Nov 2023. Blues Vol 39 No. 11

with him.
Didn’t matter, they were both
out the next day and within
hours fighting again. They moved
to a dozen different apartment
complexes over the past twenty-four
months, as apartment
managers grew tired of the police
kicking in doors to stop their
fights.
On two different occasions, I
actually helped her move out.
I rented her a van, helped her
move what little stuff she had
while Marcus was at work. I
enrolled her in a drug rehab and
signed her up to get help from
the women’s shelter. The first
time she stayed away a couple
of months. Then “she missed
her man” and low and behold
one Friday night I’m back at yet
another apartment complex and
he’s beaten the crap out of her…
again. He goes to jail, she cries,
yada yada.
The second moveout was different,
or so I thought. I checked
her into a new Drug Treatment
Center that had opened in downtown,
and it was locked down
tight. Check-in and you don’t get
out until you’re clean and ready
to move on with your life. Angelia
stayed inside for six months
and according to her counselor,
she was really doing well. She
had met a really nice guy inside
and was ready to start a new
life. BUT. She got released and
he didn’t. I heard she kept visiting
him while staying at a nearby
women’s shelter.
Eight months had passed, and
I was proud that I had taken a
meth head and got her rehabilitated
and stopped a string of
violence between her and Marcus
that would have eventually
ended in tragedy. At least in my
mind anyway. Then early one
Wednesday night, I got a disturbance
call at the Bridgestone
Apartments, Apt. 203. Imagine
the look on my face when I
walked in an open door and saw
Angelia sitting on a couch with
a bloody nose. Are you fucking
kidding me?
What the hell are you even
doing up here Angelia? “I broke
up with Steven (the rehab boyfriend)
and I missed Marcus.”
Holy shit are you kidding me
with this crap. And are you high?
NO, I just took a bump with Marcus!
I’m not HIGH! And where the
hell is Marcus?
“He’s at his brothers around
the corner. He didn’t want to get
popped, he’s on probation you
know.” She says in a slurred,
barely audible drunken voice.
Naw, I didn’t know. Are you
going to file on him this time and
actually GO TO COURT.
“Yes, yes, I will. I’m tired of his
shit.”
So, I drive around the corner
and there in the courtyard of yet
another dirtball complex, was
The BLUES 101
The BLUES 101