For the better part of my adult life I have been an amateur survivor. A survivor so tangled in webs of domestic violence that even I couldn't see the turmoil my ex-other half was causing. I accepted his accusations of my poor excuses for being alive as a gospel of sorts. I believed I was stupid, ugly, fat, incompetent, and most of all, I believed that I was powerless. 

It would take me years to realize that Howie was doing nothing more than Farting Rainbows.

Through out this book you will find true stories with only names changed to protect the innocent from revenge. The dialogue is as true as I can remember, and speaks of each individual's personality. The book is full of truths, painful truths of domestic violence, but still truths. So, please join me in Farting Rainbows!

*This is my first draft, so feel free to comment away on things you would change!*

“You bitch!” Amanda yelled across the courtyard as she quickly closed the distance between us.

Leaning over I retrieved my children’s baseball bat as I continued the conversation that I was having on my brand new cordless phone. “What?”

Trish was laughing, “Was that Amanda yelling at you?”

“Yeah, what’s new?” I laughed because my former best friend was so angry that I was still breathing. The laughter ended too soon though, when I realized that Amanda was standing between me and my apartment where my three young children were napping, her face was red with anger.

“I’m telling you right now, I’m going to court with your husband, you’re going to lose your husband, your kids, you’re going to lose everything,” Amanda screamed at me.

Pulling the phone from my ear I looked her in the chest, because I was too short to see much else. “Amanda,” I said, “you do what you have to, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose my children because you two are both psychos!”

“Watch out, baby, Mama’s gonna swing,” she replied as she shoved her nine year old son out of the way.

I saw it, I heard it, I even felt it when I leapt into the air and punched her in the back of the head with my fist curled around the cordless phone. Amanda fell to her knees, but that did nothing for my anger, every fiber of my existence wanted to beat the hell out of her. Yet, my mama bear instincts kicked in and I knew I had to get to my children. I scurried through the throngs of people running to escape the chaos that I had created, and as I turned to close my front door I noticed the bustling courtyard was now void of everyone but Amanda, who was still trying to get up from the ground.

Slamming my front door shut I heard Trish, “Oh my God! I can’t believe you just did that, and right in front of my apartment! That was awesome, that is exactly what that heifer needed, a good ass whipping!”

“Trish, I have to go …” I quickly disconnected the call and tossed my weapon aside as I leaned on the baseball bat that I was still holding in my other hand. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t have that in my dominate hand!

As quickly as the thought traveled my mind I heard a knock at the front door. Slowly I peered through the window blinds with the sudden realization that Amanda has a concealed weapons permit, my heart knew that a gun would be on the opposite side of my door, but I could have never guessed it would be attached to a police officer’s belt.

Opening my door with my professional attitude I said, “Hi. Can I help you?”

The officer stepped back for a moment, as if he were checking to make sure he had the right apartment. “Are you Sande Graveline?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I think I need to come in, we need to talk about the events of the day.”

Stepping aside I allowed him entry into my home. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

“Okay. Amanda said that she was going to hit me, so I swung first. I know I was wrong, but I was scared.”

“Sande, I don’t get it, that woman is at least a foot taller than you and probably two and a half or three times your weight; why didn’t you run away?”

“You’re right, she's a big girl,” I said with a nervous giggle, “but no one gave me a map to get around her. She was in between me and my children, so I took a swing and ran like hell.”

“But,” the officer said, “she had her back to you, she wasn’t a danger at the time that you hit her.”

“That’s right, but I saw her ass and they say crack kills, so I felt threatened.”

“Ma’am, this is a serious matter. At this moment my partner is interviewing your neighbors, if any of them tell a story that slightly matches the story that she is telling you will be going to jail today. Your children will have no one to care for them. I suggest you stop cracking jokes and start taking this seriously.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, I’m going to go speak with my partner, I think you may want to start looking for care for your children, just in case we are arresting you.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, as I stifled more nervous giggles.

The officer turned to walk out the door, and I grabbed my address book from next to the phone base. Flopping onto the couch I leafed through it. I can’t call my parents, I’ll never hear the end of this. If I call my siblings they will tell my parents and I’ll be the talk of the family. I could call the children’s father, my soon to be ex-husband, but he would have a field day with this when we go to court. Ugh, what can I do?

As I continued to mindlessly leaf through the pages another knock came at the door. Slowly I opened it to find the officer standing there, his citation book in hand, a small part of me noted that his handcuffs were still attached to his duty belt.

“All of your neighbors say that they didn’t see what happened, so we are giving you a ticket for disorderly conduct. You can choose to fight the charge, or plead guilty, but you have to get this taken care of.”

“Yes, sir,” I exhaled relief as I watched him sign his book with a flourish.

“Sign here, please?” he said as he passed his book to me, “This just shows that you received the ticket, it is not an admission of guilt.”

I signed the document, maybe it wasn’t an admission of guilt, but I certainly was guilty, and I felt it.

“Sir,” I said as the officer turned to leave, “thank you, thank you for not taking me to jail!”

“Ma’am, don’t thank me, thank your neighbors. I don’t know why they don’t want to get involved, but they don’t.”

A few days later my name appeared in the newspaper, under the police blotter. Scooping up the telephone I called my parents house; what luck, my brother answered. “John, my name is in the paper. Before Mom and Dad see it, I need you to make page B-5 disappear.”

“Why?” he was laughing, of course he was laughing, I got caught.

“Because, I don’t want them to see that I was cited for disorderly conduct.”

“Okay,” he said, still giggling.

“Thank you so much! Oh, and I love you too!”

We terminated the call and I settled into making breakfast for the kids with a huge sigh of relief that my parents would never know what I had done. Not that it really mattered, after all, I was 25 years old, but their opinions meant the world to me, and I didn’t want to be the center of their disappointment.

###

Later that evening Mom and Dad’s number showed up on my caller ID. “Hi, Mom.”

“Why in the hell did I find the newspaper turned to page B-5 with your name circled today?”

Shit! That son of a bitch!

“Um, because someone really upset me and I lost control,” I said, my excitement lowering with each syllable spoken.

“You need to pull yourself together! You accuse Dom of being violent through out your marriage, and then you run around beating the hell out of others. Things just aren’t making sense.”

“First of all,” I said, regaining my confidence, “Dom did in fact throw punches and shove me the entire time we were together. Second, Amanda said that she was going to hit me, I felt threatened, so I took a swing. I was wrong, I admit that, and I am accepting the consequences for losing my temper.”

“Sande, there is one thing I have to tell you.”

“What’s that?” I asked, trying to regain my composure, again.

“Nothing ruins a woman’s day quicker than seeing her child’s name in the police blotter of the local newspaper.

“Mom, I’m sorry, there is really nothing more that I can say.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry too. I don’t know where I went wrong with you, but I apologize.”

“Hey, Mom, while you are guilt tripping me, I need a favor.”

I imagined Mom’s lips thinning as they always did when she was angry, “What?” she asked.

“Can you take me to the courthouse tomorrow so that I can plead guilty and set up payments?”

“Sande, are you telling me that you have a court date tomorrow and you have yet to find a ride?”

“No, court isn’t until next month, but I plan on moving out of state by then, so I need to plead guilty and set up payments so that I can put this mess behind me.”

“All right, I suppose, I can get you there. Wait, how can you make payment arrangements if you don’t have a job?”

“Actually, I start work Monday,” I expelled a loud and proud sigh.

“Oh really, where at?”

“Well, remember when you had me fill out an application for your store?”

“Yeah. Don’t tell me you got a job offer? You are going to ruin my reputation, you get a job, three weeks before you are moving out of state?”

“I know, Mom, but I need to do something to get us through these next few weeks, I can’t leave if I have no money to move.”

Mom seemed to hesitate, and then I heard her sniffle, “You are really going to move those babies away from their daddy? You are really going to break up the family that you created?”

“That Daddy is the one that liked to knock me around! Hell yes I’m going to break up the family, I’m going to work my ass off to keep my children safe from him and his head games!”

My head began to throb in pain and guilt as I heard Mom slam the receiver of the phone down. I hung up the phone as if it were on fire. Please, Mom, hold true to your word and get me to court tomorrow?

###

As promised, Mom came to the apartment complex to take me to the courthouse so that I could plead guilty. Shuffling out of the car and into the courthouse proved to be more work than I really wanted to put forth, but I was there now and had to take care of business.

Stepping to the bullet-proof glass I watched as the well dressed clerk took another bite of her sandwich and then slowly approached the other side of the window. “May I help you?” she asked through the metal grates in the window.

“Yes,” I slid my citation through the small slot. “I would like to make payment arrangements for this.”

“Oh, so you want to plead guilty?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, as I felt my shoulders droop with shame.

“You need to speak to the judge to do that. Take a seat and I will let him know that you are here.”

“Thank you,” I spoke over my shoulder as I turned to take a seat in one of the hard plastic chairs against the wall. That’s when I noticed the handcuffs dangling from each chair, in preparation for criminals to be fastened to the seats.

Oh my God, it’s true, I’m a freaking criminal now!

###

“Ms. Graveline?” Judge Michaels called to me.

I rose to approach the window where he stood, “Yes, that’s me.”

“I understand that you want to plead guilty so that you can make payment arrangements?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ms. Graveline, are you sure? You still have a few weeks before your court date and you have no legal representation.”

“I understand, Your Honor, but I will be moving out of state, so I just want to take care of this now.”

“You are 100% positive that you want to plead guilty?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Okay, sign here,” he said as he marked an x on the bottom of a page and slid the page through the slot. “This is an admission of guilt and will dismiss your court hearing scheduled for next month.”

I signed with a shaky hand and slid the form back to him.

“What can you afford to pay per week?” the judge questioned.

“About $20?” I said as I ran the number through my mind I realized that was an awful lot of money, but I had to get this taken care of.

“Twenty dollars a week? It’s going to take you a while to pay the entire $350, but as long as you promise to update us with your new address I will allow you to pay that amount.”

“Yes, sir, I will certainly let you know my address as soon as I get to Michigan.”

“Okay, it is so ordered.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said as I turned to leave.

“Um, Ms. Graveline?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You could have fought it, we deal with this family every week, there’s a good chance you wouldn’t have had to pay.”

Although my shoulders straightened with pride, I felt more defeated than I had in a long time. There’s $350 I could have put toward moving and instead I was paying to admit guilt in a situation that maybe I wasn’t so guilty of after all. Damn it!