Communion: Kneeling On The Bayous - Salon

 

In the Fall of 2009, I was finally standing on the edge of the Mississipi Bayous. As a small child in California, they had called me. Couldn't tell you why. Saw something in school during a film and fell in love. I would go there someday. I knew I would stand right on the edge of creation  and weep. I had lost something there, some piece of me, and I would find it again. I kept that dream close for forty years.

I met a man who said he could help me. I was in trouble. I had lost everything to an American economy that crumbled around me. I was terrified, wandering. I wanted to be someplace different. Anywhere. This man said he could help me.

I believed him.

He said the magic words, "I have a place on the Mississipi Bayous. You really have to see it."

Tears sprang to my eyes. Did he say the bayous? Could this be happening? After all the grief, the loss, the rebuilding, the falling apart, would I finally get to the water to find that piece of myself I lost at seven years old?

I simply said, trying not to cry, "I have dreamed of seeing the Bayous since I was a child."

He showed me pictures of his home in Mississipi. I touched them longingly.

"Let's go."

"Where?"

"Mississipi. Pack a bag. Let's go."

I went. I was so desperate to be free from years of pain and struggle, I got into his car and we drove. And drove. And drove. Past bright beaches, miles and miles of unspoiled surf. I cried to myself. I put my head out the window and kissed the sun.

We drove up to his house. It was on stilts because of the floods. I had been there before a thousand times in my heart. I got out of the car and walked right out to the edge of the creation.

I was in heaven. I couldn't believe it. I was standing at the water of the Mississipi Bayous. I made it. I clapped my hands toward the skies. Oh magnificent you, whose name I do not know.

The man brought me a chair. He was kind, charming even. Helpful. We sat outside and I let the sight of the bayous pour itself into my soul.

And then it started.

"Were you abused growing up?" The man asked casually.

I made a mistake. I said, "Some stuff went on..." He had been an Army psychologist. I didn't realize I had opened the door to a room for him to dismantle me in.  The warm air was still. I said, "I can't believe I'm here. Thank you. Thank you so much for this."

"So," he was inside the room. "What position did your abuser have you in? How did he hold you? Did he make you strip?"

With those words he delivered a nearly fatal blow to my psyche. My hands were shaking and I struggled to form words.

"I don't talk about that." I forced the words out.

He asked another round of questions meant to systematically wear me down. I sat silent. Looking out over the Bayous, looking for a piece of me.

"Time for dinner!" his voice boomed. He stood up.

"Where?"

"Elks Club! There's a dance."

I went. In a silent childhood speechless daze, I went.

It was Halloween. People were in magical costumes. Mardi Gras costumes. They were so warm, jolly. They talked to me. I was the shy child in a wonderland of another culture. A woman in a fairy costume sat next to me and asked if I wanted to dance. I said yes. I watched her whirl around, her gossamer wings seemed real. She laughed and held my hands.

The man came onto the dance floor and said we had to go. I went. We drove to his house. He yelled at me. He told me I was disgusting. He told me I liked being assaulted as a child. And now I was a pervert for dancing with a woman.

"We're leaving tonight!" He bellowed.

I ran out to the water. In the dark, I kneeled at the edge of creation. I threw my tears at the delta. I reached my hand into the mud and wiped it on my jeans. I found that missing piece of me in the dirt, the terror, the silent room of a child who had been given over. It would get darker after that, but not for long.

The bayous returned that piece of me, had held it close, and set me free.

 

 

 

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