For this weeks blog (week 10), I thought I might do something a little different. The Freedom Writers is a movie I loved during my high school years. I thought it would be interesting to create and expand on the motivations and feelings of Brandy Ross, a character within the film. This interior monologue takes place before the movie. Enjoy!! :)
-
What
happened that night …. all comes back to me as a horrible dream. The screaming
… the violence …. the tears.
Vivid
images of my mother being bashed are all I can think of. It was always the same
old story. That night, like every other one, the yelling began and I went into
shut-down mode; taking my two younger siblings into the sanctuary of my bedroom
and sang to them to hide the screaming. I was awoken by a loud noise and called
out to mum… but HE just told me to go back to sleep.
The next
day... I tried to wake her for work. I tried and tried to rouse... her but she
just lay there... dead... lifeless. She and the man she forced me to call ‘dad’
didn’t get along. They were always
screaming at each other and... he was such a violent man. I have the scars and
bruises to prove it. As did mum... large red handprints encircling her neck that I could clearly see each
individual fingermark. For so long I feared something tragic would happen to
her. How could he have done this. I was fearful, tormented and frightened. How had
we endured such a creep. Why did mum stay with him. She had always been lucky
in the beauty department... although her lack in self-confidence affected her
security and personal protection. I hate him; I hate what he has done to us, to
my mum, our life. The questions of Why me? Why my mum? Why now? are questions I
want answers for.
I had tried
several times to leave while mum was alive... but threatened every time. The
words he called me struck me to my inner core... what he said he would do to
me... I was terrified. I remember the night before he killed my mum... they
were fighting in the kitchen. I could hear the crashing of plates and cutlery
and the terror in my mother's quivering voice... the alcohol-fuelled words he
called her. I could tell she was scared... but trying to stay strong. I knew
getting involved was not a though I had to think twice about... and mum wouldn't
approve. I wanted to run…run as far as I could to escape from his cruelty, but
I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave mum or Latoya or Jackson. So instead I remained.
That night
I sat and tried to focus on what Mrs Gruwell would have done... restraining my
urge to stop the pain and suffering of my mum, Mrs Gruwell would have
encouraged me to leave… be in a safer environment… secure from all the
aggression that my siblings and I have had suffered. But what's logical is not
always possible... I simply didn't have the strength and family was my
responsibility. I couldn’t leave mother to defend for herself… she needed me…
she needed my help. I knew I shouldn’t just hide and pretend nothing was
happening in the room beside but I didn't know what I could do.
Hiding in
my room was like Anne Frank hiding from the Nazi soldiers. We were much the
same age, Anne and I, both similar in so many ways, we'd seen to much horror
and despair in our lives. Anne had died but I had a choice despite the fact
that the one person who had raised me had died after being abused by a ghastly
man . I am going to do what Mrs Gruwell had suggested. Start school… get an
education… a life. Bring my siblings up the way mum would have wanted. Miep Gies rescued Anne and Mrs Gruwell is
rescuing me. I am so thankful for all that Mrs Gruwell has done for me… she
listens… understands. She has given me the power to be free.
No comments:
Post a Comment