I remember walking down this long hallway with big windows that allowed me to view from a tree’s level the Pontiac court parking lot. My heart pounded against my chest louder than my attorney’s 8 inch heels clicking against the poop colored brown tile. I was going to see my dad for the first time after two and a half years. Two and a half years since he was arrested that early October evening and left his family struggling. At that time I was convinced he was innocent. Now I felt different which was why I was there that day. I did not pay any mind to my mom trying to comfort me. Who could stay calm in a situation like this? My usual bright brown eyes were dilated with fear of the unknown that morning while I was getting dressed. Maybe that was why I had on cheap styrofoam sandals with my grey slacks. I could not understand Tiffany, my older sister's’ expression. I could not understand if she was nervous for finally getting the opportunity to let the truth out about the last three years involving my dad or excited because she was finally getting to see him again after so long. My older sister and mom walked beside me. I knew they could feel the conflict rolling off of me in waves.

We were led to a conference type room with a rectangular table in the middle with about five or six chairs. A coffee machine in the front left corner of the room and a single bathroom in the back. The walls matched the ugly brown tile in the hallways, so did the blinds and so did the chairs. I sat on the side by the windows. My mom on my right side at the head of the table. My sister on the left side of me at the head of the table. My CPS worker right across from me looking through her papers, and my attorney staring intently at me while I ignored her gaze in favor of the glossed wooden table. We were not allowed to make any contact with my father before, during, or after court. An officer always had to be present. It left me antsy. As I was sitting at the table I realized that I was doing the right thing, for me, for once, and so I started thinking that maybe I would not be punished by God for coming out, maybe. I wondered if he looked any different. Or if he would look at me with hate in his eyes for “doing this” to him but, I found out it was the other way around. I was also so scared besides angry. Would he try and jump from the table to hold me hostage?

“So when you go in there, they are going to announce that all are to rise. The judge will come in and you’ll be told to say nothing but the truth with your hand on your heart and sit down. Then, the prosecution on your father’s side will begin.” My attorney explained all of this to me in a rushed couple of sentences. I nodded absentmindedly and gave a fake smile hopefully blinding the pain and anxiety in my eyes. I glanced to my mom to see how she was doing, and she was already looking at me with reassuring eyes. My smile dropped. She was always the second person who could read me like a book. I wanted to cry, scream, and run out of there. At the same time, stay and see what could come out of this. I wanted to see if this would make me feel better. I felt such turmoil bubbling and burning in the pit of my stomach. I knew it would not go away for a while. The realization that I was going to see my father after so long wasn’t what had me wanting to puke. I stood up and was escorted by the officer that came in. What made me want to hurl was what he did to me, the dark path. The heavy depression that felt like a 100 cinder blocks weighing on my shoulders. The not wanting to be here thoughts. The not even wanting to go outside type of insecurity and loneliness. I was going to express all of that outloud, to the public, him, my family, the judge, and myself.

I remember when I first told my mom. It was 7th grade year and I was still adjusting to my new school. It was 3 months after my dad got arrested in October and during that time of him in custody my mom was granted full custody of all 4 of us. We were getting ready for church that cloudy Sunday morning. I stood there brushing my teeth in our small bathroom as she was getting ready for a shower. My thoughts were thinking back on why my father got arrested, what he did to those two others girls, and me. I always pushed it down, kept it a secret, and convinced myself it never happened for 3 years. Right before she got in the shower the words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them, rethink them, or change them. She paused, her house robe hanging off of her brown shoulders as she stared at me through the mirror. My toothbrush hanging out of my hand as I stared right back at her. My face showing that I was serious, absolutely certain but broken. She shrugged the house robe back up her shoulders, her words muffled in my ears and hugged me from behind. I did not hug her back. I was still too stunned from my own words. I had finally said it out loud and then, I knew I was not crazy or delusional.
When I walked into the courtroom, my CPS worker was following close behind me. A gust of cold air hit me and I blinked a couple times to keep my eyes from watering. The rush of anxiety hitting me like a train. I couldn’t see him because the officer was still in front of me, I didn’t know if it was on purpose or not but I found myself hoping he wouldn’t move from in front of me. But I knew he was there. He knew I was here. His strong little tiger ready to actually stand up for herself, something he didn’t want. My grandmother and mother always taught me “Even if the whole world stands against you, keep standing up for yourself and what you believe in.” I was escorted to the front of the room, his presence making itself known when I saw an orange jumpsuit from my peripheral vision. My eyes quickly searched across the multiple empty seats in the court to find Mrs. Threatt who gave me the signal which told me to keep my eyes on her and not him. With my hand on my heart and the other on the Bible I swore to tell the truth, walked up to the witness stand and sat down.

Now, at 16 years old, 4 years later, I look back and can reevaluate certain things that I had no clue about back then. Like how my dad started fake crying as soon as I confessed my truth, just to choke me up and make me stop and as soon as that scene was over he was back to his normal impassive intimidating stare, looking normal to anyone who has never really met him. It is still a struggle to not define myself as a victim rather than an overcomer, but I overcame. That point in my life is over, the thoughts still linger but there is no doubt that I am stronger, and a little bit wiser. I am still alive today because of the choice I made. That being I belong here and should not let him rule my life. I stood tall, with plenty of stumbles and falls in between, I stood my ground. I look back and think of how weak I felt, how powerless I felt. How when my siblings did not even believe me and would not talk to me, leaving me all alone The truth is what you know it is, if you do not stand strong, then someone will, all over you, ruling your life and actions. You find yourself blaming them for everything wrong with your life and yourself. I thank God that I am still here today, able to share my story and maybe help others, and seek closure for myself.