Before You Go

THIRTY-FOUR

After Christmas, I go back with Jules back to Mud Puddle. I sip my coffee cautiously as we gather around a table in the back room, afraid I’ll spill with my trembling hands. This is my third time joining the group, but I have a feeling something’s up. I think it’s my turn to do the talking.

“How are your butterflies?” Becca asks the group.

We all show them off. They’re still living.

I have three, but only show the one on my arm named Michael.

I have two others on my ankle.

Noah and Jules.

We sit and sip our coffees, making small talk before we dive into business. Reece doesn’t beat around the bush.

“So Tabby, are you ready to tell us your story?” she asks.

No, but it’s time.

My face burns a little and my teeth chatter as I surprisingly say, “Okay. Where should I start?”

“At the beginning,” she says quietly. “Why are you here with us, Tabby?”

I gulp down some air, let it out, and begin at the beginning. “Well,” I say, wringing my hands.

“I…I had a really hard time at my old school.” I stop and take a drink of my coffee. I’m not sure I can let Jules into all of this, but I don’t know how I can avoid it.

I try again. “I slipped into major depression last year, after I lost everything—my friends, my boyfriend, my dance career. I became the biggest loser in school. After…I was sexually assaulted at a hockey party.”

And there it is, as simple and as complex as that. I just say it, finally ripping off the Band-Aid. I wait for the sting. I wait for the gasps and stares. There are none. There are only concerned faces encouraging me to go on. So I do.

“My friend talked me into performing this dance for my boyfriend at the party. It was just this innocent routine we were doing to be funny, but someone slipped something in my drink and the innocent dance turned into a strip show. At least that’s what I pieced together after.”

Reece nods and Jules leans in. I drink more coffee.

My voice starts to waver and Jules puts her hand on mine. She wills me her courage, I can feel it.

“Some of the guys touched me and made me dance for them. They took pictures and circulated them all over campus. I tried to press charges, but it looked like I was just a slutty girl who got out of control and wanted somebody to blame. Everyone found out about it, my family and the entire school. I was kicked out of the dance show. Everyone dumped me, all my friends, the other dancers, even my mom. I guess I dumped myself too.”

The more I talk, the lighter I feel, but the sadness is still there. So I cry big, fat, ugly tears. The kind that makes your face swell up and get all blotchy. The shame kicks in and I can’t handle the way they are looking at me. The way Jules, my only friend, is looking at me.

What if I can’t trust her? What if she tells Noah?

Panic takes over.

“I’m sorry,” I tell them. “This is too hard. God, I need to go.”

Before they can protest, I rush out of the backroom, through the hall, and into the coffee shop. A row of cabs waits outside the door.

I go out into the bitter air and jump in.

###

Later that night, I recover in my room. I read some of Maya Angelou’s poems and come across one that couldn’t be more perfect.


Still I Rise

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I’ll rise.



Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.



Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I’ll rise.



Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops.

Weakened by my soulful cries.



Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don’t you take it awful hard

’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines

Diggin’ in my own back yard.



You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I’ll rise.



Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I’ve got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?



Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise

Or course, I know nothing of racism or slavery or poverty. But I know what it’s like to be abused and treated like trash. I know what it’s like to be silenced. I know what it is like to be broken and forgotten. I also know, thankfully, how to rise. So I don’t think Maya would mind me taking her poem as mine.

I read it again and again, like a prayer, and let the words fill the last of the holes in my heart.