Running
from Solace casts a new glow on an old situation. According to Childhelp.org, The
U.S. has the worst record in the industrialized nation, losing 5 children every
day due to abuse-related deaths. Did you know that every 10 seconds a report of
child abuse is made? Alarming statistics especially when a child’s worst
nightmare is not some fictional monster hiding in a closet like in a fairy tale
where they have the opportunity to leave a chapter unfinished because it’s too
painful to read. Close the book and live happily ever after without knowing or
thinking about the truth. Children are defenseless. I wrote Running from Solace
for those children who do not have the luxury of a good night’s sleep—every night
is a horror.
Running from
Solace
Chapter One:
Naomi
Once, she flung a heavy
ashtray at my head and blood spewed onto my new pink summer dress like red
polka dots because I didn’t respond to her calling me, “Naomi! Naomi!” I was
trying frantically to
“Don’t make me call you
again, Naomi!” Mama said just as I approached her.
I left a small distance
between us as I presented her with what she had been impatiently waiting for.
She went crazy. Mama hit me right on top of my head over and over again with
the ashtray.
“You ungrateful little
bitch!” she yelled repeatedly in my face.
I tried to cover my head
with my arms, until they grew tired and I gave up. Fury danced in her eyes and
spit sprinkled over me like morning mist. My eyes burned from the tiny flecks
of ashes that fell from the ashtray. I tried closing them tightly. Warm blood
trickled slowly down my forehead and penetrated my eyelids and cooled the burning
sensation.
“Yeah, you must like getting’
hit!” Mama screamed so loud I wanted my ears to close. I preferred the times
when she whooped me and she was silent. Out of sheer luck at some point during
the beating, I passed out. I usually did. Thank God.
When I woke up, I was
lying on my bed, which almost never had any sheets on it. I was still wearing
what was left of my tattered dress. It was covered in dried blood, more red
polka dots than pink now. I didn’t have the urge go look in the mirror. I knew
already, since this was not the first time. My eyes would be really fat, and
this time, one was closed, I couldn’t open it. I was able to peek out of the
other eye. Raised, sweltering, purplish bruises would cover my arms, back and
face—the usual damage. I yawned and my head throbbed. I couldn’t lift my arms.
I was afraid to move anyway, afraid to breathe. I lay there as still as I
could. I followed the dingy, white, lace hem of what was once my pretty dress
down from my knee to my ankle and across the dirty mattress, as it fell off the
bed onto the floor where I could see it no more. I wanted to cry so badly, but
no tears came. I must have run out of tears, I thought to myself as I managed a
painful smile that made my head sear from pain.
“Nobody likes ole crybaby,
bad assed kids! Shut. The. Fuck Up!” Mama would always say.
She hated it when I
cried. She always said I only wanted people to feel sorry for me. So, if I had
run out of tears that would’ve made my Mama very happy. I would never have to
hear her call me a cry-baby anymore and maybe she would smile at me like she
does when I light her cigarettes on the stove. Well, not like the time when I
lit the skinny white one on both ends. I shivered a little when I thought of
the whooping I got for doing that. How was I supposed to know, when it didn’t
have the brown paper on one end of it? She’d always taught me to light the
white end only.
Ever since that time, I
always asked first, “Which end, Mommy?” I didn’t want to disappoint her again
or make her mad.
I had an urge to go pee.
I was comfortable and warm. I didn’t want to move, plus that’s when the pain
reverberated through me. Of course my head hurt and I had some aches all over
my body, but as long as I kept really still it wasn’t all that bad. It could
have been worse, like some of the other times before. Moving was painfully
impossible and I knew it, so I didn’t. I yawned again this time without opening
my lips.
More than the pain, more
than anything else, I didn’t want Mama to wake up. She was lying right behind
me. Her arm was gently positioned around my waist. Her hand rested on my
stomach. I was balled in a knot with my back touching her stomach. I knew she
was still asleep. I felt her breath blowing softly on the back of my neck. It
felt nice. Every few minutes or so, I could hear her teeth grind against each
other or her jaw making a popping sound. Although the noises she made in her
sleep terrified me, those were the times when I loved her the most and felt the
safest, when Mama was lying next to me—asleep. I didn’t have the nerve to wake
her up just to go pee. So, I just lay there quietly and watched the torn lace
through one eye as I listened to her breathe peacefully until I fell asleep
again.
It seemed as if I’d only
been asleep a few minutes when Mama nudged me awake with kisses. Her juicy lips
left wet marks on my cheeks. I opened my eye slowly. The day had allowed dusk
to run its course and only a small amount of natural light filtered through the
dirty window and it gleamed right on me.
Mama gasped as I turned
towards her. Then she smiled, “Hey Mama’s baby,” she cooed.
“Hi, Mama,” I said
drowsily.
I felt dampness on my
back and I wondered how long Mama had been up. Did she know? Did I pee on her?
So many thoughts raced through my mind. I didn’t know what to do, so I
pretended to be terribly exhausted. Mama kissed me over and over again as she
explained what I needed to do so she wouldn’t have to whoop me anymore. I
needed to be a good girl and do exactly as she said so she wouldn’t have to get
angry anymore. “It’s not good for little girls not to listen to their mothers,”
she said with tears in her eyes.
“Yes, Mama,” was all I
answered over and over again after every statement she made. I wanted her to go
away. It hurt too much to nod my head or move my lips for that matter, “I
promise. I will be a good girl, from now on,” I only hoped that I looked as
sorry as I felt for making Mama angry again. That’s what she was waiting for
anyway, for me to forgive her so she would be okay—until the next time. I
agreed that I was wrong for not hurrying or answering when she called my name.
“I love you baby,” she
said as she reached towards me.
I flinched in
anticipation thinking maybe she saw it, felt it. She saw me flinch and then she
snatched back her hand. I closed my eye quickly in preparation of her smack
across my face. Mama hated it when I flinched. The hit took too long to come,
so I peeked through my eye again. She was already walking out the door closing
it softly behind her. “I love you too Mama,” I said to the empty room.
I had to get up and get
changed before she came back. I remember willing my aching body to move. I was
tired, but Mama hated when I peed in the little bed we shared. I couldn’t let
her find out. There were already so many old stains on the smelly mattress and
just as many spankings for creating them. No sooner than I raised myself up off
of the bed, I heard the door open. I didn’t turn around. I stared at the dust
around the window sill over the bed. The tattered lace from my dress dangled
and tickled my knee as I stood there imagining myself invisible.
“Naomi. Baby, did you pee
yourself?” she didn’t sound mad. I didn’t say anything, I took a moment to
decide whether I should tell the truth or not. “MiMi?” she waited. Okay, she
wasn’t mad or maybe she was trying to trick me. The only time she ever called
me MiMi was when she was in a good mood.
“I . . . I’m sorry,” I
stammered. “I peed when I was . . . when I was sleep.” I said without turning
around.
I lowered my head and
looked for the wet spot on the mattress with my one good eye. My wet underwear
suddenly felt colder. The air hitting my damp back sent a chill over me and I
shivered or maybe it was the impending beating that I knew was coming. I still
didn’t move, not even when I heard her sigh loudly. The pain all over my body
began to come alive and my aches began to scream. I continued to stare at the
window sill; the dust seemed so interesting and if I stared really hard I could
see shapes. There’s an N, like the N in Naomi. She started walking towards me.
She put her hand on my shoulder.
“MiMi, you have to learn
to wake up. Big girls don’t pee on themselves while they sleep. You are almost
six years old now.” she said.
Just like I thought, no
more tears, there were no more to cry. I waited, silently. She moved her hand
and my shoulder tingled warm from her touch. I knew that was it; she was going
to hit me. I heard her pull the zipper down on the back of my dress. The air
hit my naked back and made it sting. I felt her hands tugging the dress off my
shoulders and down my waist it fell into a heap at my ankles. We stood like
that for a moment. I felt her eyes piercing through me from behind.
“Take those wet panties
off,” Mama ordered as her heavy footsteps made their way out of the room. I
wasn’t sure what was happening. Was she going to whoop me naked? I took my time
removing my underwear. It hurt my stomach to bend down and I cringed as I
pushed my panties down on top of the dress. My panties were so stretched that I
was able to step out of them along with my dress at the same time.
I heard bath water
running from in the next room. Mama came back in and started shuffling through
the laundry hampers where we kept all of our clothes, both clean and dirty. She
sniffed a pair of panties, and then pulled out one of her shirts. Finally she
turned towards me. She was acting very strangely. “MiMi, what are you just
standing there for?” she asked with a puzzled look on her face. “Go get in the
tub, baby.”
I walked out of the room
confused. Mama almost never ran my bath. Maybe she was going to whoop me in the
tub. I stood on my tiptoes and caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom
mirror as I passed it. I wasn’t surprised at what I saw, same damage as usual.
My legs didn’t hurt that bad, so I lifted them easily over the side of the tub
and sat in the really hot water without complaining. It was up to my waist.
Mama came in and turned the water off. She sprinkled a white powder into the
tub.
“This will make you feel
better,” she said softly. She sat on the toilet while she bathed me. I ignored
the stinging sensation of my bruises as she washed me gently. She hummed the
only Christian song I knew, “This Little Light of Mine.”
“Lean back,” she pushed
me down in the water. It almost covered my entire head, but not quite. The warm
soapy water stung as she poured it over my matted hair from a red 7’Eleven cup
that she kept on the side of the tub. She never attempted to wash my face. She
hummed softly the entire time.
“Are you hungry?” Mama
asked as she dried me off and rubbed oil all over my body.
“Yes, Mommy,” I felt so
much love for my Mama that I kept trying to rest my head on her chest as she
helped me into the clothes she put out for me. Her shirt was big enough to be a
dress on my small body. It was hers and I was happy to wear it. I put the
beating from that morning out of my mind and fell into her arms as she hugged
me and told me how much she loved me.
“What do you want to eat
for dinner?”
“Umm, Umm. Cereal!” I
exclaimed happily, “Captain Crunch Berries!”
Mama brushed my hair
gently, “MiMi, you know cereal is for breakfast. Plus, you don’t need all that
sugar.”
My heart sank with
disappointment. Maybe I was asking for too much. “But, you can have it for
dinner, just this one time.” she said as she smiled at me, showing all of her
teeth.
Everybody always said I
had a pretty Mama and that I looked just like her, only darker. When she
smiled, I thought she was pretty too. Mama showed all of her teeth when she
smiled. I didn’t. Her teeth were all even and much whiter than mine. Mama said
when I grew up I would probably have her pretty teeth too, that pretty teeth
ran in her daddy’s family. She said that my chipped front tooth would fall out
and come back in perfect like hers one day. That’s why we didn’t get it fixed
when she pushed me down the front porch steps and it broke.
Mama finished brushing my
damp hair into a ponytail and I followed her into the kitchen. I sat on the
empty milk crate next to the stove and waited patiently as she prepared my
cereal. She placed the big, plastic, margarine bowl carefully on my lap and
told me to be careful and not to drop it because there was no more. I held onto
the bowl tightly and savored every sweet bite. I kicked my feet with glee
because cereal for dinner was a special treat.
The phone rang and I
listened to Mama talk on the phone as I ate. She laughed and twisted her hair
around her finger. I knew it was a man on the phone. Mama had mostly men
friends. I had to call them all uncle so I wouldn’t forget their names and get
her in trouble.
“Yeah, I’ll see you later
tonight,” I heard her say as she hung up the phone smiling her big smile again.
I already knew what that
meant. I was going to bed and Mama was having company. Mama put me to bed early
because she felt like I needed my rest. As though I didn’t hear her making
plans. She sprinkled the mattress with baby powder and laid a sheet over it
from the hamper. She covered me with a thin holey blanket and gave me some
medicine to help me sleep because I’d had a long day, she said. I heard a knock
on the front door just as she kissed me goodnight.
“Say your prayers. And
don’t forget to pray for Mama,” she told me as she walked out the room. She
turned off the light and shut the door behind her.
After a few minutes I
heard my Mama laugh out loud. I could hear the two of them talking and tousling
with each other, causing the raggedy sofa to creak. “Come on baby. You always
teasing me,” he said. Then I heard smacking, wet kissing sounds. Not too long
after, Mama opened the door to the room we shared and whispered out my name. I
knew not to say anything because she thought I was already asleep.
“Baby, get back in here,”
he barked at her. He sounded irritated, “Before I give both of y’all some.”
“What you was about to
say again?” she slammed the door closed and went back to confront him.
“Oh, pretty girl, I was
just playing,” he said laughing trying to lighten the tone of his voice.
I wondered what he had
for me. What is some and why was Mama upset when he said he wanted to give me
something too? She never got mad at any of the uncles.
I fell asleep listening
to him moan loudly, telling my Mama “That’s it. Suck it real good and daddy’ll
give you some of dis.”
This
excerpt has been taken from Running from Solace, a novel by Nakia R. Laushaul ©
Barnes & Noble:
www.barnesandnoble.com/c/nakia-laushaul
About
Award Winning Author, Nakia R. Laushaul
Nakia
was born and raised in southern California, and now resides in Houston, Texas
with her lovable
Inspired and fueled by attempts to be molded into
the norm, Nakia began to write her first collection of poetry and essays
titled, “The Truth As I See It: In Poetry & Prose” which was released in
2010 by Serendipity Bound Books. Her sophomore project, “Running from Solace,”
a novel was released in 2011. “Running from Solace” is the 2011 USA Book News
Best Books Award Winner for African-American Fiction and a 2012 Finalist in the
Next Generation Indie Book Awards. Chasity Rules, a novella was released in
July 2013. Nakia is currently working on new book and film projects.
Nakia
truly believes that by doing what you love, you become happy! She hopes that you will go find your happiness.
Visit
her website: www.NakiaRLaushaul.com
or blog, Random Rants of Truth of a Social Butterfly: http://nakialaushaul.blogspot.com.
Or for literary questions: www.AReadersPerspective.com
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/nakia.laushaul
or
Twitter: www.twitter.com/nakiarl
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