She pulled out a clean, green plaid sweatshirt that said “Smile! God Loves You” on the front. She said it was one of many given to her at church clothing drives. Then she found a clean pair of bright orange sweatpants. “They don't give away the clothes that match, sweetie,” she mumbled. The woman gently and carefully slipped the shirt and pants on me.

“You gonna need more healin' than I can give ya, poor baby,” the old woman muttered. Suddenly I jerked in fear, startled by the noise of the furnace kicking on.

“Don't fret none about that, child. It's just the furnace doin' its thing and givin' more heat to the folks upstairs. But we got plenty down here, and ol' Edna gonna take care of you. Don't you fret now, you hear? You been through enough tonight.”

“Edna! I remember you!”

“And I remember you, too, chile. I been all over this city and this is the first time I ever found a half-froze girl on the street!” She laughed a little and showed several
missing teeth. “But you just rest now—and let Edna work.”

I wasn't scared. I lay quietly, glancing over at Edna. She wasn't really that old—maybe sixty or so. Her face was worn and brown, wrinkled like a walnut. Her clothes were old, but her eyes were bright with kindness.

“Where am I?” I asked.

“Not far from where I found you. Probably not far from whatever building you wandered out of. Or got tossed out of. You remember leaving a building around here? You live around here?”

I was silent, for remembering was painful. “No, I don't live around here,” I replied, half answering the question.

“What's your name, honey?” Edna asked me. “I forget.”

I sneezed.

Edna laughed and said, “I remember now! You the girl whose name sounds like a sneeze! Katchoo or something.”

I smiled and told her, “It's Keisha. Keisha Montgomery.” But somehow, hearing my name said out loud made reality return. I began to cry once more—deep, wracking sobs that wouldn't stop. Edna held me in her arms and let me cry, asking no questions.

“You want some soup, baby? Edna's got some nice warm broth. Make you feel better inside.” I nodded and gratefully sipped the hot soup out of what looked like it might have once been a flower pot.

“You know, one day, not too long ago, old Edna was hungry. It was just before Christmas, and before I found this great place here. Two girls stopped and gave me some soup.
Best soup I ever done had. I'll never forget that. Pretty girls. Pretty names,” she added, since she had teased me about my name. “Pretty nice.”

I smiled at her. “I'm glad we stopped that day.”

“Lawdy me,” Edna replied, “Ol' Edna don't often get to repay a favor—feels real good. Now, that's a purty smile if I ever seen one,” Edna told me.

“I didn't think I would ever smile again,” I said sadly. I thought about the horrible night with Jonathan.

“You gotta smile, baby. Smilin' is the medicine God give us to heal us from pain. You gonna get over this. You gonna smile for the rest of your life.”

“Can't I stay here with you?” I asked desperately. “It's safe here. I can't . . . I can't
tell
anybody! I can't even
look
at anybody! They'll know how stupid I was!” I started crying again.

“What you want to do a fool thing like stay here with ol' Edna? They be chasin' me outta here by next week. You got a life, child. You gotta go live it.”

“I don't have a life anymore,” I murmured. I shuddered and held Edna's old coat tightly around me. “He ruined it.”

“You don't look dead to me!” Edna said sharply. “He didn't take yo' life, girl. All he took was a little piece of your shell. I done had pieces of my shell plucked all my life, but can't
nobody
take away my spirit!” Edna jumped up and did a little dance. She was a sight, with her mismatched boots, her layers of coats and scarves, and her two hats, dancing on the bare floor of the basement, the only light coming from the furnace grate. “Hallelujah!
Praise the Lord! Life is good!” Edna declared with a smile.

“But how can you be so happy?” I asked. “Your life looks like it's pretty rough.”

“Oh, it is, baby. It is. But I got a powerful spirit, and sometimes I get to share it with somebody special like you. I think I was guided to you tonight.”

“You saved my life,” I told her gratefully.

“No, child. You saved your own life. I just patched up your body and put a bandage on your soul. You gonna be just fine. Now, don't you think you ought to call your mama?”

I nodded, then looked up helplessly. “I left my purse, my phone, even my shoes,” I said with shame. “Thank you for ...” I glanced down at the bright orange sweat pants and the green plaid sweat shirt with the happy face grinning stupidly.

“For what the church lady didn't want?” Edna laughed.

I smiled a little as well at the foolish outfit. “What should I tell my mother?” I wailed then.

“The truth!” Edna said emphatically. “Yo' mama loves you. She's probably lookin' for you right now. She'll forgive whatever needs forgivin', and she'll help with whatever you need help with. I know. I was a mama once.” Edna fell silent.

“What time is it?” I asked, glancing at the empty place on my arm where my watch used to be. I didn't even remember losing it.

Edna pulled back her three coat sleeves and revealed
six watches on her left arm. She grinned. “Time in England? Nigeria? Or right here?” I laughed in spite of myself. “Let's see.” Edna squinted at the first watch. “It's five
A.M.
Way past time for girlies like you to be home in bed.”

I gasped. “I was supposed to be home hours ago. My mother is going to kill me! I know she's worried sick! But how can I call her? Do you know where the closest pay phone is?”