Ballads

Sweat dripped down my brow and burned the inner corners of my eyes. The cold wind slapped against my clammy skin. The frigid air burned my lungs. I felt phenomenal. I chased the runner’s high. I immersed myself in this new activity and the rush and sense of accomplishment boosted my long suffering self esteem. Periwinkle and peach marbled the late evening sky. I loved to run during this time of day. Southern climates tend to be unforgiving towards outdoor activities. .

My running partner, my fiance, and I turned the corner to our block and we slowed down to a brisk walk. Our apartment was in our line of sight. As we approached our finish line, my knees buckled at the sight of the front door cracked open. My gut immediately knew we had been robbed. The runner's high evaporated from my soul. We were gone for maybe half an hour, all our neighbors were home. How could this happen? This was the suburbs.

Ty, my fiance swooped into action. My body sat paralyzed on the porch seeing the squad cars on our corner and having police in our home dusting for prints. The sight of my underwear drawer violently yanked out of place snatched my sense of security from under my foundation. Cameras, a tv, jewelry, and some personal family heirlooms were missing. Insurance covered all of Ty’s gadgets, unfortunately there was no restitution for my valuables.

The incident served as a catalyst for the following months. I held resentment toward Ty for moving to South Carolina. It took our home being invaded for me to acknowledge those festering emotions that seemed to be boundless. I recoiled from his touch. My behavior reflected a young woman in her early twenties not ready to be married by imbibing in more social drinking and acting single. . When reality surfaced and we admitted to ourselves things weren’t going to work out, I found myself single in a city I loathed with no stability or support system.

My first apartment as a single woman was not ideal. I was crushed under the mountain of debt from calling off the wedding. However, I was in no position to be picky. The ending result was a drafty 300 square foot, one bedroom, garage apartment upstairs from a crack dealer and next door to a gun toting redneck.

There was a veil of filth layered over every touchable surface. The acrid stench of mold and cigarettes stroked the back of my throat. My first month there was in December, it was frigid and damp. I curled up next to my few belongings and my dog and cried myself to sleep every night. I had a determination burning inside to make something of this dismal situation. Among my belongings I had a guitar gifted to me by a friend with the promise I would learn to play. So my days were spent rolling paint on stained walls, and my nights I switched from crying myself to sleep to playing myself lullabies.

As the year warmed and the lipstick was slapped on my pig of an apartment, I took the next step in removing my shackles to the loneliness of the situation. I began going to open mics to see if I had any promise as a solo artist. In retrospect, I still credit this decision with the monument of success I now know, even if the road was tumultuous.

About a year into open mic, I found myself being more social and networking with people in the community to expand my audience. Most of my life, I aimed to be someone good enough for someone else, and now I was giving myself this gift of being good enough for me. That feeling of pride and exhaustion running used to give me was now provided by my music. I stayed cautious of pursuing romantic relationships because I felt I was thriving and I didn’t want to share that, not yet at least.

One day, I received a message over social media from a scruffy looking guy, beautiful hazel eyes but otherwise not really my type also he was way too young for me. I ignored the message but lurked on his profile to find out a little more about this stranger.

That night I was performing at Mimi’s, my favorite open mic spot. I started my journey here and made it my home away from home. The patrons there held a spot for me in their hearts and found me endearing and honest. The bartenders, Sam and Natalie, extended their hospitality beyond the bar inviting me to social gatherings at the river, parties. When Natalie proposed to Sam, I was asked to perform at the wedding. 2 years after being robbed and ending my engagement, I built a life for myself I didn't know how to believe was possible.

On this night when I felt all the pieces falling into place, I’m approached by the scruffy stranger from my inbox, Joe. Joe was awkward, certainly tried too hard to impress me, but clearly wanted to earn a seat at my table. Joe showered me with compliments and praise. I made my best effort to thwart his advances, but eventually his goofy charm worked and I let him walk me home.

Well, one night turned into two. Within 2 weeks, I somehow had a boyfriend living in my little apartment with me. I convinced myself, this is the next step. You have a home, friends, you have you now you can share with someone. I ignored how fast things were happening mostly because I wanted this to be part of my plan.

As the months went by, Joe was on my arm to every show I performed. He even began taking up open mic, even though he wasn’t at my level, he pushed himself to get better. I was swept up in a whirlwind romance not realizing I was entering a dangerous storm. I saw less of Sam and Natalie. I excused it as them being in their newlywed stage, when in reality, I ignored their discomfort around Joe to the point where there was a wedge in our friendship. I vehemently supported Joe, even when he was in the wrong. I did the mental gymnastics to be this kid's unwavering pillar.

One night at Mimi’s I am negotiating a new venue with another local musician Marcus. Joe was antsy, he couldn’t stand still, he avoided eye contact and was visibly irate when I kept asking him to meet Marcus. Later, Joe confided in me how he actually knew Marcus because he is the reason Joe served a year in prison. Joe began explaining how he fell in with a bad crowd after highschool and was look-out on a home robbery of Marcus. This news shook me, because he and I had been dating for about six months and this never came up. Having told me how he never felt supported and accepted in his life, I felt obligated to position myself to be benevolent and non judgemental. Doubt crept into the place where the first brick pulled out from my inner foundation.

Wondering what else was being hid from me, I started to feel less secure in this arrangement. I would attempt to look through his phone when he would leave it behind, which was seldom and brief. I was caught once or twice, and rather than set a boundary, Joe turned my insecurity into a weapon he could wield against me whenever I doubted his truth. The flags were not just red, they were on fire, and I did everything in my power to persevere. I was being jealous and unreasonable. I was making mountains out of molehills. I had to work full time so he could focus on his music because I didn’t need as much practice as him. Eventually I put performing on the backburner to be his number one fan. I pulled strings to book gigs for him and

when he failed to deliver, I made excuses and threw away those professional relationships to save my relationship with him.

The unraveling was slow, first I lost my car. I gave Joe a loan to cover some legal expenses. The voice in my head told me logically, he has no income to pay you back, but I was still deeply hurt when I found myself in financial detriment and his reaction was flippant. I saw us as a team and when one of us was down, it was the other person's job to pick up the slack. I kept tagging him in, but he never fulfilled his end of this unspoken contract.

Abuse is subtle. I know most people will argue that the red flags were there from the start, but for an insecure person who is trying to build a foundation for herself, those red flags tend to look like areas of personal improvement. I needed to be more accommodating, more trusting, more giving. It chips away at you when you know someone is manipulating you and wearing you down. You don’t see it for grooming by your abuser.

I had been suffering from mental and emotional manipulation for almost a year at the hands of Joe. My light dimmed and there was an ever present looming gray cloud in my life. The first night he hit me, I told myself he had to leave. I didn’t reach out to any friends. I never told my sister. I knew if I ever mentioned it, he would firstly deny it, and secondly, no one would forgive him. He had nowhere to go, so I gave him a month to find new living arrangements. Despite my efforts to stand strong, by the end of the month we were back together. I remember breathing a sigh of relief that I never told anyone about him hitting me.

For his birthday, I emptied my bank account to take him on vacation. We went to Miami, had a romantic two days where he told me he wanted to start a family with me, and how he knew I was the person he was going to call home. When we got home, the intoxication of our trip had worn off, I had to work overtime every day to reimburse myself for all the money I spent.

One Friday, I came home after working my fourth double shift in a row . My body was ready to collapse. I knew walking in, I would still have to tidy up the apartment, cook dinner, and walk the dog. Then, that daunting feeling struck my gut. As I opened the door to the apartment, the air was sucked out of my lungs. Joe was gone. I came home to all traces of him erased. His toothbrush, his books, his backpack, all gone. There was no note, just a box left in the corner with some of his belongings you could tell he just couldn’t carry.

I spent a week in bed crying clutching one of his shirts. I called his number every day and it went straight to voicemail. I called his mom and she did what any mom would do and stood by her son. By this point, I had alienated myself from all my loved ones, I had no one to reach out to to help me through this immense pain. The last brick pulled out of my foundation and I collapsed.

A month after his disappearance, I got a text from an unknown number. “Could you drop off that box with my mom because it has my birth certificate?” This was his first correspondence with me. I called the number over and over until he finally answered and yelled at me to leave him alone, how he wanted nothing to do with me, and he just wanted his things.

I pulled myself together one afternoon and summoned the courage to make this delivery. I reached out to his mother and scheduled a day to drop off his belongings. The lease on the apartment was ending, and I was compelled to leave this apartment that once gave me a sense of pride.

I grabbed the box that I left untouched for months hoping he would return. That’s when the seafoam green and peach crochet pattern catches my eye. I paused and cautiously tugged

at what I knew was a blanket. The lump in my throat was swollen with hope that there wasn’t an orange stain in the corner of the blanket. My grandmother gave each of us girls a crocheted baby blanket at our baptisms. When I was 3, I spilled orange juice on mine while having a tea party. When my house was robbed years ago, my baby blanket along with my backpack was stolen, the cops believed the perp used it to transport my laptop.

On moving day, I left the box of his remaining belongings on the stairs outside the door. I stopped holding out hope. I stopped supporting the idea that this person was somehow meant for me. I let go of Joe and began the process of forgiving myself. I started to rebuild my foundation and get my life back.

I get to write for a music magazine now in Los Angeles. I have a beautiful home and a bright future ahead of me. I can’t say I would be here if it weren’t for everything I went through. I do know now that it’s never a mistake to trust myself.