I'm Gonna Stand My Ground

   There's something I finally realized after five attempts on my life: when it's your time, it's your time. That's all there is to it. I was raised on a steady stream of those fear tactic shows about men who kill women, and I always wondered why there weren't any shows dedicated to women who saved themselves, who go on camera and say things like, "That silly so and so should have known better than to mess with me," because that's the perspective it takes to survive this life as a woman right now. Right here. Everywhere. 

  When I was three, a man snuck into our yard through our pasture, cut our phone and electric lines, then ran around the outside of the house exposing himself and trying all the windows and doors. I dream about it a lot. I woke up out of a dead sleep, saw terror on mom's face as she ran from door to door, locking them. In that place, at that time, nobody locked their doors. Most people didn't even have a key to their house. We left keys in our cars, in detached carports. He tormented us for what felt like hours, until my uncle, who my mom had been talking to when the lines were cut. He showed up, an unlikely hero, with a shotgun and ran the dude off. Later that night, he got into a woman's house, raped her, tied her to a chair and burnt her house down. Because she got out, he only got something like 15 years, because she saved herself it wasn't murder, just attempted murder. No charges were filed in our defense. That man was known to pick on women who lived alone, and many of my friends had the experience I had.  

  When I was 15, a guy came into the truck stop where I worked waiting tables for tips and $2.15/hr (which means sometimes you OWE money when you get a check, rather than getting a check, because they figure out your sales total and suppose you got 15% on every table, so they evened out the minimum wage this way, by taxing you on money you may or may not have received).  Either way it was better than an office job, which I'd had previously and was bored to death with file cabinets and white papers out the wazoo. At that time, just about time to close, it was only me and Deb, who cooked in the kitchen while I served patrons. A trucker parked outside, came in for a bite. He angrily told me he wanted a Salisbury steak, but it HAD TO BE COOKED medium rare. Well, those lumpy, gravy "steaks" aren't really steak, it's just a name that makes no sense. They came precooked (fully cooked) on the Sysco truck, and I went into the back to discuss whether we should just prepare a real steak, because he was scary as hell. We'd have to pay the difference, and my guess is that a lot of people did that, just to keep the peace. When he got that Salisbury steak, done the way it always does, he jumped up and started screaming. He slammed outside to his truck and got his shotgun. Deb and I watched through the glass door as he walked towards us with that gun. He was taking aim, as I stood there dumbfounded at what was going on (probably having a seizure, as I understand it now), and Deb grabbed me, locked the glass door, then yanked me back into the back of the restaurant, grabbing the phone with the long cord so we could call 911 from inside the walk in cooler. I don't remember a whole lot about the rest of that, I just remember that he was told to leave, and that no charges were ever filed. Thanks, Deb. You saved my life and I always wanted to thank you while you were still with us, but I didn't want to bring it up. Then you left this earth, and I wished I'd have said it.

  The good thing is, I got two saves; the rest of the attempts, I had to save myself, but at least I was somewhat prepared. You're never given a test life hasn't prepared you for. That's something that's become so clear the longer I'm here. Life had been a calamity, and I'm still too afraid to talk about all of it, but it sure made me a survivor, and finally it's made me into one that never backs down. Some see this as brutish behavior, but my life saver was moving to rural Appalachia. It's a very different dynamic here, or maybe I'm just a new person, but strong women are highly valued here, respected, boy oh boy, if you're weak, you'll get the worst Appalachia can get. I wasn't strong enough to stand up for myself yet when I got here, but seeing all these women with a "no holds barred" attitude to life showed me that I can be that too. In rural Nebraska and other parts of the country, at least in my own experience, a strong fierce woman is a target... the message is "fit in and be meek," or you're going to get HURT. All in the name of something misconstrued by people who go to book club every week and can't for any of 'em's sake, figure out what the Bible actually is saying. I ain't mad at Jesus, but some of the people who claim to be fans of his seem to just be using it as a way to hurt people. He doesn't DIG it, he told me personally.

  Maybe I'll tell the others another day. Or not. Maybe I'll completely tell my truth, and maybe I won't. If someone reads this and it threatens their very existence, all I have to say now, is come get you some, but you better come directly to my face, not send minions. I want to look you in the eye when I destroy your attempt to hurt me. God's had my back this whole time, and you've been deemed inconsequential to the Matrix of this place, and the ancestors have expressed to me that you're insignificant.

It's an incredible thing, to live in and with nature; you  learn all the sounds of the birds including the warning calls of the birds alerting to the presence of a person, unknown, a stranger in these woods. I can open the door and hear very clearly what's going on in my hood. This land, when given respect, conspires to help you, Mother Nature is your saving grace and she looks after you, holds you in her mighty hands; all she requires is your respect. And if it's your day to move onto the next plane, it's because you've learned all the lessons you were supposed to her, in this plane, and you've gotten your black belt in life, and been let go into the bright light of the next place with clarity, and the skillset to be grateful to that place. Where I once locked all the doors and windows, now I leave them wide open, so I can hear the stories of the crows, the buzzards, the blue jays, the goats, the horse, the chickens and the dogs. And we're all together. 

I've kept notes in my files and with friends for my entire life, of who to look at if I come up missing or dead. It's funny now, in a way. You've experienced real trauma when you have to leave that information around with trusted people in secret locations. The real truth, as I know it now, is that it's simply your day when it's your day. If I'm ever gone, I don't want your tears. I'd prefer hilarious stories where I did dumb things, then burn me and feed me to the buzzards. If we in fact still have some sight in this world when we're gone, I'd like to fly and then get shit out. I came here looking for adventure, and adventure I've had, and further adventure expected, even if that adventure is to a better and wilder place than this one. I'll come to you in your dreams my loves.