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"Jodi"A PIECE OF MY STORY She is fragmented. Little shards of all the yesterdays. Smokey, unclear, lost. Bits and pieces of useta-bes, smeared all over with who she wants you to see. Nothing speaks of who she is and where she has been. No one will ever know. But she will tell you. She can no longer hide it away.He was a mountain of a man. She lived with him, worked for him, got high with him, feared him and clung to him. He stormed around the room, bloody lust in his eyes, breathing hard anger, hate, retaliation in his gait. "Where is it you stupid bitch? You stole my dope. Where is it?" She could see the headlines. STUPID WHITE GIRL FOUND DEAD IN A SLEAZY HOTEL ROOM WITH A HUGE BLACK EX CON. Convicted of every violent crime to man... high on crack... found dead... She deserved it... she had no right to be there... She asked for it... What was she doing there in the first place, STUPID CRACKHEAD WHORE? ...What if he beat her to death right there... "Would you stop thinking about what you are going to do to me, and start thinking about where you put it?" She could think of nothing else to say; no words would come.Vividly she flashed back to that scene over and over again. What if he had killed her before she remembered he had hid it in the empty Kleenex box holder that was built into the bathroom wall? What if he had beat her to death right there, right then, for something she hadn't even done? What if? What if? But he hadn't. He had found it. It was OK. She had escaped his wrath... that time. They lived on to laugh about it. Still, it haunted her today in this life she now led, in this foreign land she called straight. After nearly eight years out of the life, she still lived with it every day. Just one of the many broken little pieces that she called self. As she sits her today in front of her computer, her dogs by her side, her job waiting, the shower calling... she relives it, the fear, the pain, the past, over and over again till all her time has slipped away. Time to begin another day. From her tentative blog why paisley???? we learn that Jodi lives in North California and much prefers being 45. She describes herself as "a scared little child in grown woman's body". The painting is by Joy Hester, an Australian contemporary of Sidney Nolan, who lived a short and often tragically turbulent life. Possibly the most disturbing story I've put up here - on all sorts of levels... I toyed with asking Jodi to delete the black/white thing, but decided against it. It arrived entirely in upper case; though her blog is notable for the absence of any use of the shift key. Jodi says she writes as she speaks. 11:28 AM - 14/11/2006 - post comment
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