Page 5 - Pieces of Victory - Add - FlipBuilder.pdf

He drives us to McDonald’s and little did I know it would be my last supper.
I immediately lift myself up, my hands popping my petite structure upward. I see a fence that has barbed wire on top of it, but I am looking at it from inside the property, as opposed to the other way around. The electric gate closes, making loud clanking and buzzing noises as it rolls shut, trapping us inside. My body trem- bles and I become anxious.
The prison-like structure surrounds the vessel that transported us to this dark foreign territory, but I don’t focus on that as much as the farm-like house in front of me.
I process this all silently, my fight-or-flight response ready for my protection; Is this where the psychiatrist has his office? In the middle of nowhere? It finally hits me like a ton of bricks that just fell off a New York skyscraper. This is the place where they sent BreeAnna Stafordson! I panic, my emotions taking off like a rocket bound for another solar system.
I step up to the office, noticing the white country cottage curtains. My parents remain expressionless beside me. The first person I meet is a preacher that appears to have risen from the demonic dark crevices of the underworld. His thick coke- bottle glasses are windows leading to an untapped, caliginous dimension.
“Hello Jeneen. I am Brother QC, and your parents have decided to place you in my care. They have had enough of you giving them nothing but grief by causing trouble!” he spews angrily, as if he were in the middle of a fire and brim- stone sermon. I watch saliva fly from his mouth.
Immediately I play back in my mind, like a recorded video on my family’s VCR, an Oprah show that I had seen. The story aired last year and was about AIDS hitting a small town in Williamson, West Virginia. The community and fam- ily of Mike Sisco shunned him because of their lack of education on the virus. Fighting for his life and having to deal with being an outcast, unworthy of his fam- ily's nurturing, it caused him to feel trapped by their ignorance. I remember that story a little too well, especially the part when a venomous audience member yelled, "Let's just put them all on a reservation!" The poison awakens in me after replaying the social death that took place in that godly town. Now I realize that I
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