Wednesday, April 27, 2011

The vanities of trees and of humans

Head down and being grabbed by her two clenched fists. Each fist grabs and pulls on hair clumps on either side of my head. She holds my head down and growls that she will kill me. Then she kicks my head with her feet all the while grabbing my hair.

The floor smells of bleach. My nose is pressed in so close. I can also smell the sweat coming of the Rico while he tries to pull her off of me. Her growls and his sweat leave little other space in the room. Too crowded. I need out of that space…I am not there. I am elsewhere. I am nowhere…I am in pain. She is kicking in my head and spitting on my face and pulling on my hair.

Horns would grow out of the holes she ripped in my head… would have grown if there was energy left. But there is none. I am defeated. I am enraged and consumed by fear.

She is grabbed from behind by Rico and he holds her. For a moment in his rage and panic he tells me to lay her out. I would love to as I realize the black masses swirling about the floor are what is left of my hair. I would love to pound my fear out onto her but I do not. This rage is too big. My rage is too big for the room and I whisper no and tell Rico to leave the quiet room with me. Leave her there to be quiet. Move the rage out of the space. But she holds her rage and her fear as if it is a blanket that would comfort her. There is no quiet in her mind. She howls and slams her body on the walls and on the door.

Her pounding is met by the other girl who swings at my head for the third time today. Rico tells her no and she slinks away. The other boy is not afraid of Rico an does not back down but stays silent. I have no idea why he doesn’t start swinging at us. He refuses to move from the door until I ask him with please. Please and a freshly balded head and sharp blackened eyes.

That night I dream that my head is cracked open and there is nothing inside except maggots and masses of the hair that she ripped from my head. It forms a seething black and white mass that is open for all to see. I am unable to cover it as it is too painful. I feel shame for my vulnerability and because I wanted to hit her and because I didn’t hit her and because I was capable of that much hate. I am ashamed because of my fear. I am ashamed because my hair is gone…ripped out of my head in violence. I want my hair back and I want to be safe again.

I flinch at every hiss. I comb what is left of my hair over the patches but there is not enough left to fall over the mound of the bruise. I cake makeup on to my face to cover the bruising just by my nose. I am broken and my hair is gone.

She is left in the room to howl. No one will touch her and so she is left to bang her own head onto the corner of the doorframe over and over and over and over. She continues even after the blood from the circle she has banged into her head oozes and then crusts onto her face.

I am fear and she is rage. She is left in the ironic quiet room.

The police tell me to press charges. My supervisor chastises me for doing so. I should have known better than to let her grab my head and kick and punch and pound. The fault is mine as the floor was mine. My fear is not of the girl raging in the quiet room but of the systems and the knowledgeable people that got her to this place.

My fear and her rage are the same cloth turned out on each other. I will wear them both. I will peel the circle she has pounded into her forehead and place it on the cloth. I will wrap the cloth around the bits of my hair swirling on the floor. We will sew a new doll out of the cloth and the hair and the blood. We will pull the bits of her soul away from the raging inside her. We will breathe it into the doll and she will not be locked in the quiet room any longer. She will sit in the sun and be still. She will not be fear. She will not be rage. She will be safe.

April 27, 2011

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