Numbers

Numbers are a funny thing - liberating and restrictive, forbidding, wavering and demanding. They freak us out if we think we aren't in the right size or weight (like there is one). They break down the day into bits and pieces we think can control, but are controlled by. They break the cycles of earth down into months and days marking the passing of time. They remind us how little time we have had or will have with those we love. They mark milestones.

A lot can happen in nine years. Parents and friends die. Children are born. The Towers were destroyed. False security implemented. Fear mongering increased. The state economy tanked.

1.30.2000. A normal day - the second to last day of January of the new century depending on your view of when the centuries and millennium shifted. In nine years jobs have been won and lost. WArs have started or continued. People are born and others have died. Some, sadly, have done both. People have married, others divorced. Abuse has happened. And it has stopped.

On that day, nine years ago. It stopped. At 5:30 that dark morning, I bundled up my recently declared "in good health" 15 month old daughter and took a cab to a Podunk airport and flew out of Florida. I had $25 in my pocket when I left that house. It all went to the cab driver. I had the cloths I'd packed and whatever food and formula was in the diaper bag. And a car seat. Nothing else. We missed the flight. The airline gave us a voucher for food and a seat on the next flight out. It was after 11 that night when we flew into the city. My family met us.

I was condemned. How dare I take a father's child away from him. How dare I leave him. I was going to hell. HOw dare I.

How dare I? HOw dare I? Yes, how dare I take a child away from an abusive man who looked at his child with contempt and scorn and thought of both of us as objects he could control, own, and step on. How dare I take a child away from a father who thinks it's okay for his infant daughter to be taught to be submissive in ALL ways (that includes sex). How dare I? How dare they judge.

Nine years later. I have money - a little. I'm in college. I'm succeeding. I'm happy. I've got friends - real friends and I'm following my dreams - all of them. Teaching her to go after hers.

She doesn't remember him. She knows what he looks like - or looked like on our wedding day. He never calls. Never visits. It's his choice, only his. He made it clear that he never wanted kids - after she was born, when I nearly lost her. I've been condemned. How dare I want my child to survive, to thrive, to live, to love. How dare I want my child to succeed and be a wonderful woman who can stand on her own feet with out standing on anyone. How dare I want to live. How dare I.

Numbers are funny. It's the anniversary of my escape into freedom. She is My Joy. We are happy and succeeding. And that is the best revenge.