Читать книгу Guilty When Black - Carol Mersch - Страница 11

5

A mother like no other

THERE was no doubt that Chrisandria was a fighter. She had seen her share of trouble from an early age.

A mother at 13, she was seven months pregnant with Miashah, her second child, when her husband attacked her with a screwdriver.

It was 1990. They lived together in their north Tulsa apartment. Only moments earlier, their two-year-old son, Keontae, had been playing nearby on the floor of the apartment. As an argument between Chrisandria and her husband grew heated, he turned and unleashed a torrent of anger on the two-year-old, landing a blow across the child’s back that sent blood gushing out of his nose. Defiantly, Chrisandria stepped between them to block his fury. He flung her against the closet door.

Clambering for the first thing she could grasp to defend herself, she reached up and tore a clothes rod from the closet and swung it at him with all her might. He jerked it out of her hands and threw it across the room. It wasn’t until he was on top of her that she saw the eight-inch screwdriver over her head, lashing at her wildly—first across her chest, then across her back as she turned and hunched to protect her unborn child. Chunks of flesh were punctured out like divots.

With fists flying, the fight continued into the front yard and out into the street. The last punch blacked her out and she fell to the ground. When she came to, she was drenched in blood. A neighbor was standing over her with a shotgun pointed at her husband. “If you hit her again, I’ll blow your head off,” he said. It was the only thing that saved her life. Twenty-six years later, the pink jagged scars hashed across her dark skin still bear the signs of his rage.

This was the first battle she fought to protect her children, but it wasn’t the last. In the aftermath of the London Square fire that engulfed her daughters’ apartment in flames, a debate raged about whether it was a tragic accident or a criminal act.

And Chrisandria vowed to fight.