As the bough breaks- Chapter One

AS THE BOUGH BREAKS



Chapter One: Meetings

Dark clouds and fog surrounded a woman. The wind screamed in her ears. Her chestnut curls flying in all directions. Her eyes were thickly lined with brown liner, cocoa bronze lipstick. She was wearing a wine red floor length cocktail gown. I tossed in my sleep another dream flooding my mind. A stone cylinder structure like something out of a movie stood on her left further down the dirt path. After a crash followed by darkness, she saw the ruins of the same structure. A Hawk watched her from his perch on the ruined stone structure. She tripped on a root that broke through the dirt path. The minute she hit the ground the hawk took flight. It joined the angry force in the sky, circling above like a hunter looking dinner. I mooned uncomfortably, drawing the blankets tighter. As she went to rise beyond a crawling position, the hawk let out a blood cuddling call and swooped toward her back. Its claws were ready as if she were just another rat.

“No!” I screamed sitting up, eyes wide open.

It wasn’t real - I thought; It seemed so real. I was shaking and sweat was beading up on my forehead. Why hadn’t the wind stopped . I had four items in my bedroom. I found a cheep double mattress, a storage crate and a piece of wood that served as a nightstand, a hand me down bureau with mirror, and small bookshelf. The room had a closet. Jasmine hadn’t thought it was time for me to find a place of my own. The past two weeks had been rough, but I need to live and this was only the first step. On top of my make shift nightstand sat two items: Sammy’s baby monitor and a house-warming gift from Mrs. Deely. She had asked Joseph her chuffer what was appropriate for a poor girl starting over. None of them had liked Alex. Even with Mrs. Deely’s classism, she was a Christian woman for a Southern Bell. Joseph suggested a Journal with little daily positive quotes in it but no dates.

My body started to relax and my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Sammy’s was crying. Forcing my self up I went to the small bedroom. His room held a dresser, crib, changing bag and pad , a slide rocker from Jasmine Deely, and my old CD-cassette boom box. The slide rocker had been the most practical gift Jasmine gave this far. It was a 27th year birthday present. The leaves were changing colors outside, but you couldn’t really tell from the bedrooms. I sat in the rocker after pressing the play button for the CD player feature. The lullabies soften Sammy’s cries to a whimper. He stared at me teary sadness clinging to his face. Still a little nervous from my nightmare, I rose and approach his crib. I pick him up and put him in cradle position.

“Sammy, mommy loves you very much.”

I returned to the chair, and rocked him until we both fell asleep.





My name is Emily Jane Brodune. I was born in 1975 to Margaret and James Keneally of Second Street. I grew up in New York outside the Bronx. James, my father, was from the Bronx, but he’s come up in this world. Margaret, my mother, was from a backwoods small town in up-state New York. Father calls her “sheltered.” We lived in New York City when I was little. When my father was promoted, we moved to Los Angeles. I don’t know which is better.

The majority of my grade school and high school years were spent in California. By the time I was 18 years old, I knew it was time to leave. I had to get away from the traffic and everything that my parents seemed to love so much. It was time to find out who Emily Jane really was. Something prompted me to end up in Memphis. That’s where I attended college and received my degree in Accounting. Jasmine Deely and I met in a business economics class. It was one of the required courses for the degree.

I learned so much when I was away from home. Not only about the things that dealt with my degree, but about life and the people that live it. You can’t reach everyone. There are those whose friendliness is so much more than an act. People like Jasmine. Others no matter how hard you try, you never break through the surface and find out who they really are. The trick is meeting these trustworthy people and holding on for the ride.

Life doesn’t stop even if you want it to. I found that out when I gave birth to Samuel John 11 months ago. It was an amazing morning in December, the 26th to be exact, at 11:20 A.M. He was so perfect; my greatest joy and my greatest pain. His father, Alex, walked out on us about 3 months ago. Maybe it was better that way. Jasmine had told me not to think of him; that I’d be better off now. I don’t know about that, but I’m learning day by day.

It is easier to do accounting jobs out of the apartment, so I can raise Samuel and not put him in the care of strangers. The last person I have time to think about is myself; I have a child that needs me. He makes such cute faces and is starting to walk.





My parents have been after me to visit for a while now. I have always avoided it, especially recently. But, when Alex left, Jasmine suggested I take a trip West. I couldn’t afford to go by plane, so I decided to travel by Greyhound.

While I owned my own computer, there was no money for wonderful computer perks like a scanner, cd burner, and Internet. I did business the old fashioned way: letters and business cards. Jasmine’s family was well to do. They ran a business that was all about financial advising, which stocks were up and which stocks were down. Jasmine was a wiz. Working for them gave her flexibility in her pursuits. While Jasmine would float through her mother’s fancy dinners, her favorite meal included pizza, coke and a circle of close friends. She was herself on every front, from the cordial hostess to her volunteer work at the Boys and Girls Club. She likes helping people.

Soon after I had made my decision to travel home, I was at Jasmine’s for a visit. I told her I had thought about traveling by Greyhound. Excitedly she suggested I book my ticket that very moment. She jumped at the chance to aid me by using her computer with Internet Access. Within seconds, she had pulled up the Greyhound ticket information. This site prompted my next assertion, “Jasmine, you’ve never seen the coast, right?”



On the day of the trip, Jasmine entertained Sammy while I packed a suitcase, diaper bag, and readied the Graco child carrier - backpack style.

“Now, Emily,” Jasmine said, “you’re a very capable woman. The trip will go just fine.”

I gave her a weak smile, my common expression, saying “It’s time I went to see them.”

This is my first trip back since Samuel was born. They were bound to ask where his father was. I still hadn’t parted with the simple gold band on my ring finger.





I had met Alex when I was young and foolish. He was the type who appeared clean cut and gentle: a man of virtue. You know, the kind everyone wants to bring home to Mom. Nobody realized that Alex had a darker side. I should have seen it coming.

When I first saw noticed Alex, he was sharpening a pencil in preparation for a mathematics class we took together. He was only taking the class to get his math requirement out of the way. He was a Graphics major, which meant a lot of art classes and little math, which was the bulk of my course work.

He was a tall, solidly trim man with curly dark hair that hooked over the top of his ears. Someday Sammy might look like that, I thought to myself shivering. His eyes were a piercing slate gray. I couldn’t help but stare. As if sensing the attention, he winked and that’s how we met. Just a wink and a smile across a noisy room. Alex took his time to get to know me. He would see my head bowed over Higher Math equations and saunter over, pulling out a chair at my table to sit. Sometimes it almost seemed presumptuous. Alex liked that I always had my chestnut curls tucked behind my ears in concentration. It would cascade toward my books as I studied. I wore my bangs long. By the time I was in college, they would have been almost as long as the rest of the errant bulk tucked beyond my ears. Alexander James Brodune was only a year older. Most of his pals were the artsy type or computer wizards. Most of mine came from my dorm floor. My friends’ majors ranged from Architecture to Zoology.

One of our first dates was a school play. An artsy friend of Alex was directing the play. It was some murder mystery with such complex twists and turns that I could hardly follow the plot. The play’s title was The Matchbox. I remember Alex asked me if I wanted a soda during intermission. When he pulled out his wallet, I nodded.

I couldn’t tell if Alex was enjoying the play. Sometimes it was like Alex was wearing a mask, a mask no one was seeing behind. He applauded at the appropriate times and a rare smile would find his lips. I couldn’t wait for the curtain call. We didn’t seem to connect, speaking little during the performance.

Often at the end of a play, the characters want to do something funny or unique during curtain call. Everyone appeared with matchbooks and simultaneously struck a match. When the cast blew them out, all the stage lighting disappeared. When the house lights were raised, the actors were gone. Everyone applauded.

Alex said he wanted to congratulate Dean Crawford and so we slipped backstage. One of the actresses, Pricilla, said hi to Alex and gave me a quick once over with her eyes. I got the impression that there had been something between them in the past.

Alex picked up her hand and kissed it asking, “Where’s that award winning director.”

Ignoring me, she replied in a breathy voice, “In the middle of that crowd, honey.”

I disliked her from the start! But Alex, clicked his heals, offered me his arm and we sailed past Pricilla without a glance back. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I caught a glance of a disgusted Pricilla shaking her head.

“Dean, what a rush. Your direction was ostentatious as expected.”

“What did you think?” he asked looking at me.

They were both looking expectantly at me. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Do I admit to how I really felt about the play, or make the guy, who I haven’t even met yet, feel good? After all, he’s the director, not the writer.

“It did seem a bit overwhelming. I just loved the curtain call!”

“New blood ‘eh!” commented Dean.

Alex grinned, “Ya know it.”

I blushed slightly and was glad to be off the hook.





Sammy squirmed as I fed his legs into the baby carrier. Jasmine watched me: one hand holding Sammy in the carrier while the other was combing back thick strands of chestnut curls. “It’s almost time.”

“Josef will be here soon.”

Josef was the thinnest chauffer I had ever seen. It shows how much I know, being as the majority of my clientele didn’t have the Deely’s cash. Josef was curt and polite. He dressed in black down to his shiny shoes. His straight dark hair was cut above the ears and mostly hidden by his uniform hat. “Is Miss Emily riding with us today?” He would always call me “Miss Emily” until I got married and then it was “Ms. Emily.” Alex hated that. I was his Emily – his wife! “Mrs.,” he would correct. He hated the fact that he had married a girl with an ounce of individualism, but he had married me.

A small drawn frown found my lips and a crease worked its way between my eyebrows. “Do we really need to take the limo? I can easily call a cab.”

“ Nonsense. There he is!” came Jasmine’s voice from the window.



“Good day, Ms. Emily!” Josef opened the back door of the black limo.

My face paled a little. The last time he drove us was the day Alex and I had the big explosion. Every time we fought, Jasmine took me, and eventually Sammy, into her home until things cooled down. The last time Alex called, he wanted a separation. He was working the next evening late and commented,” If there was anything you need from the apartment, come then.”

“Emily . . . You look pale. Are you alright?” Jasmine’s face held concern. I nodded speechless. “ Let Josef get your bags and climb in here with me.” I did as Jasmine recommended.





Alex was so popular with his friends, and yet his eyes were mine. No matter where he was and what conversation was being tossed around, he never failed to notice if I entered. If he couldn’t touch my hand, he would wait until he caught my brown eyes with his gray ones and then winked. Sometimes, his groupies would laugh. With his magnetic façade, he always drew crowds. They followed him everywhere. His eyes lured me like a bluegill to a hooked worm. A lifetime of entrapment was almost unavoidable. Those were the intoxicating years. How foolish I had been back then. He worked the relationship like a trainer forcing a cold steel bit into the mouth of an uncertain young foal. You never see trouble the first time it comes and once you’re in it, rarely do you see well enough to get out. He had a gentle lead those days. Jasmine saw the problems but I didn’t. I didn’t want there to be any. I was blind sighted by the show.

Alex and I had been mismatched from the start. He thought he knew it all, God’s gift, and I . . . well I should have known. I admired a “Man Courting” you see? Jasmine and I had discussed our observation of the modern male. Boys grow to be men; I suppose the same can be said of girls and women. I had taken Psychology 101 as required and Gender Communications for the fun of it. I didn’t realize how important they would become. If only I had paid better attention to Gender Communications.

The college commuters’ dining hall, as Jasmine called it, was one of our main spots for talking and doing homework. It was convenient if you were hungry. That was where we talk about boys generally. But that day we talked in my dorm room. It was a bit more private. Pulling out the chair at my desk for her, I hopped up on my bed. The door was closed.

“Think of the growing pattern like a train ride. With every station, a new philosophy on girls is adopted and a new way of acting emerges.”

“ Jasmine how can you be so clinical about what we call life?” A goofy smile appeared on my face as I half laughed.

She smiled. “ Hay, give the idea a chance. May I continue?”

The disbelief was written in my eyes. You can learn a lot about a person by looking them in the eyes. “Go ahead. Hit me.” I steeled myself for her response, which was bound to be long winded.

“Ok. This train has 4 major stops. The Peter Pan Complex and cooties, which every girl has got, characterize the first station: Boyhood. The second stop is Guy-ville. In Guy-ville, girls are seen more as a prize. They help each other with “come on” lines. They develop unusual habits like the armpit instruments or burping the alphabet backwards. Onward to station three: Casanova. Most guys reach this stage in their late high school/early college years. They have refined the dating tactics and developed a clear use of charm. They never seem to be with one girl for very long; it’s easier for them not to commit. A Man is a Casanova with honor. That’s the last station. A Man lifts you up instead of cutting you down. He places other people above himself.

Most boys never reach Manhood. You see they get off the train of life at the station with the sign, “Guys exit here.” They don’t realize that if they stayed on for a few more stations they could be a Man.”

I smiled. “Well . . . that’s my Alex, always a man.”

Jasmine’s frustrated shoulders slumped forward. “I hope you are right.”





You see, Jasmine tried to warn me. And every time I came crying, she would comfort me. Alex saw that. He was jealous of the few friends I kept in touch with especially after we married. The contradiction of his being allowed unquestioned free time while my taking the same liberty might mean an hour or two of screaming when I got back. Where was the man I married - I wondered hopelessly. I realized too late that Alex was no more real to me than a photograph.





The silence in the back seat was almost unbearable. Jasmine was watching me swallow the sobs I fought to keep in my throat. I wanted to prevent them from reaching the poker face I held for Sammy’s sake. I let her wordlessly take an adamant Sammy from me.

“Noooo. Mummy!” It echoed in my mind. In New York City, you could be standing on a corner screaming because someone had stolen your purse and nothing would happen.

“It’s alright Sammy. Let Jasmine hold you. Mommy’s tired.” My voice was barely a whisper.

Sammy pouted but reluctantly allowed a hesitant Jasmine to hold him on her lap. I closed my eyes and leaned my head into the soft cushion of the seat. Josef, as usual, didn’t say anything until our arrival at the bus depot. As the black window between him and us was lowered, I heard the announcement - “Ladies, we have arrived.”

Josef turned off the engine. I reached for the door handle as I opened my eyes. One hand on Sammy, Jasmine reached over to squeeze my other hand in reassurance. When my eyes met hers, she smiled a question – Are you alright now? My weak lips curved upward slightly – For now. I opened the door. As we stepped out of the limo, Josef had opened the trunk and was getting out our bags. I slipped the Graco back-carrier onto my shoulders and allowed Jasmine to place Sammy in its seat. An older lady craning her head to find out who had exited the mid-size limo, whispered incessantly to a husband who seemed to be paying little attention to her wandering speech. She was trying not to be noticed without success. Jasmine must get this all the time.

“Enjoy your trip Miss Jasmine and Ms. Emily.” Those were Josef’s parting words before he climbed into the driver’s seat and drove off.

The bus depot was not all that big. Certainly it would be larger in Dallas. In order to go from Memphis to Los Angeles, there would be a layover in Texas. Jasmine carried with her luggage, a thin briefcase of sorts. That, of course, would be what I fondly referred to as her travel laptop. It also included a pocket for her disks and cell phone. She had helped me get a lap top for business reasons; It was the only reason I could make this trip home.





I had been a fool for marrying Alex, but I had married him and than Samuel came along. We started having terrible fights and I started to bury myself in work. He claimed we needed more money. But then, he claimed I didn’t care about our family and I was being selfish, so I started spending more time with him and the baby. I tried everything I could, but nothing changed until that last day. We were having one of our screaming matches because I had asked Jasmine to come for dinner. I had told him over a week ago, but he claimed I never said anything.

“Damn,” I screamed. “If you don’t love me anymore, maybe it’s time for you to leave.”

“Bitch, I live here, you leave.”

It had only been a couple of days since our third wedding anniversary. He raised his hand to hit me. I avoided his blow as I heard the baby start to cry from his room. I turned automatically, drawn to comfort my baby like a bug to a bug zapper.

“Where are you going?” His voice boomed throughout the apartment.

“The baby….”

He grabbed my arm roughly.

“You’re hurting me!”

He jerked me around and threw me to the floor. His raised his hand and formed a fist. Not again, I thought. I felt the sting of his fist before it touched my face. This was the last time. I have to get out of this.

“I’m sorry…. I’m sorry,” I cried out as if his violent hand was my fault. My body shook and in my mind, the baby’s cry mirrored the volumes of screamed cusses that erupted from his throat.

“The baby…” I whispered, soft eyes pleading.

He glared at me. “Let him scream.” His voice was full of resentment. He never liked the place that Samuel took in my heart.

A tense silence fell between us. I blinked back tears as the baby screamed. So this is what “’til death do you part” means I thought bitterly. In quiet rage, Alex rested both his hands on the kitchen table. Slowly as I rose, he began to erupt again. I shuffled backwards into the front room, nearly falling down. I tripped on the thick base of one of the lamps in our living room. It crashed down. There was no door between the kitchen and this room only a break(space) in the walls that divided the rooms. I refused to buy more comforts he could break. He picked up the green glass vase of flowers on the table and launched it at my right shoulder. I moved left to avoid the vase, which shattered on the window ledge behind me. I had bought that vase to dress up my dorm room in college. I can still see the broken pieces on the floor near the picture window. What a simile to my life!

“Bitch, you better not be here when I get back.” He stormed out of the apartment.



I sat on the floor shaking for a while, not really moving. It had never been this bad. Sure, he hit, and screamed, and blamed like a child throwing a tantrum, but I thought he loved me. Jasmine was due to arrive in about 5 minutes. I could see the kitchen clock from where I sat. The sound of Sammy’s cries seemed at a distance. I sat there numbly. I began to feel the sting from his blow. As my shaking stopped, a panic was reaching for my throat. Sammy shrieked at the top of lungs and the cry pierced through my fog. I got up and went to Sammy. He was standing in his crib, tiny fists wrapped around the bars, tears streaming down his pudgy little face, and his sobs quieted at the sight of me. Eyes are the windows to people’s souls.

“Mummy.”

My lower lip shaking, I lifted Sammy out of his crib and into my arms.

I walked to the pad and buzzed Jasmine in. She was at the door in no time and I had left it open ajar for her to walk in. The minute Jasmine saw my face, the bruise that was forming there, and my wild eyes, she said, “What can I do?”

I led her into the bedroom and opened the closet. I bent and pulled out the coffee brown suitcase. Jasmine grabbed my cloths and quickly shuffled them into the suitcase that I had opened on the master bed. She looked at me.

“What else?”

I led her into Sammy’s room and we filled a shoulder bag with Sammy’s cloths and a few small toys. I grabbed the diaper bag that I always kept packed and ready. Jasmine carried the suitcase and shoulder bag and we left the apartment for good.





Sammy was keenly entertained by the traffic of people, the noise of departing buses, and the frequent announcements that kept the whole system going. We sat waiting for our bus to be announced. Our conversation was just one of many. I rested Sammy on my knee.

“We should have just gone by plane. You could have let me pay for you.”

“Jasmine, we’re not one of your charity cases. You’re my friend. This will be an adventure!” Jasmine didn’t disagree with me there.

“Bus 5162 to Los Angeles with transfer in Dallas

now boarding through door 5.”

As Jasmine and I picked up our bags, I started to hum the tune of “Almost Home” by Mary Chapin Carpenter. How appropriate.

We exited through door 5 and placed our suitcases by the storage compartment. That left me with the diaper bag and child carrier, and her with a briefcase. I had put the laptop bag into the suitcase, I would do my checking in Texas on the layover The driver greeted us at the base of the stairs that lead into the bus and punched our tickets. He smiled at Sammy and winked at me. I froze and stepped back into Jasmine’s hand.

“He doesn’t know.” She urged me on.

We boarded the bus and settled into a pair of seats, five rows back on the right. A bewildered bus driver climbed the stairs a few minutes later. The bus lurched into motion and started for the highway.

CALIFORNIA HERE WE COME!