“What the fuck do you mean by that, Dawn? What the fuck you mean?” Todd’s eyes turned dark and his left eye began to twitch.
“I’m just saying, things will be okay. You’re a good reporter, Todd. An excellent one, at that. You’ll get your promotion soon. I just know it.” Dawn peered at Todd, but quickly went back to the article.
Todd kicked the door shut and stared at Dawn, a look of disbelief on his face. “What kind of shit is that? Don’t talk to me like I’m some fuckin’ kid.”
Dawn picked up her half-empty can of Pepsi, and placed it to her lips. “I’m not, Todd. I’m just saying—”
Before Dawn could complete her sentence, Todd’s huge hand had smacked the drink from her lips, and met her face with such a force that she spun around in the chair, her side ramming into the solid steel desk. The pain in her ribs was excruciating and her face stung like hell, but she was too shocked to even speak.
“Don’t ever speak to me like that again, Dawn. Ever. I don’t have to take this shit from you, too,” Todd said, his eye twitching as he stared at her like she was a complete stranger.
Dawn rubbed her face, and tears sprung to her eyes. Her teeth felt loose and blood pooled in her mouth. “Wha- what? How could you hit me?” Dawn clutched her bruised side. “How could you?” She pushed herself away from the desk, and tried to stand, but fell forward, and had to brace herself. Her knees were slightly wobbly, and she felt dizzy and confused.
Todd’s eyes blinked, like he was snapping out of a trance. “I-I told you not to talk to me like that. Okay? But, but I’m sorry, Dawn. I shouldn’t have hit you.” He reached for her, but she jerked away.
“Just leave me alone, Todd.” Dawn grabbed her purse and took a step toward him, but changed directions. Trying to get away from him in that tiny office was not going to be easy. “I mean it.” She pointed to his scribbled notes, which were now covered in dark, sticky soda. “Forget you and your article. Just leave me the hell alone.”
Dawn slid past him, and freed herself from him and that office, over his protests. She went home, put ice on her face, and turned her ringer off. Todd filled her voice mail with massive apologies, and blew her cell phone and pager up. Dawn called in sick the next day, too embarrassed by her bruised face, and still nursing her aching ribs. She lost herself in the make-believe world of soap operas and let her mind vegetate when the talk shows came on. She was feeling a little better watching others whose lives were worse than hers. Unable to eat since Todd had struck her, Dawn suddenly felt hunger pangs. When Dawn ordered a pizza to be delivered, she opened her door and was shocked to find Todd standing there, holding her sausage and onion pie. And a huge bouquet of exotic flowers, which included Birds of Paradise, her absolute favorite. The gesture nearly floored her.
“Needless to say, I forgave your daddy,” Dawn whispered into Asia’s tiny ear. “He just didn’t know his own strength,” she said. Dawn, although she was almost as tall as Todd, weighed only 120 pounds, soaking wet. She was clearly no match for a rage-induced, former wrestler like Todd.
Dawn raised her daughter’s arm, and it fell limply by her side. Asia snored deeply, and Dawn watched her chest rise and fall. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to put you to bed.” Dawn struggled to get up without waking Asia or hitting her with her sling.
Dawn managed to get Asia into her little princess bed; then she snuggled in behind her. The frilly pink ruffles from the canopy tickled Dawn’s face, and she carefully placed her injured arm above Asia’s head. Laying her head on a bright pink pillow, Dawn sniffed her little girl’s hair. She loved the way Asia smelled of baby powder and sweet cocoa butter.
“Yes, I know you probably wonder why I forgave him, but I just did. He was so apologetic. He surprised me with this ring,” Dawn said as she wiggled her fingers on her left hand, showing the sparkly, round, half-carat diamond. “He held me that day, and promised that he’d never hit me again. I really believed him. And he didn’t. Well, not for a long time, anyway.
“Your father moved in with me, and he kept his word. Even though he was still pretty angry about not being promoted, within the next six months, he got offered a job working for The New York Times. Boy, was he thrilled! For a while, things were really going great for us.
“I went about planning our wedding, and we got a place in the East Village that was closer to your father’s job. That was really nice for him, especially since he was working long hours. I was actually moving up at The Ledger, and I became the assistant editor of the Metro section. Todd was even happy for me, and supportive of my career, and within a year, we were married at the Manor in West Orange. It was quite an affair. Simply beautiful. Something that I’d always dreamed about, ever since I was a little girl. A wee bit older than you.
“We were quite the couple. We went to a lot of social events, and got invited to all of the nice parties. Your father was really networking with the right people, and he was getting pretty popular. He and I were also getting along so well. He got another promotion, and was really shining at the paper. He was getting quite a reputation for capturing the big stories, but things were pretty hectic for him. There were more deadlines, quicker turnarounds; everything was just kind of snowballing for him. Then the bombing of the World Trade Center in 1993 occurred, and it kind of pushed your daddy over the edge. The city was paralyzed with fear, and the police and the media were working nonstop. Your daddy clocked 14-hour days, and wasn’t getting a whole lot of sleep. We were busy at my paper, too, and I was unable to help him as much. Unfortunately, your father had so many deadlines that he missed one, and he blamed me. And then, well, then he struck me again.”
Todd’s trance-like episodes came to dominate their relationship. “His abuse became more frequent after that. Not only physically, but mentally also. The more he stressed over work, the less supportive he was of my career. I guess he felt somewhat threatened. But, I never wanted to think that. When my editor went out sick and I was temporarily promoted to Metro Editor, he really beat me. He said that I was trying to usurp his position as the breadwinner in the family. He also said that I really didn’t care about him, and that I was being selfish. But, he couldn’t have been more wrong. I loved your father, and wanted nothing more than to be there for him. In every way. Even though he was physically abusive to me.”
Her world became his. Todd would question any of Dawn’s actions, and slowly cut her off from the few friends she had.
Todd’s mental cruelty toward Dawn was nearly as severe as the physical. He would berate and belittle her, constantly undermining her capabilities. Even though Dawn knew she was a good editor, she began to question her skills, too. She was beginning to think that maybe she should quit working, and the answer came, when she discovered she was pregnant.
At first, Todd was less than enthusiastic. But for Dawn, maybe it meant that he’d stop putting his hands on her. And then, her career wouldn’t be as important. She could go out on maternity leave, and just not return. That would make one of their issues go away. Or, so she thought.
She started the ritual of talking to her womb, while Todd remained detached and aloof. When her pregnancy became difficult, Dawn took an early leave of absence from her job. After her first amniocentesis, it was determined that her baby was going to be a little girl, and Dawn was elated. Being at home, when she wasn’t feeling ill, Dawn was now able to again help Todd with his work, and things slightly improved between them. She had even started doing some freelance editing for Sutton House, a major publishing company in New York. When Asia was born, the world seemed to be right, for the first time in a long time.
Asia was a beautiful child, born with inquisitive eyes, a head full of thick, curly hair and a cherubic face. Todd took to her with a fascination and interest he had only briefly shown in Dawn. It made Dawn happy, though, to know that she had been able to bring this little bundle of joy into the world, and that Asia might possibly be the tool to repair their troubled relationship. Todd had been awarded a news ind
ustry prize for his article on the Central Park jogger case, revisited, and he had gotten a huge bonus and an even bigger byline. As Asia grew, they were quite the happy family. That was, until Dawn got offered a job as a full-time editor at Sutton House, and accepted. She figured that Todd would be fine with it, but he wasn’t. He beat her savagely and ferociously, and never stopped.
“Why do you make me do this to you?” he’d always say after he had nearly beaten her to a bloody pulp. And Dawn wondered why she provoked him into hitting her. She never cooked well enough. She didn’t make love to him often enough. The apartment was never clean enough. Her friends called her too much. She stayed on the phone too long. She went out too much. She stayed in too much. She didn’t take care of him well enough. She had let her looks go. She was too fat. She was too skinny. She could never do anything right. The only thing she could do was take an asswhipping. Black eyes and split lips were her daily accessories, like jewelry. Dawn learned to apply expensive makeup to cover the scars, and wore long-sleeved shirts in the summertime to hide the bruises, but her spirit was broken. The only real joy she had in her life was Asia, and she began to fear that Todd would want to take that away from her as well.
But, he seemed to love Asia, and treated her well. He’d lavish her with gifts, and read to her, and play funny little learning games with her. At first, Dawn was relieved by their closeness, and appreciative of the fact that he didn’t hit her in front of their baby. But then Todd began to talk down to Dawn when Asia was there, and began loudly denouncing and belittling her. Despite their evening ritual together, Dawn began to feel that Asia was slipping away from her. Her daughter’s little face absolutely shined when Todd was around, and even though she was only four, Dawn felt that Asia was somehow looking at her differently now. It was confirmed this evening, just before Todd left for his evening out. As Dawn stood there, her arm in a sling from her shoulder having been dislocated by Todd the week before, she witnessed an act that had spun her world completely out of control. Todd picked Asia up, and kissed both of her cheeks.
“Daddy loves you best, Asia-boo,” he said. “And Daddy will always love you best, as long as you grow up to be a fine, young lady. A good girl. Not like your mother.”
Dawn could barely raise her head, but did so just in time to catch her daughter’s cherubic face staring at her with empty, disappointed eyes. “I will, Daddy. I will,” Asia cooed, and kissed her daddy’s face.
The image of Todd whisking Asia onto her feet brought a conclave of upsetting images back into Dawn’s mind. They created a convergence point of her past and her present. Her father had said the exact same thing to her. When she was around Asia’s age.
“Oh, I loved your granddaddy, Asia. I kind of wish that he was here to see you now, I guess.”
Dawn had grown up in the early ’70’s, the product of an outspoken Black militant named Carl Boyer and a naïve, White flower child named Margaret. A tall, thin brunette with a thick, New England accent, Margaret Reilly was known as Peggy, and she hailed from a large, protective, affluent, Boston, Irish-Catholic family. When Peggy came to New York, she was fresh from Brown University and her equally sheltered environment. She had never had much exposure to black people, other than her family servants. When she became a social worker in the horrific New York welfare system, Peggy was both amazed and appalled. Tenements, rat-infested apartments and boarded-up buildings were a culture shock to her. The conditions she encountered on a daily basis sometimes left her shaking and unhinged, but she was determined to make a difference in the lives of the families she worked with. Her other Ivy League friends thought that she had taken leave of her senses for subjecting herself to such an unpleasant lifestyle. They figured that she’d last a few weeks against the rigors and lackluster reward of working for the system. And if that didn’t do it, they knew that she’d run back home to her family’s expansive Cape Cod home after stepping over bums to get to her small hovel of an apartment in the heart of grimy Greenwich Village. Peggy, unwavering in her own quiet way, refused to bow to the pressure her family and friends heaped on her. Her boyfriend of several years even threatened to break up with her if she refused to find a more suitable job, like an administrative assistant or secretary.
Peggy defied them all, and delved even harder into the public assistance programs. That’s when she met Carl. He was a proud, tall, stocky, black man, who wore a huge Afro and vivid dashikis. He was a former Black Panther, who tirelessly worked in the boroughs and neighborhoods of New York, seeking change and spearheading protests. At their chance encounter, Carl was heading up a “Breakfast for the Kids” program in Brooklyn.
Even though Carl had never dated a white woman before, he was instantly intrigued by Peggy. Her naiveté and humble demeanor were appealing to his brusque, streetwise manner, and the diversity of their backgrounds was both appealing and confusing. For Carl, there was an underlying motive for brothers who got involved with white women. It was one way that the black men had of “getting back at the Man.” Even if it meant that it would cause further harm or danger to them, it was worth it. It afforded him the opportunity to antagonize “Whitey.” To really “stick it to the Man.”
Carl’s and Peggy’s paths crossed again when Peggy came to check on one of the children in Carl’s program, and their attraction was undeniable. For Peggy, Carl represented everything foreign and exciting. He was big, Black, dangerous and rebellious. To Carl, Peggy was a trophy. She was educated, humble and committed to a cause that even unnerved him sometimes. Theirs was an interesting union, one fueled by titillation, irony, passion, and anger. And Carl dominated Peggy, who willingly submitted to his wrath and contempt like she owed it to him. Or to his kind.
Despite the success Carl had working with the various community groups and social programs, Carl became increasingly discontent with the low pay, and sought greater status for his hard work ethic. He was a very bright man, and finished college at Columbia University, with honors. He continued working and even took an entry-level white collar job in the financial district as a data entry clerk. Peggy kept working as a social worker, while Carl went to school at night. Frustrated with his inability to advance at work, Carl took almost five years, but he graduated, with honors, from SUNY with his M.B.A., and was ready to take on the world.
Dawn was born on a snowy day: December 15, 1972. A beautiful complexion, with a head full of curly locks, Dawn was a gorgeous baby. Peggy became a full-time housewife, and the family moved out to Mount Vernon. Dawn was the apple of her father’s eye, and the older she became, the more he lavished his love and attention on her. Peggy became a withered, ghost-like figure, who bowed down to her little Dawn. Though Carl was becoming more successful in his career, it didn’t stop him from belittling, or beating Peggy. Dawn was his little angel, wings and all, and Peggy was the devil incarnate.
Even after Peggy gave birth to Dawn’s brother Paul, their life at home went from bad to worse. The pedestal Carl placed Dawn on elevated higher and higher, while the bowels of depravation he dug for Peggy descended deeper and deeper.
“You can’t ever do anything right, Woman!” Carl would yell at Peggy. Her mother’s pale, milk white skin had become ashen and gray, and she looked much older than her thirty-something years. The years of degradation had taken a toll on her; even as a child, Dawn felt like her mother wasn’t that close to her. And Dawn remembered not wanting to be close to her mother. It was quite confusing for the little girl when her father would shower her with praise, but in the next breath, call her mother “trifling” or “worthless.”
“I don’t know why I deal with your dumb ass, anyway, Margaret,” her father said. He always called her Margaret when he was getting ready to take her down a few notches. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing. You can’t do anything right. You can’t keep this house clean, and you damn sure can’t cook. This house smells like an ashtray. You can’t even get my shirts cleaned properly. The only thing you can do is host a damned cocktail party. I swear I don’
t know why I married your sorry ass.”
Most of the time, Peggy would just listen quietly, as Carl vented at her. On rare occasions, she’d curse at him, in her thick, nasally accent, but that only served to make him angrier. He would surely beat her if she dared to say anything back to him.
Cowering and worn down, Peggy became a quintessential nanny to her children. She never questioned Dawn about any of her activities, just squired Dawn and Paul around while she became a chain-smoking, functioning alcoholic. Her mornings started with a huge Bloody Mary and a pack of Pall Malls. Lunch consisted of dirty, dry martinis and another pack of cigarettes, and dinner was a full bottle of wine, sometimes two, and another pack of smokes. After dinner was a stiff Scotch on the rocks and more 120’s. Dessert was usually a vicious beating from Carl over some minor infraction, followed by tears, more puffs of smoke and downed cocktails.
Carl was known to take a drink or two of alcohol also, but for the most part, he remained sober. There was never any clear indication of what fueled his frustration with Peggy. He was just so irritated with her, that his verbal abuse was ever present. Caustic and relentless, he would annihilate Peggy with his inhuman words, and then he would wink at Dawn, and tell her that she had the best of both worlds. She was beautiful, and she’d be smart, like him. Not a waste, like her mother. And those words rang in Dawn’s ears as loudly as they did that day, years ago. “Daddy loves you best. And Daddy will always love you best, as long as you grow up to be a fine, young lady. A good girl. Not like your mother.”
“I promised not to grow up like my mother, Precious. And, unfortunately, I have. And the sad part about it is that I’ve turned you into me.” Dawn sighed to her sleeping child.
“I grew up hating my mother. I thought that she was weak and incompetent, and just plain sorry. She couldn’t make my daddy happy, and he was a good man. He really loved me. And she wasn’t good for him. She didn’t know how to give him what he needed. But, I knew that I’d grow up and be happily married, because I’d know what to do. I’d know how to make my husband happy. And now, I realize that I haven’t been able to do that. I can’t believe that I’ve failed so miserably,” Dawn said, her voice drawn, but filled with resolve.