H. Clint Davis - The Women of Warrior

Chapter 1

Judy Strickland

As I sit here in this quiet vacant school room in the Dr. Eddie Warrior Correctional Center for women, I ponder the feasibility of what I have been asked to do. Ive given so much thought to my many troubled memories with never a solution. I know how I feel inside, the confusion of what to write, what to hold out and not write, or should I take this all the way? I know so many of my memories are scarred across my heart, and they run deep down into my very soul. I havent been able to stop the memories running through my mind ever since Dr. Davis asked me to put them down on paper. I firmly believe in my heart that if anyone else had asked me to write my memories, I would have said no! A month ago, I would have even told Dr. Davis no. I also realize that writing my life of thirty-three years will be difficult. To relive so many very painful memories will put me through a lot of mental and emotional stress. I know there will be many tears, many memories, and the mental hurt will be far worse than any physical pain. I also have to ask myself, Why go through the memories and pain? Ive thought through all the reasons why. Ive also tossed and turned all night thinking and trying to resolve this dilemma. The memories Ive repressed and hidden away for so many years keep resurfacing in my mind, and there is no end to them. The only thing I can reason out is to do what Dr. Davis has asked me to do. I have been asked to start at my earliest memory. So it begins, my earliest memories.

I see myself sitting on an elderly womans lap. She is sitting in a big wooden rocking chair. She was reading out of the Bible. I had very long hair. I remember talking and laughing. She kissed me on the cheek then put me on the big bed. The bed was so huge. It was my grandmothers bed, and there were pictures on the walls of fruit in the bowl and flowers in a vase. There was a big television, and I remember the smell of lemons. We got into bed and laughed and played, then we went to sleep. I do not remember ever having seen her again. I learned later on in my life after I had my first daughter that my grandmother died of congestive heart failure at the age of fifty-two.

My next memory is of a fish tank with so many pretty fish with every color imaginable swimming around in it. I remember the mama and the man being mad. The mama was crying, and the man broke the pretty fish tank. All the water and the little fish fell out onto the floor. I remember trying to catch the pretty fish, but the mama grabbed my arm and took me to a room. She pushed me inside, then closed the door. There was no light, so I sat close to the door. I thought about all the pretty fish. I never saw them again either.

The next memory of note is of being unable to breathe. A woman wearing a funny hat was holding me, and I was crying. I was, I think, mostly scared. A big man then came in wearing a big white coat, and he had something in his hand that he poked in my leg. I do not remember any more about that incident. I found out later that at the age of three, I had sustained several broken ribs and a fractured arm from severe child abuse. I do not remember very much of that part of my life. I do know I was placed in the care of a social worker; a woman with the most funny color of hair. It looked like one of the pretty fish colors: a dark red and short. She would always talk to me. She wanted me to talk. I remember at that time and for so long after that I wanted to talk, but the words couldnt come out. I remember thinking that my words were stuck in my mouth. I remember how I was always silent and never talked. I also remember that I would hide from people. I also know I could cry. This I did often.

The lady with the red hair took me to my foster family. I remember her telling me that she would come back for me real soon. I was left with two elderly women. One would sing, and I liked listening to her. I do not recall much more of my first of many foster families, but I will never forget the day the lady with the funny red hair came back. I know the why of her return because she told me when we arrived at my new location that this is my daddys house. I remember trying to say something, but the words were still stuck in my mouth. I never saw the lady with the red hair again.

I remember the daddy talking a lot, but I do not recall what it was all about. The stepmama was there. She was a really big woman. The first thing I noticed about her was when she would smile. The smile didnt quite reach her eyes. I do not recall how I knew it, but I knew to be very quiet and stayed out of her way. The house was very big with white carpet. I always had to take my shoes off in the house. Playing inside the house was forbidden! No watching television either. That was okay with me because I loved going outside. The outdoors took me away from her. When I would go outside, I would sit by the water of a pond located at the back of my daddys house. I never understood why my words would get unstuck down by the water and only when I was alone. I loved the birds, the butterflies, and the frogs. There were also rabbits that would come to the water for a drink.

I first started smelling the bad smell on the daddy not long after I got there. I really hated the smell. I finally found out what the bad smell was. It was the daddys medicine. He would be mad at the stepmama, then he would hit her. I would run and hide at the water because I knew it was safe there. The daddy never looked for me there. The night sounds were always beautiful there, and I used to just sit and listen. At that time, I thought the birds and the butterflies would watch out for me. With them I was safe.

I remember the daddy starting to change. He would drink his medicine all the time and hit the stepmama. The daddy would come looking for me more often, and I would hide. I finally lost the place by the water. The day the daddy started getting mad at me came all too soon. The daddy was mad because my words were stuck inside my mouth. He would say, Talk. Talk. Damn you, and then he would shake me real hard. At first, he would pick me up and take me to my room, open the door, and throw me on the bed. You wont eat until you ask for it, he would say. I wanted to talk. I tried so many times, but the words would not come. I knew I could, but the words just refused to come out. I would be as quiet as I could so daddy might forget about me, and when I was alone, I would cry. I would wait until everything was quiet in the house, then I would sneak into the kitchen and steal bread. I would take it back to my room, eat it, and then climb up on the dresser so I could look outside through the window. I would look at the stars and watch the fireflies. I wondered how they were able to light themselves up. I loved being alone with no one around and nobody to say Youre just stupid all the time, or pull my hair when the daddy wasnt looking. I used to pretend that I was invisible, and no one could see me or find me. I would finally lie down on the bed with my doll and go to sleep.

I also remember when the daddy would stop drinking the medicine. He would take a shower, eat breakfast, and he would smile and talk to the stepmother. He would also even talk to me very nicely. The daddy would have to leave the house and go to a place called work. He would get into the big truck, kiss me, and say, Daddy has to make a living, so you be good little princess and mind your stepmama. He would usually add, Daddy will bring you a surprise. I would be really happy for him to be leaving. The stepmama would have many people over to visit, and I would be sent outside to play all day.

The stepmama would have a fit when I played inside the house, so she converted the tool shed out back into a playhouse and moved all my toys out to the playhouse. I was very happy in the playhouse. I would pretend to cook, clean, and take care of my doll. I even had a daybed out in the playhouse with one window with curtains. My lunch was always sandwiches, and I would always go out to the playhouse to eat lunch. One would think that a little girl would get lonely, but it was not the case. I valued being alone. Once, the stepmama had a chair that she wanted put away, so she pulled on a string, and the ceiling came down with stairs. I remember thinking about that and how it worked. I did not think about what I later learned was the attic again for a long time, or what a safe place it could become. I would play in the playhouse most of the time that the daddy was gone. I loved the time in my playhouse and the hours spent down by the water.