Run, Run, Run, Little One. Don’t turn to see the gun. Aimed at your back. Your Legs. Your neck. Quickly run. Run ‘till you see the morning sun.
And that’s what I did. What I’ve done. I started to run. To move ahead without taking the time to question my “interesting” feelings and turn them into meaningful insights. I was too afraid that God hated me us much as they said. Too afraid to face my own inner light. That all I would find inside was constant night. And so I never truly reached my goal: freedom. I’ve just been running. Until now.
The end of high school is mostly a blur. I’m not even sure if I went back to the Kingdom Hall after the trial. I threw myself into my school books and my job. My school prom was held the following week. Busying myself with obtaining a fresh hair cut, dropping off and picking up my dress clothes from the dry clearer, and washing and waxing my dad’s truck (only to be told: nice job, now take your mom’s dirty Honda), I completely forgot the elders were to announce my verdict to the Kingdom Hall that same night. I only remembered after all the dancing and the 1am pancakes with friends at a late night diner. Driving home, alone, yet again.
But there were no tears this time. Something in me had shifted after the trial. I had changed. Felt more responsible for myself. And by allowing myself to take on this responsibility, this agency, my anger began to dissolve.
A miraculous moment that I will never forget occurred during this period. Arriving home late from school one day, I walked into my room to let Napoleon, my dog, outside. The second I walked in, my face with smacked with the smell of his stool and piss on the floor. Not an uncommon experience. In the past, I would have raged. Napoleon was already hiding under the bed, knowing the abuse that was likely to follow. Yet, this time, I sighed in frustration with myself. I was late, so of course this would have happened, I thought. I knelt onto the floor and looked under the bed at Napoleon, shivering against the far wall. In that moment, my vision shifted. Literally. It felt as if a veil had lifted from before my eyes and I could see Napoleon and the pain I caused for the first time. “Oh, my God! What have I done?” I softly called for him to come out. When he eventually did, I hugged him and apologized. A gesture nowhere close to balancing the amount of kicks he took. But he never felt the anger of my hands or feet ever again.
Daring to live my truth is what allowed that veil to be lifted. One more thing lost in the fire. The world held out new possibilities as I prepared to leave the not so perfect garden of childhood. New options and ways of being appeared before me and I began the process of learning who I was based on each choice made. Made by me. Owned by me. For I am the master of my soul. It would take me years to realize that, however. It would take you. At that moment, I was reborn, as I am now.
Another moment that will always remain in my mind occurred during my graduation. A few other witnesses were also graduating that day, so almost my entire congregation was present for the ceremony. No formal invitations had gone out. There was no gaudy class ring or glossy graduation photos. My single memento, an item I trashed with most of my memories a year ago, was my official prom photo. Me standing alone and leaning in a cool yet seductive manner on a stone pillar. A few of my uncles, aunts, and cousin’s did appear to celebrate my commencement. All aware of me leaving home and the reason why. So, the day was a bit awkward to say the least. It felt very lonely. Watching everyone’s faces and knowing that they didn’t want to be there because they didn’t know what to say. Or seeing witnesses whom I once called brother and sister walk by and not even say, hello. That is, all but one. Sister Knight. The other women in the congregation didn’t like Sister Knight too much because her lipstick was a little too red, her hair a little too wild, and her skirts a little too silky. But to me, she had a beautiful heart. Girly and pure, which I think was the real reason why the sisters didn’t like her. She was too authentic. Her authenticity was at 100 that day as she stood still in the crowd after the ceremony, waiting for my eyes to lock with hers. She then waved at me with her beautiful red smile perfectly in place.
Thank you, Sister Knight.