I’ve Lived My Whole Life Without Ever Hearing Music

I tell her about the ideology and how my parents believe music destroys brains. I tell her about the hammer in my phone two years ago.

I tell her about Mom dragging me by my hair from the church. I tell her about the locks on my door and being homeschooled to keep me isolated.

I tell her about the basement incident with the MP3 player and everything that happened after. I tell her about the safety plan and how they followed the rules but made everything worse.

I tell her about the planned move and how I knew it was my last chance to get out. Aisha writes it all down and records it all, and when I finish she tells me I’m safe now.

She says my parents can’t take me back and I’ll stay at the shelter while they figure out next steps. I want to believe her, but part of me is still waiting for my parents to somehow show up and drag me back.

Three days later Hattie drives me to the courthouse for an emergency hearing. I sit in a waiting room with plastic chairs while she goes over what will happen.

A judge reviews Aisha’s report and the police documentation and the photos she took of my room and the locks. The hearing takes less than an hour, but it feels like forever sitting there picking at my cuticles and watching people walk past in suits.

When Hattie comes out she tells me the judge granted a temporary protective order. This means my parents can only contact me through supervised visits arranged by CPS.

She sits down next to me and explains.

“This is just the beginning of a process with more hearings to come, but at least you have legal protection now.”

I nod and try to feel relieved, but mostly I just feel tired. The next week Hattie helps me enroll in the local public high school, and I’m terrified of being so far behind after years of homeschooling.

We meet with a counselor named Miss Herma, who has kind eyes and doesn’t ask too many questions about why I’m coming from a shelter. She sets up a plan for catching up with extra tutoring in math and science and says I can start classes the following Monday.

Hattie also arranges for me to see a therapist twice a week at a clinic near the shelter. The therapist specializes in trauma and control-based abuse according to the intake paperwork I fill out.

Her office has soft chairs and plants on the windowsill and she tells me we’ll work on coping strategies at my own pace. A few days after that I check the email account Hattie set up for me with supervision filters, and there’s a message from Andre.

Reading it makes my chest feel tight in a good way because it’s from someone who knows what I went through. He says his family was worried about me after that night and they’re glad I’m safe now.

He tells me about school and how his band is practicing for a spring concert and asks if I’m doing okay. Knowing I had allies even when everything was falling apart makes me feel less alone than I have in months.

I write back a short message thanking him and telling him I’m at a shelter and starting school soon. Aisha comes by the shelter to give me updates about my brothers and I sit in the common room while she goes through her notes.

She did welfare checks at the house and at their schools. Micah has been referred for therapy for his anxiety and his teacher says he seems less jumpy in class.

Miles is resistant to outside help and gets defensive when his counselor tries to talk to him, but his teachers note he’s engaging more at the school without the constant reinforcement of my parents’ ideology at home. Hearing about Micah getting help makes me feel a little better about leaving, but I still worry about both of them stuck in that house.

Aisha tells me my parents are required to attend counseling as part of keeping custody of my brothers. The therapist report notes that Mom shows signs of severe anxiety disorder and Dad exhibits rigid thinking patterns.

They’re attending the sessions, but the therapist notes limited insight so far, which means they’re showing up but not really changing. I ask if they’re still playing music next door and Aisha says the neighbors haven’t reported any more confrontations.

Three weeks after the emergency hearing there’s a full court hearing where I have to testify about what happened. Hattie comes with me and we sit outside the courtroom until they call me in.

Walking up to the witness stand makes my legs shake and my voice comes out quiet when I answer questions. The lawyer asks me about the ideology and the isolation and the basement incident and the planned move.