Authors: Virginia Duke
And then he introduced Lana.
Rachel squeezed her hand and
Lana whispered, "Here goes nothin', fancypants."
She took the microphone from
Jake and in her deep drawl, she started telling her story. She'd been married
at sixteen, she spoke about her husband raping her on their wedding night, she
told the story about when he'd first sent her to the hospital with a broken arm
and a broken jaw.
Then she talked about her son showing her the ReachingOut
website, and how she'd finally gotten the courage to leave. Rachel had heard
the story a dozen times, but to watch her share it in this forum, in such an
impassioned way, it was like hearing it for the first time. And then she
finished her story in the way Lana finished every story, with a joke.
"In the end, we
divorced over religion. He thought he was God," she deadpanned, "And
I didn't."
The crowd roared and she finished, "It took me five
minutes to get married and thirty-five years to get smart. I was nervous about
tellin' y'all my story here tonight, but then I remembered somethin' I read on
Jake and Rachel's website. It was a quote by a lady named Maggie Kuhn. I
remember her because she was a sassy old lady like me. She said we should stand
before the people we fear and speak our mind, even if our voices shake. So
that's what I tried to do here. Thanks for listenin'."
Applause filled the room,
Jake placed his arm around Lana's shoulders and reached for the microphone. He
held her protectively as he addressed the crowd again, "Thank you, Lana.
Without women like Lana coming forward to bravely share their stories, our
community may never know the suffering and abuse many are experiencing every
day, right now, in their own homes, in the place where they should feel the
most safe. It's imperative you continue to sustain organizations like
ReachingOut in order to give women like Lana an outlet to find education,
support and eventually, to find a way out."
He hugged her tightly and
the sickness in Rachel's stomach grew as Lana walked toward her offstage.
This gray haired old woman,
who came from a time when speaking out was unheard of, this beautiful woman and
mother who'd suffered countless injustices and heart-wrenching abuse had found
the courage to share the most intimate pieces of her life with more than a
thousand strangers because she knew it might help somebody else.
And there stood Rachel, a woman who had everything, who'd
come from a generation of people who never stopped talking, a generation of
people who shared every nauseating detail of their lives with the world, and
she'd never been able to do the same.
Jake introduced her and as
the applause began, she felt her legs go weak, she needed to throw up. Why
hadn't she taken the Valium? She was locked in place and watched as Jake coaxed
her center stage, first with his eyes, and then a wave of his hand.
"Come on, Rachel,"
he said, trying to keep it light, "I've got a date with a bacon-wrapped
jalapeno."
She willed her feet to move
and slowly made her way towards him, the lights bright and unforgiving. The
crowd was silent, a collective discomfort filling the room as she battled her
stage fright. She prepared for panic to take over, for the humiliation she
would feel when she puked on the stage. In front of a thousand people or more.
She took the microphone from Jake reluctantly and scanned
the crowd, unsure of how to begin the speech she'd recited flawlessly in the
mirror every night for over a week. She saw Kenneth, standing near the stage
with his parents, Hunter at his side, Lauren in his arms, the scowling
impatience on his face growing as he stood with their children, waiting for her
to speak, until he finally turned to leave with them.
Her babies. The son who would one day grow into a man, the
type of man she prayed would be kind to the woman he loves, a man who wouldn't
be afraid to share his feelings without anger or contempt. And Lauren, her baby
girl. Rachel needed Lauren to believe she was special and brilliant and
beautiful and all of the things that a mother dreams her daughter will be.
Strong, independent, unafraid.
She needed to give her children more than her mother had
given her, to show them how much they were loved, and to model for them what it
meant to be a strong woman and mother.
Rachel stood there, silently
until they were gone, the lights on her face. The crowd began to buzz, and Jake
walked over to save her.
But then she saw Dylan. He was alone, in the back of the
crowd. Tall, handsome and even from the great distance, his smile bright,
telling her he believed in her. Loving him had given her strength, Dylan made
her bold. The speech she'd perfected and memorized was gone now, but she found
her voice in Dylan's eyes, Lana's words echoing, "Stand before the people
you fear and speak your mind, even if your voice shakes."
"Good evening,"
she finally began, "My name is Rachel Daniels. When I was eighteen years
old, I found myself pregnant and pressured into marrying a man I thought to be
kind, a man who promised to treat me with respect, to protect me and the child
I carried. But even before we were married, he'd started systematically tearing
me down. He told me I was stupid, and worthless. And then after we were
married, he began threatening me, pushing me, slapping me. When I finally found
the courage to ask for help, I turned to the only person I thought I could turn
to, but my mother told me I should just apologize, that I needed my husband to
take care of me and my baby. And I had nowhere else to go."
In ten years as the founder
and Executive Director of ReachingOut, she'd never had the courage to share her
own story of abuse. The crowd watched her intently, transfixed.
"My pregnancy drew on
and my husband became more abusive until one night when I was only a few weeks
from giving birth, he assaulted me. He choked me until I lost consciousness,
and when I came to he was kicking me in the head and the stomach. As I begged
for him to stop, he pointed a handgun at my pregnant belly and threatened to
kill me, and my baby, and then kill himself. But then the gun went off accidentally,
and he did kill himself. And I lost my baby."
Excited whispers made their
way through the crowd, and Rachel looked to Dylan, no longer smiling, but he
nodded his support for her to continue.
"Not all women in
abusive relationships are as lucky as I was. Many find themselves on the other
end of that barrel when the gun goes off. My story might be vastly different
than other women who find themselves in situations like mine, but most of them
are as scared and ashamed and humiliated as I was, and like me, most of them
have nowhere else to go, and no one to talk to who understands. And that's why
I created ReachingOut. To give women a place where they can find the education,
the support and the services they need to leave their abusers. Last year, ReachingOut
helped one hundred and sixty four women in the state of Texas get out of
abusive relationships and start their lives over. They took their lives back.
And we showed them how to do it. You're here tonight because we'd like to ask
each of you to consider giving a charitable contribution to ReachingOut. Help
us help them. Thank you for coming."
Silence.
She turned to Jake, his face
pale, and handed him the microphone. He tucked it under his arm and hugged her tighter
than she'd ever been hugged, then turned to the crowd and clapped.
The crowd erupted into applause as they exited the stage
where Dylan stood waiting for her at the bottom of the steps. He was awash with
emotion, he looked down into her eyes and cupped her face in his hands.
"You are the bravest,
most amazing woman I've ever known."
"I'm sorry I didn't
tell you."
"I'm sorry I didn't
ask."
He leaned down and kissed
her, unconcerned with the crowd or who may be watching.
"Rachel," her
mother hissed, her white trash slipping through, "What in the hell do you
think you're doing?"
There she stood in all her
glory, that gold lame' gown shaking with rage. Jameson was just behind her,
casting furtive glances this way and that, on the lookout for anyone who may
witness their ugly family discussion.
"Have you lost your
mind? You just humiliated me in front of the entire city, in front of all of my
friends, why on earth would you do that to me?"
Rachel's hands shook then,
but she spoke confidently.
"Mother, if I'd wanted
to humiliate you, I'd have taken out an ad in LifeStyle and let the whole city
read about your gold-digging, social climbing, racist ways. I'd tell them how
your reputation was more important to you than your only child's happiness, so
you conspired to keep the father of my unborn child from me, and coerced me
into marrying one of your wealthy friend's delinquent kids. Then I'd tell them
how you shipped me off to a mental hospital after my baby died so I couldn't
tell your friends he beat the shit out of me and killed himself after you
refused to come and get me."
"Are you insane?"
Savannah spit through gritted teeth, "That isn't how it happened at all,
and your life is fine today because of me. You have a good husband and two
children, and all of this," her hands waved wildly, and then looking to
Dylan, "This boy was no good for you, he got you pregnant when you were
still in high school, he was trash, his whole family was trash. And now here he
is kissing you when you're married to another man. He's still trash! That baby
was better off dead than with either of you!"
A punch to the gut.
"You're unbelievable,
what a vicious thing to say," Rachel said, her voice rising.
Dylan's hand ran down her arm until his fingers interlaced
with hers, hoping to still her fury, her newfound confidence making her
seemingly unpredictable.
"You are a disgusting,
selfish girl, Rachel. I won't repeat myself. I'm leaving before you abuse me
further with your delusions," Savannah said, trying to regain her
composure.
She turned to leave,
storming off, and Jameson watched Rachel and Dylan's faces for a moment before
finally turning to follow her out.
"Did I do okay?"
she asked, turning to Dylan and Jake, who stood still as a statue watching
everything unfold, "Not the weak damsel in distress my mother always
glamorized, remember?"
"I'm sorry I said that,
Rachel," Jake said, "You know I think you're a tough bitch, and you
were marvelous. Poor Jameson will be sleeping in the pool house for months
while she cuts your face out of all the family photos and screams about wire
hangers like Joan Crawford in Mommy Dearest. I'm going to make the rounds and
see if she caused any other damage elsewhere, don't leave without talking to
me."
Dylan waited for him to
leave and turned to her.
"Rachel, leave with me,
you're done here."
"I have to find Kenneth
and the kids and make sure they're okay. He walked out with them when I was on
stage. His parents are supposed to take them home, and- and I have to tell him
I'm leaving."
She put her hand to his
cheek and brushed her thumb over his lips. Providence had brought Dylan back to
her, and she wouldn't play the 'What If' game today.
"I need to do this the
right way. Come with me."
***
He wouldn
’t have let her go if she’d tried, Dylan needed to
hold her, protect her. He'd watched her on stage in that emerald green gown,
the same green in her eyes, her hair dark and soft against her white skin,
she'd looked like a rare fragile flower alone up there under the lights.
But she'd found the strength
to tell the world a terrible truth, to tell him that terrible truth. He'd
wanted to race to the stage and carry her off someplace safe, to hold her
against him and promise to make it better, promise that he'd make it up to her.
He waited as she told her
children goodbye and turned back to him, a tired smile, but she was leaving
with him. Dylan had so many things he wanted to tell her, about the life he’d
lived, about losing his mother, and about Michael. He needed to tell her that
he hadn't tried hard enough, he was sorry he hadn't kept her safe all those
years ago.
“Are you ready to go home?”
she asked.
Ginny’s voice played in his
ear, “Home isn’t where you live, son, home is who you love.”
Dylan leaned in to hiss her
and whispered,
“I am home.”