From the pages of my Journal:

February 8, 2010

We got back pretty late Thursday night from playing games at Whitney’s.  About 12:30.  We got ready for bed and said our prayers.  We were in bed when I heard a woman crying.  It came from outside, through my window.  It drew my attention.  I heard a man yelling.  I sat up.  I heard him hit her.  She cried harder.  My heart sank.  I felt sick.  I got out of bed and looked outside my second story apartment window.  I saw them.  She was crying and holding her right cheek.  She was backed up next to a wall under the corner street lamp.  He was cowering over her (I say cower in place of tower because only a coward would do such a thing).   My mind was racing but I was drawing a blank at what I was to do.   Should I yell something?  I don’t know Spanish.  And would that even help? Where are those cops that always patrol the streets at night?  They are always blowing those annoying whistles and waking from my slumber.  Where ARE they? Should we call the police?  We don’t have the number.   Should I get dressed and go down there? Chase what should I DO?  And then they left.  They walked around the corner together and out of my sight.  I felt helpless, as I am sure she did.  I felt anger, as I am sure he did.  I felt this was unjust.  I despised the fact that I couldn’t do anything. Mainly because I wondered if that was a lie.  Maybe “didn’t do anything” is more appropriate.  What should I have done? I laid down next to my husband in bed; the man who would never treat me like that.  I felt comforted by the thought of my husband, although pain still lingered in my heart from what I had seen and heard.  

For aid and information about abuse visit AWAIC.

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