Nothing happens by chance

This week has been extremely busy. Monday I went to court to fight some unfair traffic tickets; which the prosecutor recommended that the judge dismiss after he walked in on my guilty with explanation plea. Yesterday I went to New York city to see a lawyer at Volunteer Lawyers for the Arts about some legal questions for my book. And tomorrow is the day my father receives his punishment for the crimes he committed against me.

Dressed for court on Monday
Throughout today my stomach would tense up at the thought of me facing my father tomorrow. See, I will have the opportunity to address him, and the court about how what he's done has affected my life. I've been scripting statements in my head since the moment the prosecutor told me he was found guilty of all charges four months ago; and every time I come up with something to say, I forget my monologue faster than it took me to formulate it. You would think I would just sit and write it down, but for some reason I'm afraid to. I've racked my brain trying to figure out why it scares me to write out what I want to communicate, but even here I can't translate my feelings into words.
I know I don't want to go into court and read pre written text. But that's not why I won't even jot an outline of my thoughts down. It doesn't make sense to speak off the top of my head. Words directed at my father have not passed through my lips for over eight years! Can you imagine what could possibly come spewing out. Maybe that's what I'm afraid of. I know that once I start writing, it'll probably take the apocalypse to break my literary trance. And once that happens, I'd be editing, and re writing and changing and thesaurusizing (thesurusizing; verb. To put different words into a thesaurus repeatedly. I made that one up.) words until...well....until!
There's just so much I have to say; so much I want to ask. There is so much I want to know and plenty I want him to know. But what if these things aren't correct in the courts eyes? For instance, though I've suffered horrifically at the hands of my father, I forgive him. Of course he has to suffer the consequences of his actions, but I want him to know that I forgive him for the pain he inflicted on me and the confusion he's caused. I want him to know that I forgive him for my children not growing up with a father in their life; because if he wasn't their father and I had the opportunity to fall in love and get married and have a husband to help me bring them into this world, there would be somebody they could call daddy. I want him to know I forgive him for the diseases that some of my children have, that probably would not exist if he wasn't their father as well as mine. And I want him to know I forgive him for beating me and, raping me and for making me question for years, what did I do wrong. I want my father to know that I have forgiven him because I need him to know that he doesn't have control over any aspect of my life anymore.

When I went to the city yesterday the appointment the intern at the VLA gave me, was two hours earlier than my actual scheduled meeting time. To make use of the extra two hours I had in the city, I decided to get on the subway and pick up some spectacles that I
My first pair of glasses
ordered for school. Just as I was about to swipe my metro card a man stopped me and began telling me things about myself that he possibly couldn't have known. Without me saying a word he told me I was working on a project, I was in school, and I lost my job last year. Though I believe in some spiritual phenomenon, I know there are people out their passing themselves off as anointed to make a buck, so I looked at myself to see if I had any obvious markers to give away the info he was privy too. There was nothing that I could tell. He even told me about my knee injury and I certainly don't have a limp.
After a few minutes he pulled out a piece of paper and quickly wrote on it. He then balled it up as small as he could and put it in my hand. I held the paper for the forty minutes we spent walking around Madison avenue talking. He spoke about the baby that I lost and my daughter that died without me mentioning anything. Eventually, he tried to convince me to give him money to "break evil spells" and "give me good luck". After I declined he asked me my age, my mother's name, the name of the man I was in love with and three personal wishes; which I shared with him. I ended up giving him a donation for his time, thanked him for his conversation and politely excused myself. But before I left he reminded me I had to open the paper he gave me when we first met. When I did, the same information that I told him about my mother, my age, my wishes and the man that I'm in love with was written on the paper he gave me after I barely said hello to him almost an hour earlier.

After my diversion with the stranger who seemed to know me personally, I got to my meeting right on time. The lawyer at the VLA suggested that I make some changes to my manuscript to save me some legal headache. I wanted to say; look lady, after you've been through what I've been through, and experienced some of the things I've experienced, taking some risk of my own free will is as fun as getting on a roller coaster. But instead I thanked her for the help and let her know I will take her advice under consideration.

My encounter with the man before my meeting got me thinking about being in the right place at the right time, and whether or not things happen by chance. After my father's sentencing being postponed twice, My mom won't be their tomorrow because she's on a cruise. My cousin who's attended every day of the trial I've testified, is indisposed. My sister who always gets off early on Fridays is scheduled to work late tomorrow. Just like me being in the city two hours early and crossing paths with a complete stranger (even if it was only to interestingly kill time), I know God is setting things up just how they're suppose to be. And I'm curious as heaven what he has in store for tomorrow.

Popular Posts