Domestic Abuse

I was making soup. Well, not making exactly, I was taking soup that was made on Friday, ladling it into a bowl and reheating it in the microwave. My roommate was outside smoking at the time. (She smokes outside).

She came in from the front porch and said something along the lines of, "You know that mom over there? The one with the two kids on the end unit, upstairs?"

I verified, "Up over there," pointing in the general direction of her unit. 

"Yeah."

"Yes, I know her." I was expecting to hear she was outside walking her dog and they entered into a conversation or something. Not so.

My roommate proceeds to tell me that she's arguing with someone since she could hear screaming and yelling in the form of "get out of my house," and "I hate you!" 

I knew the mom had been dating someone since I've seen them walking the dog together or sometimes even he walking the dog alone. I'd never met the guy, though. 

I step outside and don't hear anything coming from the direction of her unit. So, was it just an argument that got heated and finally died down? It happens. There were no police or anything and I nearly turned around, but decided to get closer just to see if I could pick up on anything. I'd hate to find out I wrote it off as an extremely excited argument and something didhappen. As I walked closer I could pick up what did sound like an argument, but not nearly as loud as my roommate led me to believe. 

Again, it wasn't that bad and I nearly turned around. I've argued louder with my roommate before. Heck, I've argued louder with Rufus before. But I didn't.

In the nearly 4 years I've lived in this community I've rarely spoken to the mother in a manner that was more than 'in passing." However her kids are always outside and they make sure they come and talk to me when I'm sitting outside trying to read, work on the computer, take a nap in the grass or any other time I just don't want to be bothered. Her kids are nice and all I could think about was whether the kids were safe.

As I'm standing in front of their unit, but on the ground out front, not on their steps yet or her front landing, I hear some more words -- a woman, "You hit me! I can't believe you hit me!" and a man's voice, "I didn't hit you, but I should, someone needs to."

That's when I went up the stairs. I'd never walked up those stairs before. I get to the top and all is quite. I'm wondering what happened that I didn't hear. She has a steel security door with a screen that is closed but her main unit door is open so I can hear what's going on inside, but due to the brightness outside and the dimness inside, I can't see anything.

"Hello?" There she is, on the couch with another person. Who? Oh, could that be her mother? "Are you okay?" She jumps and runs to the door opening it quickly. She looks like she's crying and she has a giant bruise on the right side of her face and what appears to be some swelling along her eye-socket, beneath her eye. She's visibly shaken. 

"No! He hit me and he won't leave," she cries. I look around and don't see him so I assume he walked down the hall somewhere.

I start down the hall opening doors as go, since I don't know where he went. Bathroom? Check. Kids' room? Check. Another closed door that I don't get a chance to open because I hear him in the master bedroom. I step in and don't see him. What? I finally figured out he was in the walk-in closet. I look at him, "You need to get out. Now."

He tells me he is getting out, he's just grabbing clothes. "Fine, you're hands are full, let's go. You can come back and get the rest when you bring the police with you. It's time for you to go."

He looks at me. I'm about 4 inches taller than him, maybe 50lbs heavier and perhaps 5 or six inches through the chest and shoulders. I'm guessing here. I'm 44 through the chest and he looked somewhere in the upper 30s. "Who the fuck are you," he asks.

I tell him I'm a neighbor and he needs to get out. He calms way down. "I'm just grabbing my things."

"Fine, you have your things, let's go. You need to leave." That's when she comes in yelling for him to just get out. They'd been arguing for at least 20 minutes by this point and my roommate had already heard her yelling at him to leave. I knew he'd had time to prepare and get out. "Let's go. You can come back another day with the police and get the rest of your things."

He actually put the shirts and pants in his hands back in the closet. I was stunned. Really? Back in the closet? He already had the stuff in his hands. Is this when he attacks me?

He didn't -- he started walking to the door, she'd already ran back to the couch and the arms of her mother. He got to the door and pointed at some boxes near the floor and said those where his things. Fine, grab one and go. I'll bring the rest out once your in the parking lot. Then he remembered he needed work clothes for tomorrow (today) and heads back into the house and bedroom.

I'm trying to be nice at this point. He hasn't done or said anything to me to be aggressive, but I'm incredulous since he already had his arms full of clothes before he put them back. He reaches in the closet and grabs a shirt, then some pants and he keeps grabbing things. "Dude, seriously, you're pushing my patience. You need to get out. Now."

He starts in with the excuses. "She's drunk." This all started because I wouldn't let her drink and drive. I took her keys from her and she attacked me."

"I understand. I've been there. You need to get out."

He points at his arm, at a scratch about the size of an adult's finger, a scratch that's not bleeding. "See what she did there?" All I saw was the bruises on her face.

"You need to get out. Let's go." I again explained he can come back and get his things when he brings the police with him as an escort. And he leaves. About halfway down the stairs he said something about her being a drunk again to which I responded, "It doesn't matter man, it's her house. She wants you out." I said this knowing full well she's a renter. He stops and turns around. 

"What? Her house? What makes you think that?" And I have my only moment of doubt since walking into her condo. What if he's the owner and he's dating him? This could get messy.

"Yes, it's her house. I've lived here for 4 years and she's lived here at least as long as I have. I haven't seen you here before. Her house, now keep going."

"I've been paying the fucking rent for 8 months!" I didn't care.Chances are he wasn't on the lease and I wasn't getting into that argument. 

He gets into his car and drives off. The mom, Vanessa, comes to be, still shaken, and tells me she's a good strong woman, a good mom. I'll admit, from what I've seen, she's a good mother. I'm looking at her bruising and wondering if she needs a doctor. "I'm just glad your kids aren't here," I tell her. They shouldn't have to witness that since they're both under ten. No, no, they're with their father for the weekend.

Good. Now, I'm trying to leave. Let her calm down. Her mom's there to console her. Speaking of her mom, I don't know if her mom just doesn't speak English or is too conservative to fight with a man, but her mom doesn't say a word while I'm there.

"I'm a good mother. "I'm a good mothers" she tells me again. And I assure her, as far as I've known her, she's been a good mother.

I take one last look at her bruises wondering if this is enough to take her to the hospital, if she needs the hospital, and after deciding she's an adult, she can call the police or go to the hospital herself, I walk down the stairs and back home.

I was out a few more times that evening to walk Rufus and help another neighbor move some furniture. I looked for his car, but apparently he never came back. I checked this morning, too. Nothing. I'll have to look after COB today and see if he decided to 'come home' after work.

[I didn't really go back and proofread this, so if there's errors, they're first draft errors :P]

It was weird. This was the first time I've walked into a situation wherein a fight might break out and I did not get an adrenaline rush. I was ready for anything to happen, but I didn't get that surge of fear, that rush of energy or that excited anticipation.