I am Sam: Piece Four

           There were horse ranches of immense size all around us. I never would've guessed crop farming and animal husbandry would be such a big theme outside of upstate New York. Small side roads cut in between the agricultural masses. Curvy and cracked, we manuevered our way to the designated coordinates on the GPS. We affectionately call her "Karen". At times Karen tells us to, "....get out of your vehicle and finish walking to your destinaton". That's either a really good or really bad thing to hear. Dependent upon which kind of adventure we're having of course.
This morning isn't one of those adventures.
 I've got very little information to go on. An online website, two addresses and some input from Eric was about all I needed to deem it worthy of at least, an attempt.
   The last driveway at the top of the hill was where we needed to park. I am sweating bullets inside. No matter how skilled you are at small talk; convincing strangers ~that do not know you're arriving, to share personal information with you, is a bit intimidating.
 I will start with what I know best, "I am Sam." Eric convinces me that exactly that will be enough. We turn the jeep off and head for the door.
   At one time I think someone loved the property. There is evidence all around of gardening and typical miscellenous home projects left unfinished. Bird feeders hang sideways from willow trees.  All appear empty. A wood splitter hiding under blue tarps, ripped and frayed. Such a cute little home, drenched in abandon. After the initial walk up nerves, I finally settle into my skin after no-one answered the door. Eric, a bit more cautious, advices me to get out of the windows.
Still, he asks what I see inside. It looks as if someone had vacated the place back in 1980. There are shades of brown on everything. The floor, the couch, the wallpaper. It's all super retro. "This" would be the perfect house for a single cat lady.
Interestly enough though, that's the exact opposite of what I am looking for. I am seeking an aged man. Big stature and about 60 years of age. His parents were immigrants from Poland. I had found the records from Ellis Island. An attribute only rare names can offer.
I traveled a long ways to find an abondoned house with a "bird sanctuary" surronding it. Adjusting from the varying levels of anxiety and curiousties, we both plop a spot on the steps of the failed house. There's something okay about taking this break. Maybe while we sit someone will come along and claim the property. At this point I'd even take a tresspassing risk to get another lead. Stubbornly defeated, I rise to make my departure. I feel somewhat at a loss. Eric again- ever so clever, has a last ditch attempt to make sure someone knows we were here and what we are looking for. Even though we don't know who will find our note of desperation, I attach it to the squeeky front door. Head down, I take a big breath and clear my mind for the next address on my list.
         This time we are looking for a woman. I have no idea what she looks like, nor how old she should be. I have only a name...which indicates to me that she is married and a news article about events in the area that she lived in. The drive is not far. Maybe 20 minutes from our current location. We are coming down from horse land into what appears to be a more developed area. Churches stand ornate and strong, on many of the street corners. I wonder if this is how everyone feels when they're searching for something.
An unexpected sadness creeps in.
I do not know these places. I have never been to this state.
But, it feels as if I've missed them.
People would say that you can never miss that which you never knew. I disagree. With enough subconcoius proof now to back my beliefs up, I will find everything that's been buried here. In college once a professor told me that, "...a lie stuck to, is as good as any truth." Getting to this point has been like seperating salt from ocean water. I believe that as long as you're in control of the lies, you can shape them into whatver you like. But, it takes only one other person to unbind it all. Human error can be vile and atrocious. At the right time however, this will lead to something beautiful and tragic. This time the stories are me.

Not Today.

It's the first evening of english literature, while I'm never worried about classes like this, the last thing I want to do is arrive late to the first day.
At the moment it's starting to look like I'm arriving late to the first day.

I got the four small humans where they needed to be, snuck in boyfriend kisses, got a caffinated beverage (or two) and was on my way. Bookbag is packed. Hair is brushed. No make-up. I can't look someone in the eye when mine are watering from misguided drops of mascara or eyeliner.
I park at the far end of campus. When you get too close to the start time everything close to the building turns into a war zone. I'll run to make up my time before I'll pay for a college rage induced fender bender. They can have it.
A sigh of relief rushes over me as I get through the double doors. Officially inside. Unfortunately I've forgotten that the honor society I'm being inducted into next week is doing a meet and greet for the hour leading up to my class. There are 6 minutes left. I still haven't found my new classroom. Exasperated, I accept my fate. I cannot just walk by this advisor to then face him next week. I am wearing red pants...I doubt my stealth. I remember Mr. Frisbee from his emails. The fact that his last name mirrors that of the novelty beach toy also helps to stick it to my brain. It was a crash meeting, but he seems pleasantly surprised that I took the time to say hello and already knew his name. He gives me a little black box. I am undoubtedly welcome. I walk down the hallway just long enough for him to not see me hit a dead sprint. Three minutes left to have my ass in that seat of that classroom I still haven't found.
Low and behold, the mechanic and campus police are around the bend. While it's not mandatory to stop and say hello, I feel obligated. Through crap weather, or sketchy people out in the parking lots, I can honestly say that these are the good guys. Intrigued with the mail jeep last semester they approached me, asking if I was there on work business or personal business. They couldn't believe someone with federal experience would want to come to college, especially when I have to drive through the worst of the north weather to get there. I am too young to be a mail carrier forever I laugh. If they only understood. Very few have time for that story though.
We exchange our friendly welcome back jokes. It is good to see friendly faces. During the evenings of my government class last semester I would see the mechanic weaving in and out of empty rooms. Typical maintenance I'm sure, nothing horrible, but it always made me feel sad. You'd never know it in a conversation, but to watch someone when they think they're alone, you pick up the details. I think he missed someone. I know I do when I'm here all week.
Room 215. I've made it with one minute to spare. Little did I know that chaos was about to ensue. I should've realized it once I figured out the girl seated in front of me was the actually professor of the evening. She finds that it's easier to analyze people when they are surrounded by a group of their peers with no apparent supervision. Not bad...dual Master's degree with honors woman. I'm fairly impressed with the work she puts into depth reading. We play two truths and a lie. I actually giggle inside, who plays this?!? The 19 year old boy in the back of the room lies about his favorite color, the girl next to him lies about how many sisters she has. I am a train wreck of truths. Which happens to make you a Queen at this game.
I have four daughters, I'm at risk for a terminal illness, I've been to rehab.
Maybe I should've worn the make-up.
Strangers are more likely to believe I've done drugs than had babies.
"There's no way you're that old."   (Maybe I should've counted the twins as one)
We analyze poems about suicide and depression. The class, all in all, will be a success. I can work with this. She ends class and I finally have time to open my little black box from honors advisor, Mr. Frisbee. It is simple. The shine makes it beautiful. I attach it to my Jeep keys and throw my ever growing book bag over my shoulder.
This was worth the rush. My life is worth the rush. People, as a whole, are worth the time.

I wanted you to know-
I doubted myself today. For about fifteen minutes. I still managed to get myself together and not lower into the black abyss of what life used to be day in and day out. I've said it before and I'll say it forever.
   Verbal abuse IS domestic abuse. Physical altercations count as well but, when those happen you could call for help and they give you a fancy stack of pink papers to use as justification for restraining orders.
   My cellphone is the only place he can go now to tear me apart. I tried to warn the others. I then got accused of jealousy. The abuser never changes. Only the victim. It's a cyclic chain of abuse. I hope they know it's not just them. It was me too.
My college major is in government. I am not learning for the money. I am learning for the people. Our people. I believe that if you're doing your job in society honestly then there's no way to get rich off of such a career field. Women need help. Good men need protection. But there are so many girls living in situations you'd never want to see them in if you were their parent. My girls deserve better. My friends deserve better. I don't even know her, but the woman sitting next to me on the train deserves better.
I try to lead an open life so that you'll feel like you can too. I do not need anyone following me that doesn't genuinely want to. Being a source for the enemy makes you a traitor. Nobody likes a traitor. Besides maybe other traitors.
People only have as much power and credit as you decide to give them. I am overjoyed to be back. To be honest I don't even know how I ever lived that way or why. I promise my life is not simple and rainbows and butterflies don't shoot out my windows every morning. But if I can recognize what's right and what's wrong I'm hoping that it will give you the strength to do it too. While I have an incredibly busy life to live I am still dealing with a narcissist. Your abuser doesn't have a problem with his anger. He has a problem with your anger. One of the basic human rights he takes away from you is the right to be angry with him. No matter how badly he treats you, he believes your voice shouldn't rise and your blood shouldn't boil. The privilege of rage is reserved for him alone. When your anger does jump out of you, he is likely to jam it back down your throat as quickly as he can. Then he uses your anger against you to prove what an irrational person you are. Abuse will make you feel straight jacketed. You will start developing physical or emotional reactions to swallowing your anger. Such as, depression, nightmares, teeth grinding, emotional numbing, eating and sleeping issues, all of which your partner will use as an excuse to belittle you further and make you out as the  crazy, insane one.
Do you remember the story about the dog that got put to sleep?
As a puppy and through it's young life, the man kicked it daily. It became so frightened that even the man walking into the room caused the dog to soil the floor. After a couple years though the dog finally started to grow tired of this. When the man pulled his steel work boot back to kick the dog, the dog lunged and grabbed hold of the back of his knee. He latched on with all his might and what spirit he had left until the warmth of blood soaked his jowls.
The owner literally chucked the dog into the bed of his truck and drove him to the nearest vet. Taking no time to tend to his wound during his rage spree, he used it as evidence that this violent, nasty, rotten dog needed to be put down as a service to the public. He denied ownership of it. He had no idea where it came from, or why it chose to attack him. Seeing how he never properly cared for the dog it didn't even have a record, let alone the proper shots and treatments. No one claimed the dog on the radio. His three days were up. With a heavy and confused heart, the vet inserted the death cocktail. He seemed like such a nice dog. It is too bad that he had to bite that man.

I'm twirling my new, silvery key chain. It spins in the middle. I find it satisfying.
"Not today, life.
I will not be a victim today."

Wrecking Children and Mom-belts

              I'm eight years old. My mother put me into black stockings because "Samantha you need to cover up those bruised legs! People will think I beat you!"
She didn't.

     Honestly though, I'd rather show them the bruises than sport these things ever again. I haven't felt my belly button in three hours. My little sister Liz is riding in the back seat with me, along with Abby, the neighbor girl and her grandparents. They let us use their big astrovan just so we all could go! Everyone came out for me. It was the night of the local elementary chorus concert and being the eldest, it was my honor to have the first concert ever for anyone to attend. Thus, making it a grand event.
       Velvet from my holiday dress rubs on the bottom of my palms. It tickles. A weird satisfying tickle. Being new to this winter holiday custom I thought my outfit to be unique and special. Little did I know, every young girl had been stuck in one of these monstrosities at some point in their adolescence. Of course the bottom is plagued by assorted snowflakes...or are they swirls?

"Don't peel off the glittery shit!"
My mother was always full of unconventional wisdom.
I stop picking at it.

   We're only about five minutes from home when the car veers head on into our van. My step dad had tried everything he could with only seconds to react to the oncoming vehicles behavior. I saw my mom turn out of her seat with the speed of a superhero. Liz is only four years old and in the 90's, car seats weren't given the levels of importance they so desperately deserved. I gazed out my window to try and understand the commotion. My curiosity was answered when my brow bone rapped off the glass. My mother had made a security sacrifice to get to my little sister. She torques both of her arms. One more so, due to the metal plate that was placed in it years ago from a bicycle collision on a steel deck bridge. For the first time in my childhood I recognize my first feelings of empathy for all the passengers in our van. When the ambulance arrived my mom had to sign a paper just to keep me from being taken to the hospital. With how I acted they were worried I had more serious injuries than just the bleeding scrapes, swelled brow and expected bruises. Everyone fared about the same.
           

 Between us though, I was broken. Deep inside me a part of my childhood gave way to reality. In an unforeseen event I could've lost my entire family and our friends without a moment's notice. I sobbed to see real fear in my sister's eyes and panic on the faces of all these people I cared about. I'd never seen my mother react so seriously.

I couldn't stop it.
Hell, I couldn't even see it coming.

            Within the following weeks I will learn that it was a middle aged couple from Maryland that struck us. There was no insurance on their vehicle and neither of them would tell who was actually driving. They weren't drunk. They were hammered. By the time police had shown up the car unhinged from us and maneuvered itself into the nearest telephone pole. It would come to rest there while they hastily threw beer cans out the windows and climbed into the back seats to await their impending persecution.
    The medics say my little sister's soft skull wouldn't have been able to take the blow on the window like my thick head did. The sacrificial seat belt my mother had made was in fact, necessary. Abby was between us....being BOTH of our friend, and right between both of our ages it was only natural that she also have the middle seat. She is also slightly bruised and scared, but unharmed. Everyone was wearing their seat belt. Abby's grandparents will never buy a van again. They begin purchasing SUV's....they will say it's for the look. To this day I think it's because they feel safer driving anything that resembles the strength of a tank. We'll never ride to a concert together again.
Coincidence? Most likely, but to eight year old Sam it was because of what happened this night.

Jump with me to present day:

I am a rural mail carrier for the United States Postal Service. I've done this for five years and enjoy it greatly. I spend much of my time alone on the back roads of my home towns. Along side the many positives of my career rides a few negatives though. With all of the miles I travel, you wouldn't believe half of the things I see. Today was another one of those days.

       It was a great morning in the office. I'm now out on the road and making great time. The ice plated mailboxes warn me to take it slowly. I've got a much stronger distaste for ice or sleet than any amount of snow. Ice is much deadlier, much faster.
   Traffic starts to block on one of my main roads. I accept the situation as a necessary delay. My jeep's mail signs allow me to wait off to the side to wait out the clean up of a wreck so that I can continue on with my appointed route after. Fairly common situation. Any detour will just cost me more time and more miles. I can't help but wonder if everyone's okay, and if ice was in fact the main culprit, not typical human error. Air bags are visible and both cars need to be towed. Crushed metal and fiber glass pepper the way. I make a mental note to avoid those spots because today would be a nasty one to have to change a flat. An ambulance leaves with it's lights on in the direction of the closest hospital.
 I can be patient because life has made me immensely empathetic. I'd much rather be here, in this delay, than in that ambulance. It is after these thoughts that I notice you coming. It's not hard to spot speed when everything else is idle. A tractor trailer has already began slowing down because he sits high enough to see what you cannot. Your little blue honda is nothing compared to what awaits you around the icy blocked bend. I watch, skeptical, as you try to pass the tractor trailer. You're young and transporting very special cargo. You have no idea that anything is going on and are totally unaware of all the warning signs around you. There's a toddler leaning in between the two front seats to get your attention. I see a phone in your right hand and the carrying arm and canopy of a baby car seat popping up behind you. You appear to be yelling. Whether it's at the phone or the little girl, I cannot differentiate. I lay on the horn to get your attention. Feeling somewhat guilty for the scare it must've given the accident crew and other vehicles, I am satisfied with my action when you hit your brakes and drop your phone. The man in the big rig makes a motion as if he was wiping sweat from his brow and gives me a wave. It was as if time slowed, and now I'm seeing from the eyes of an adult mother instead of a child. An accident within an accident would be seemingly careless.

Reckless.
Somebody would've missed you all.
You never would've been able to embrace your babies in a security grasp to save them.
You'd never get to make up that argument you were having.
I wish so badly to talk to you. You're holding your hand over your heart, obviously startled.
Life did not care that there were 3 children in our van.
Life does not care that your babies are in that car.
And if life's not going to care about your babies, you have to!
We are each other's safety belts.

The accident clears. You drive away. I finish delivering my route.
Life doesn't care that we were there today, but I do.
     




 

The Art of Divorce

               It was bright. The sun shot through the living room with urgency I couldn't ignore. Summer isn't one to wait, it's days are over before you're able to remember when they began. I loved these mornings.  With feet dragging but eyes shining, I got the four littles ready for the day. The previous night I spent hours with the stars, hoping they'd whisper some universal truth into my ears to help ease me through another week. Something wasn't right, I'd felt it deep into my bones for months now. The kids were enjoying breakfast while I hurried around the house with a bowl of cereal, packing the last few necessities to get out the door and go fishing. 
        Maybe it really was me or maybe it was him. Maybe it was the sun's fault for shining light into rooms, that for every night cradled only darkness. It happened. A sentence broke into a conversation and a conversation birthed into an argument. Tongues were razors and the room reeked of disgust. I really wanted to eat my whole grain cereal. I know how tired I'll be later on when the hustle doesn't slow and my mind is too overcome with the joys of the day to stop and waste time on making a sandwich.
                 A Corelle bowl was in the air, my precious plans inside. It shattered, into a million little shards. It shattered. He picked up a piece like an Olympian would a medal. He laughed, he had won. The mess was beautiful. Milk peppered with opaque chunks, circled by wheat flakes. The hardwood floor took the role as canvas and I was the creator. It was art and it spoke to me.  I was glued in thought....the first one being that I just lost my breakfast. The second thought was "Who in the hell makes this Corelle guarantee? It says right on the damn box that if one chips you get a replacement without question! If that's the case then how do I get a replacement for 850 chips in my bowl?!? -shit). Kids were still eating. Unaware of the life changing game that just took place in the living room. My faith in relationships and kitchenware had failed that morning. Pre-marriage Sam didn't know you would actually need to use your warranty on your expensive dishes. 
              If you're reading this and your searching for some understanding let me share with you what I learned. You're allowed to try and fail many times but when the chips turn into an all out shatter, let it shatter. Let it smash to the ground and explode where it lands. We won't always get the clean breaks we hope for, but if the torque and tension build into a force large enough you will be able to sweep the pieces into a dust pan and toss them away all at once. I don't think he knew it then but that minuscule bowl of cereal showed me more than 5 years of marriage could. After he left the room I cleaned up my mess with the summer sun witness through the windows. I heaved the grain sized pieces into the trash. I signed my divorce papers last month. This month I plan to get new dishes. I want to see a complete set shining in my cupboards again. 

Win a Nook Color from Shannon Dittemore (@ShanDitty)! "Angel

Celebrate with Shannon by entering her "Angel Eyes" Giveaway and connecting with her during the Author Chat Party on 6/26!

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One "angelic" winner will receive:

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Enter today by clicking one of the icons below. But hurry, the giveaway ends at noon on June 25th. Winner will be announced at the "Angel Eyes" Author Chat Facebook Party on 6/26. Shannon will be hosting a book chat, testing your trivia skills and giving away some great prizes!

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Angel Eyes by Shannon Dittemore

 

 

Angel Eyes

By: Shannon Dittemore

Publisher: Thomas Nelson

336 pages - Paperback

Released May 2012

Genre: Juvenile fiction/Religious/Chistian/Fantasy

 

 

About The Book:

Once you've seen, you can't unsee. Everything changes when you've looked at the world through . . .Angel Eyes
Brielle went to the city to chase her dreams and found tragedy instead. She's come home to shabby little Stratus, Oregon, to live with her grief and her guilt . . . and the incredible, numbing cold she can't seem to shake.
Jake's the new guy at school. The boy next door with burning hands and an unbelievable gift that targets him for corruption.
Something more than fate has brought them together. An evil bigger than both of them lurks in the shadows nearby, hiding in plain sight. Two angels stand guard, unsure what's going to happen. And a beauty brighter than Jake or Brielle has ever seen is calling them to join the battle in a realm where all human choices start.
A realm that only angels and demons-and Brielle-can perceive.

About The Author:

Shannon is a wife and mother. A sister. A daughter. A friend. She was raised in Northern California by her parents-pastors of their local church and constant figures of inspiration.
As a youth, Shannon traveled with an award-winning performing arts team, excelling on stage and in the classroom. As a young adult, she attended Portland Bible College, continued acting, and worked with an outreach team targeting inner-city kids in the Portland-Metropolitan area.
It was in Portland that she met her husband, Matt. They were married in 2002. Soon after, they took the reins of the youth ministry at Living Way Community Church in Roseville, California where they continue to serve in that capacity. In October of 2004, their son Justus was born, followed by their daughter Jazlyn, born in 2008. For More on Shannon click Here!

My Take:

For being Dittemore's first book I was amazed at her shear ability to make me feel the main character Brielle's emotions and struggles. Normally with a new author my biggest problem is that I can't make the characters real enough to understand, this was not a problem for me this time! Like the rest of us Brielle has encountered unseen tragedy that changed her completely. I personally connected with her from the beginning of the book and read quickly to see if her end was how I was imagining it would be......sorry I can't give that away! We all have our own struggles and beliefs, Angel Eyes is about becoming who you are meant to be and making your own decisions based on what you believe. I think a lot of us can relate to that and of course the growing relationship between Brielle and Jake makes things pretty interesting as well! There is a religious tone underneath the story but do not shy away from it for that reason. Soon after starting you will be so involved with Brielle, Jake and the events circling around them that even if you don't normally read things having to do with religion you WILL finish this book! I am a married mother of four but I can proudly say that even though its labeled as "Juvenile Fiction"  I was turning the pages quicker than any 15 year old could imagine.  Angel Eyes transported me into a world that most days I don't give much thought to and gave me enough space when certain events occured where I could ponder what I would do or what is the right thing to do!! For many books that is not the norm! Overall I would highly recommend Angel Eyes to you and if you do read it I would love to hear you thoughts! My biggest dislike was the fact that now that I finished this book and dealt with a cliffhanger ending I NEED to read the other 2 novels in the trilogy. And to be purely honest...I can't wait!!

Purchase ANGEL EYES HERE!

Disclaimer: This post was written for the sponsor who provided the complimentay product for review in exchange for my honest opinions.