The S.O.S. Council by The Sisterhood

The S.O.S. Council

An unfolding novel

By Michelle Hollinger

Chapter 1 Sheba The light from the lamp blinked three times. Shelby rushed around the room, grabbing clothing from the drawers and throwing them unfolded in the open suitcase. Three more blinks, plus this time the framed picture of her and her mother toppled from the dresser, landing face up on the floor. She had to turn her body to the left to see it because her left eye was swollen shut. Her heart raced and she involuntarily placed a hand on her protruding belly. “I have to do it this time,” she said to the little girl growing inside of her. “He’s gonna kill me next time.” The loud muffler followed seconds later by the car door slamming caused her to inhale sharply, momentarily losing focus and falling dangerously close to a state of sheer panic. A deep breath brought her back. She looked at the clock before quickly slamming the suitcase shut and shoving it under the bed. “He’s early,” she muttered. “Damn.” She rushed out of the room and into the kitchen, yanking pots and pans out of the cupboard. Nervously, she poured water into one of the smaller pots, turning the stove on high, sprinkling pepper when she meant to add salt. She grabbed a package of chicken thighs out of the freezer and threw them into the microwave, mistakenly pressing “cook” instead of “defrost.” The sound of keys in the front door causes her right hand to shake. She grabs it with the other, attempting to calm herself with deep breaths before he walks in. “You gotta get it together,” she whispers to herself. She hears Nod walk into the house. The sound of his keys hitting the glass tray on the console near the front door makes her heart skip a beat. The glass tray that has managed to remain unbroken. The glass tray with the words, “Give love a chance,” they got on a trip to New Orleans that started on a high note and ended with her arm in a sling.

The water in the pot starts to boil, so she measures one cup of rice and pours it in, noticing the pepper swirling, bubbling where the salt should have been. His nickname “Nod” was bestowed upon him by his father; a hard-working, hard-loving, hard-drinking mechanic who genuinely expected his wife and only child to obey his every command like submissive wives and obedient children were supposed to. Rodney Jr.’s tendency to nervously nod his head yes whenever his dad demanded anything led the elder Rodney to nickname his only son, “Nod.” Nod buried his father three years ago, nearly five years to the date that his mother left. Not even bothering to pack, Sara Kincaid’s escape from Rodney Sr.’s unpredictable fist appeared unplanned from the outside looking in; but was actually the result of weeks of mental rehearsals. The $5,575 that she managed to hide in an old coat pocket wasn’t there when she went to add another $25 to it, setting off a heavy dread that made her belly flip flop repeatedly, once again signaling danger that it hoped desperately she would not ignore. Sara was certain that the flowers her husband of 13 years brought home to make up for the last beating would adorn her grave, so when he grabbed the day’s newspaper and ventured into the bathroom for his daily elimination, she hurriedly changed out of her house slippers to sneakers and ran out of the house into a new, abuse-free life made possible by the local shelter for women who finally realize their worth; finally ready to pursue a life they really deserve. Despite her attempts to retrieve him, Nod never saw his mother again – until the day of his father’s funeral. His emotions shocked him. He was torn between wanting to wrap her in a bear hug of affection, never letting go - or placing his strong hands around her delicate neck and squeezing until his sadness left. Nod did neither. Sara remained in the back of the sparsely attended funeral home chapel, staying long enough to slip a sealed white envelope into Nod’s hand before she left. The kitchen light blinks three times, causing Shelby to stop stirring the rice that she has now salted and brought to a simmer. The half cooked microwave chicken thighs won’t need much more cooking in the oven, she realizes, so she seasons them quickly and shoves them in to bake. 2

Three more blinks. This time slower, more deliberate. When she hears the sound of the shower, she rushes into the hall, bumping into Nod, drunker and sadder than she’s ever seen him. “Has he been crying,” she wonders to herself. “Where you going,” he groans. A slow, deep breath steadies her. “To grab you a towel out of the dryer. I know how you like them warm after you bathe.” She even manages to plant a convincing kiss on his cheek. “Have my dinner ready when I get out.” He stumbles into the bathroom and as soon as the door closes, Shelby rushes into the bedroom and drops to her knees to pull her suitcase from under the bed. Three blinks of the lamp light. A flash of images crowds her mind. She sees Chester, her first boyfriend choking her until she passed out, awakened by him thrusting violently into her limp body. The image of Timothy’s backhand across her mouth feels so real she instinctively touches her lips, recalling the taste of blood oozing from them. Rodrigo’s deceptively smiling face sends shivers down her spine when she hears the shower stop. Terror brings Shelby back to the present moment. She grabs the suitcase, stopping briefly to pick up the picture from the floor before rushing outside. She has one foot out the door when she feels his hands in her hair, yanking her violently back into his control.

Chapter 2 Heavenly Choice Shelby’s face is twice its normal size. Her horribly swollen eyes are taped shut; dried tears pooled like crust on their outer corners. Bandages around her head are stained with blood; her purple lips protrude horribly, appearing detachable as they sit precariously on her face. Tubes run from her arms, neck and chest connecting her to a heart monitor, EKG scanner and ventilator. A blood pressure cuff is still attached to her badly bruised arm. “Why didn’t she run when I blinked the lights the first time,” Sheba says. “You did the right thing by trying to warn her, but it’s all we can do,” Miriam replies. “It was up to her to figure out what the blinking lights and the picture frame hitting the floor meant.” “Then what good am I if I can’t use this power to help her escape,” Sheba demands. “Trying to cook his meal damn near got her killed.” “You may think you did no good, but your love for her can do more than any blinking lights and falling picture frame ever could,” said Miriam and she floated away, her green Converse dangling. Although speaking softly from a distance, her words float to Sheba as though encased in willowy soft bubbles. “Instead of using this time to complain about what didn’t happen you better get ready to convince her to stay put because here she comes.” A brightly lit tunnel flickers as an image emerges at the end of it. Shelby, sans the bruises and injuries Nod inflicted upon her as he beat her within an inch of her life, appears surrounded by a soft illuminated haze. She’s beautiful. “Don’t let her come through,” Miriam warns. “Stop her before she reaches this side.” “But why can’t she come, it’s safer for her here,” Sheba replies. “She has more to do there. But she’ll only listen to you, so tell her to stay,” Miriam says, smiling and floating. “And don’t let her touch you!” Sheba turns to ask Miriam a question, but she’s gone. The sound of light footsteps gets Sheba’s attention and she takes off towards the tunnel, dipping down to enter, stopping abruptly as she comes face to face with her 4

only child. The sight of her as a 21-year old woman stuns Sheba, who was expecting to see eleven-year old Shelby with the cornrows and braces. She hated leaving her behind but when given the chance between withstanding another increasingly brutal beating from Elleby, her secretly maniacal husband of twelve years, or rising into a pain-free existence surrounded by soul-penetrating peace, love and safety, she chose the latter. Her seemingly solid decision was short-lived, however, because when she saw a flash of the future impact of her death on Shelby, Sheba tried so hard to re-enter her battered body that in order to calm the new arrival down, a group of celestial mothers gave her an opportunity to join the S.O.S. Council with the sole assignment of protecting Shelby, who is now running at full speed, trying to reach her mother. The “code blue” announcement brings a slew of doctors and nurses running into Shelby’s room. Dr. Jones grabs the defibrillator paddles and yells, “clear,” shocking Shelby’s bare chest twice. The crowded room goes silent as everyone waits on Shelby’s decision. “Where are they,” Dr. Jones screams through clenched teeth. She looks towards the door just as a nurse rushes into the room pushing a tiny incubator with Shelby’s newborn daughter inside. “Get that baby in here, now!” Dr. Jones screams. “This woman needs to have a reason to live.”

Chapter 3 Sad Control “Where you think you goin’?” Nod’s grip on a handful of her hair tightened nastily as he dragged her across the threshold he once carried her over. Nasty is his treatment of Shelby, who could feel follicles expanding as hair snatched from its roots in chunks, excruciating pain competing with the agony of dreadful anticipation. Placing both hands on her belly to reassure the wildly moving fetus was all Shelby could do as Nod yanked her violently into the bedroom. He slammed the door shut, a reaction of his fury, not a desire for privacy. He was oozing anger at Shelby for trying this shit and rage at neighborhood gossips who obviously do not know their place. When he stepped outside to get her, he saw Mrs. Carmichael and Ms. Jamison standing outside talking. He saw Mrs. Carmichael respectfully lower her eyes when he looked at her while Ms. Jamison kept staring. He saw Mrs. Carmichael whisper something to Ms. Jamison. He saw her place a cautionary hand on Ms. Jamison’s arm, and he saw Ms. Jamison maintain her bitchy, nosey glare. “Muhfuckers betta stay out of my way,” Nod mumbled, carelessly, angrily, cruelly shoving Shelby onto the bed. Shelby felt a fleeting bit of relief when he removed his belt. “I’ll just lay here,” she thought, trying to keep still and quiet although she was sure he heard her heart beating because its thumps reverberated through her body, practically pushing her chest forward with each desperate beat. She was now uncertain, however, of her motivation for a quieter heart. “If I go along, he won’t hurt the baby,” she told herself. The vicious sting of the belt’s leather across her face caught her off guard; his intention lethal, not sexual. “Nod, I’m sorry,” she screamed, scooting away with nowhere to go except against the wall with the Muhammad Ali poster that Nod said he loves because “Ali was a real man who handled his business like real men supposed to.” Her hands still clutched her belly, protecting her girl. “You trying to leave me too, bitch. How you gon’ disrespect me like that?” 6

The vacant look in his eyes scared her more than the self-righteousness in his monotone voice. The wave of pain from his fist slamming into her head stunned her. Her hand caught most of the next blow as she instinctively tried to shield herself from the unpredictable and savage punches Nod threw slowly, methodically, most landing on her bloody face, the right side pressed up against the white wall turning increasingly red. “He’s gonna kill me,” she said aloud, her weak voice suffocated by the stench of his violent sadness. Shelby instinctually curled into the fetal position, surrendering to a certain death while resuming her protective hold on her bruised belly that was now contorting weirdly, the urgency of premature contractions erupting, engulfing her in waves of unadulterated agony. When Nod suddenly stood up and began to walk away, she thought it was over. But he quickly turned, stepped onto the bed and began kicking her stomach. New, piercing pain rippled from beneath her navel and traveled deep within her uterus. The way the bed bounced from his weighted movement could have felt jovial, like children jumping, if not for the savage stomps across her head, the savage penetration of his foot into her battered body. “You gon’ have her trying to leave me too,” Nod shouted, spittle flying. Shelby’s head was left unprotected because her hands were back on her belly. Pre-vomit saliva flowed through her mouth before the contents of her stomach spewed onto the edge of the bed, dripping onto the floor. The distorted view of Nod through her swollen, blood soaked eyes became smaller and smaller, her heavy lids remaining closed longer with each painful blink. “I’m sorry Nod,” she whispered weakly before losing consciousness. Shelby woke up to a feeling of hasty movement. She grabbed the sides, trying to figure out where she was and why she felt suspended in mid-air. Her vision was blurred, but she could tell someone in a uniform was near her. She heard soft familiar voices. “I don’t think she’s gonna make it.” “You think the baby’s alive?” 7

“I ain’t know it was that bad.” “Somebody need to whip his ass.” From the back of the patrol car, Nod watched the paramedics roll the stretcher carrying Shelby into the back of the ambulance. “She brought this shit on herself. Always tryin’ to embarrass me, showin’ out and shit,” he mumbled to himself in the empty police cruiser, lights flashing. Anger-tinged sweat poured from him as he watched a small group of neighbors stand around, obviously discussing his private business. The thought of him and Shelby in their mouths caused his settling rage to resurface. “Nosey ass bitches. I know one of ‘em called.” His gaze zeroed in on Ms. Jamison. Arms folded, lips pursed and head tilted with attitude, she met his eyes with a penetrating stare. Mouthing the words exceedingly slowly to be sure he read her lips accurately, she formed the words “sorry motherfucker” in slow motion, her bottom lip unfolding beneath her upper teeth with the letter “f” so angrily she drew blood. Unable to use his one of his cuffed hands to slice across his throat to make sure she knew what he meant, Nod contorted his face viciously, mouthing the words, “you next.” What she did then confused him but he hid it behind his fury. Maintaining her piercing glare while walking slowly towards him, Candy Jamison clapped her hands five times, unhurriedly, in defiant applause.

Chapter 4 The Decision Shelby’s choice centered on safety. While her mind said being able to avoid blows from a man’s fist was vital, her soul asserted freedom from physical violence was not the primary kind of protection she craved. Even though her father was her first example, Shelby still did not realize men who resort to hitting the women they profess to love are broken themselves, the weakest among their species. They can neither refrain from physical violence nor the mental, emotional and spiritual brutality that’s also included in their twisted arsenal of dysfunction. Her soul knew but her mind had grasped neither that truth nor the more elusive truth that what she desired more than anything else was the freedom to be who she really is and loved for it; to be cherished completely and adored without conditions. She had no idea why she went from one fist to another, attached to different arms, different demands, different lives with her as the common denominator. The series of abusive relationships left her leery that anyone capable of loving her could possibly exist. She only knew she wanted to fill the emptiness, to feel something other than the emptiness, to fulfill the ache that emerged from the emptiness whenever she had no one to take care of. Nod, she thought, was her promise. He showed up out of the blue talking about wanting to love a woman and be there for her so convincingly that Shelby’s self-imposed solitude, the brief relationship hiatus she promised herself would last 90 days ended after a measly 15 that felt like the longest two weeks of her life. And following what seemed a lifetime of tiptoeing through her own existence for fear of awakening inexplicable anger in a partner she thought loved her, Shelby sought refuge in Nod. She ignored the red flags; certain she could love his flaws away. Cooking what he wanted when he wanted it, folding clothes as soon as they came out of the dryer, cutting out phone time when he was home and sensing with mastery when he wanted sex became second nature. When the part-time position at the call center was posted, she jumped at it. Nod said he wanted her home more and would pay all the bills, so why not leave the full-time job that she actually loved for something that would allow her to build a family with the man she loved? 9

When an entire year went by without so much as a shove, she was convinced Nod was the one. He’d raised his voice and said things to make her question herself, but he never hit her. Until the trip to New Orleans. She didn’t even see the man Nod accused her of flirting with because she was so engrossed in the freedom that oozed from the man’s wife. The way she walked, talked, sat with perfect posture in that stunning orange sun dress, large silver hoops and giant afro turned heads. Shelby turned her head not to stare at the woman’s undeniable beauty but to bask in her free flowing liberty and the man who seemed so proud to accompany it. “Why don’t you just go over there and suck his dick,” Nod whispered in her ear, snapping her out of the daydream where she and her imaginary BFF were traveling together on a girls’ road trip, shopping at all the hippest boutiques and enjoying brunches that overflowed with laughter and non-stop mimosas. The backhand across her mouth landed before she could question his outlandish query and proclaim her innocence. More embarrassed than injured, Shelby quickly placed a napkin to her bleeding lip and blinked back tears that spilled anyway. Feeling the eyes of the restaurant’s diners on her, she stood before he could yank her up, nausea rising and spewing forth onto their table of half eaten Barbecue Shrimp and Pasta Jambalaya. “Can’t take you nowhere,” Nod grimaced, grabbing her arm so forcefully she lost her balance and landed face first in the vomit. Their waiter rushed to assist her while Nod walked away, leaving her there to reassure the young man and his manager that she was fine and calling the police was unnecessary. When her BFF with the afro came over with a wet napkin and proceeded to wipe the vomit from her face, emotions she did not know existed rushed forth as Shelby collapsed into the chair trying in vain to stifle the deep sobs escaping her body. BFF’s husband stood silently behind her. “Sister, you don’t deserve this. Come with me and my husband and we’ll make sure you are safe,” BFF said with so much love in her eyes Shelby could barely maintain contact with them. Nod suddenly appeared in Shelby’s 10

peripheral vision and the ‘thank you’ rising from her heart lost its way in the fear strangling her vocal cords. She rushed from the restaurant, past Nod and into their rental Ford. He got in after her, started the car and drove slowly down Royal Street, ironic because she felt the complete opposite. Shelby attempted to silence the bubbling grief overtaking her, pushing through in halting, closed-mouthed huffs like a child who’s been warned to stop crying but can’t. Life as she knew it was over. All of her preventive skills that held Nod’s truth at bay were for naught, she realizes, and the reality of her powerlessness is overwhelming. “Shut the fuck up,” he said without looking at her. Shelby’s emotions were all over the place – questioning what she did to bring it on, feeling stupid she didn’t see it coming and wondering what the hell “it” was. When she didn’t stifle the nearly inaudible sobs to his satisfaction, Nod sped up into a parking lot, said he’d “give her something to cry for,” then grabbed her left arm with one hand while punching it with the other, repeatedly, harder and harder until they heard, and she felt, the crack. “Now look what you made me do,” Nod said in response to her obviously broken arm.

Chapter 5 Motherless daughters “We’re losing her,” Dr. Jones says angrily. “Come on, Shelby, don’t you do this. Don’t you leave this little girl.” She’s thrusting Shelby’s chest with compressions while the rest of the medical team looks on helplessly. “She’s gone, doc. It’s time to call it,” a nurse said as she begins unhooking Shelby from the various machines. Dr. Jones’ anger appears to come out of nowhere. “I decide when to call it. I’m in charge here. I decide. Now get the fuck out of my emergency room if you ain’t down with saving lives,” as she continues the compressions. The nurse nearly trips backing away from the heart monitor, which she leaves connected in her haste to escape Dr. Jones’ wrath. “Whatever,” the nurse mumbles on her way out. Dr. Hernandez knows the source of the anger and steps beside Dr. Jones, placing a calm hand on her shoulder. He knows Dr. Jones’ story of growing up in foster care after her mother died. He knows her struggles to keep the foster father out of her bedroom and of the foster mother’s unfounded accusations that “Danita thank she better than everybody and her little fast ass out to get my man.” He knows that Dr. Jones’ decision to run away likely saved her – mind, body and soul - but kept her homeless for a full year until a social worker at her school followed her one day to confirm her suspicions that the brilliant eighth grader had no family. He knows that the social worker brought Danita into her home, became her legal guardian and was instrumental in her becoming high school valedictorian, honors college graduate and the doctor she is today. Dr. Hernandez knows, so when Dr. Jones finally gives up fifteen minutes later, standing there motionless, the only movement her trembling lips as she fights back tears; he waves the rest of the team out of the room and stays with his friend. “Time of death, 4:48 p.m.,” Dr. Jones says sadly.

Chapter 6 A deeper love “I thought I told you not to let her touch you,” Miriam says to Sheba, who is hugging Shelby. “I couldn’t stop her. She just kept coming. What was I supposed to do, run from her?” Sheba demanded. “You could’ve gone up higher. She was supposed to stay. She had so much to share and so much work to do. You were supposed to help her do the work,” Miriam said. “Oh well, now you have to let her go if you want to remain on the council.” “What do you mean let her go? She’s here now. Can’t she just stay with me?” “That’s not how it works,” Miriam explained. “Your role on the council must now focus on helping someone else. Since she’s here, she no longer needs your help. Let her go on to her next assignment.” “Well then, I quit the council,” Sheba said, laughing. “Your contract isn’t up yet,” Miriam warns. “Girl, please. I got on the council to save my daughter. She don’t need saving no more, so I’m done.” “I told them letting you on wasn’t a good idea. S.O.S. council members have to be unattached. It has to be about wanting to see all women soar while they’re still there. Focusing on loved ones, aye, never mind,” Miriam says before floating away. The beep of the heart monitor startles Dr. Hernandez, who is holding a somber Dr. Jones. “Did you hear that?” Dr. Jones wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve and focuses her bloodshot eyes on him. “Hear what?”

They both turn to look at Shelby, whose eyelids quiver so unperceptively, so agonizingly slowly they’re both convinced the movement was involuntary; normal postmortem stuff as corpses settle into their new state. “I’m letting go, she’s gone and it’s ok,” Dr. Jones says to Dr. Hernandez but really for her own benefit. She begins pulling the stained sheet over Shelby’s face, but stops suddenly. “Can we at least cover her with something clean,” she says. “I’ll be right back,” Dr. Hernandez says as he exits the room. Danita walks closer to Shelby and looks at her face. She’s taking in all the bruises and swelling, noticing the dried blood and wondering what caused a man’s hands to become weapons used to pummel the life out of his pregnant wife. Tears begin rolling down her face and she places her hand atop Shelby’s where the IV needle is still inserted. Although Shelby’s gone, Danita involuntarily moves her hand so as not to disturb the indicator. She’s surprised by the deep sadness rising and the words spilling from her mouth. “God bless her soul; bless this short life she lived. Welcome her into your presence dear Lord, her suffering is over and she is free,” Shelby said, pausing briefly. “Bless her baby girl, God, guide her to a better life, a life free of abuse and anger, and bless her Lord so that her life without her mother causes her no harm.” Danita stops abruptly. She holds her breath to make sure the inhale and exhale she thinks she heard were not her own. The energy in the silence shifts subtly. Danita’s focus is so intently on Shelby’s eyes that she almost misses the minute movement in Shelby’s arm. What she doesn’t miss is Shelby’s index finger swiftly lift and lower. Danita places two fingers on Shelby’s wrist, feeling for her pulse while simultaneously flipping on the ventilator and pressing the emergency button. Dr. Hernandez returns with a white sheet. “What the…” he quickly jumps into action. 14

Tears that welled up in her Danita’s eyes stream down her face. Her hand is in Shelby’s and Shelby’s weak grip has tightened.