Witness

It was dark outside, and cold. My kids and extras had stopped for subs and were at the table, eating them. My husband left on a trip with With-a-Why yesterday morning, and I was waiting for a phone call that said he had arrived safely.

Suddenly we heard a pounding on the front door.

When I opened the door, I saw Little Biker Boy, the eight-year-old from down the street. Despite the cold, he was barefoot and naked except for a pair of boxer shorts. He flung himself into our house, sobbing and screaming.

I knew before he told me. His mother’s boyfriend, in a drunken rage, was attacking her.

We’ve been worrying this would happen. I had suspected the man was abusive, but I didn’t have proof.

Boy in Black grabbed the phone, dialed 911, and handed it over to me. My daughter pried the screaming child away from me and took him into the kitchen. Shaggy Hair Boy locked the doors.

“Does he have a weapon?” the voice on the line kept asking. “Can you find out whether or not he has a weapon?”

Biker Boy’s fifteen-year-old half- brother showed up a few minutes later, panicked and hurt. Abusive Man had ripped out his earring and punched him in the face. Little Biker Boy kept wanting to go out the front door, so I told Quick and Shaggy Hair to take him upstairs. Quick found some clothes for him.

The kids’ mother came running up our lawn – so frantic that I couldn’t get her to calm down or stay inside. I asked her whether or not the boyfriend had a gun. “He’s had too many felonies – he’s not allowed to have a gun.” Her two youngest kids, five-year-old Ponytail and the toddler were still inside the trailer. With their drunken, raging father.

Finally, patrol cars arrived. Three of them, moving quickly and silently past us. Six cops surrounded Abusive Man, who was outside on the lawn at that point, still screaming obscenities. They had to use a taser to get him down and cuffed. An ambulance full of paramedics arrived. Once a patrol car had gone by, with the screaming, violent man inside, I walked with the kids and their mother back to their home.

The two youngest kids were not physically harmed. The other kids were bruised and scared. The mother kept telling the paramedics that she was okay, although today it’s clear that her foot is badly hurt. The cops took statements. Well past midnight, we calmed the kids down and got them to sleep. Today I told the story to a caseworker from Child Protective.

I don’t know what will happen next. Two misdemeanor charges won’t hold Abusive Man in jail for that long. I know that women very often take back the men who abuse them, but now the community is involved – we have been witness to the abuse. I hope that somehow we can protect those children.

I debated whether or not I should write about this on my blog. But I’ve written before about abuse, and the poetry workshops and readings I’ve done for the Women’s Shelter here. It’s important to tell these stories. The shame and secrecy that surrounds the victims of domestic violence can be toxic. Silence does not solve problems like abuse.

Domestic violence happens every day, in communities all over the country, all over the world. Sometimes there’s not much a neighbor can do -- provide a safe haven, maybe, or be ready to make a phone call. The cycle of abuse is pretty difficult to end. And I don’t know what the answer is. It feels pretty hopeless sometimes. Somehow, I think we need as communities to figure out new ways to break those cycles. We need to work on this together, all of us. In the meantime, all I can do is listen and observe and bear witness.