My name is Ruth.  This is my story, though it could be Angelita's story ...or your story.  I am enrolled at Oakland Community College in Union Lake.   I live in one of the apartments next to campus.   I only recall one act of violence ever happening here before I enrolled in the college.  I'm not sure who it all involved ...I just know my friend Stephen was the victim, and I'll never forget the day he died.

I am not a stranger to violence ...though there is not often anything much stranger.  I could never understand the depths of anger.  I grew up in a house where dad constantly beat Mom and me.  My dad is no longer alive. He was involved in something most of us don't really think much about ...organized crime.  That's all I know. And to be honest, I never wanted to know more.  I just know that some of it wasn't organized.  My dad had a bad temper, and he seemed not to be able to help himself.   So Mom and me ...well, we were beaten often.

I believe it was meant by God for me to live next door to Angelita.  I'll start with the first day I met Angelita.  There is laundry room which the apartment building provides.   That's where I will begin the story.

As I enter the laundry room, I see this young girl.   She looks about, maybe thirteen ...max.  She is doing laundry while taking care of her baby brother.   The baby begins to cry.   She seems to be having difficulty, both getting her laundry together and comforting the baby at the same time.

"May I help you?" I ask the busy young girl.  "I'm okay", she replies timidly.  "I insist", not waiting for an answer, and picking up her huge laundry basket, "My name is Ruth,"  The baby now quieting down, she smiles reluctantly, "My name is Angelita ...and oh, thank you."   When I get to her door, a man appearing to be a displeased father, quickly grabs the laundry basket from me and places it just inside the door.   While still blocking the door, he quickly ushers Angelita and the baby inside. He reaches inside his pocket, handing me a five dollar bill, "This is for carrying the basket up."   Attempting a slight smile, I reply, "No, that's okay ...it's my pleasure to help." His mannerisms remind me of how my dad used to be, so when he says, "I insist!", I take the money.  But I barely have enough time to say, "Thank you", before he closes the door.

That night I have a difficult time falling asleep ...and when I do, I dream about my dad; and I dream about Angelita's dad, and how much he reminds me of how my dad used to be.  I want to talk with Angelita again, but I don't really want to see her dad again.  I resolve to be patient.   I'll wait for another chance to meet her in the laundry room.

The problem with my plan becomes evident.   After two weeks of laundry piling up, I have somehow not been able to catch a time when Angelita is doing laundry, even though I go out of my way to walk past there every chance I get.

I am thankful I've been able to sleep good this past week, but now the dream returns; or should I say ...nightmare.   It is 4:00 a.m., I haven't slept much, and I'm so tired ...but I'm thirsty too, so I get up to get a drink of water. Was that a door I heard shut?  It sounded like the hallway.  I quietly open my door, and peer down the hallway ...to see Angelita carrying that huge laundry basket.   Quickly, I get my laundry.  At least, I will get a chance to talk with Angelita.  I'm most certain we can talk alone ...since it's doubtful anyone else is up at this hour. At least, I hope her dad isn't.

Angelita appears surprised to see me.  She appears scared ...but then she smiles, "Hi, Ruth!"  I am rather hesitant also, "Hi, Angelita ...how are you?"  She doesn't answer, but I am beyond my hesitance, "How is your baby brother?"  Angelita seems to frown a bit.  I hope everything is all right ...that I haven't said something untimely.  Then Angelita's soft dark eyes look into mine, as if searching for understanding and love, "That's not my brother ...it's my son."

I am really taken aback from all this!  "You look quite young ...may I ask?" Angelita's smile softens, as her forehead furrows up ever so slightly, as if she's embarrassed to say, "I'm ten."  It just slips out, "You're ten what?"   "Ten years old."  It is the answer I hear ...and which I fear.  Angelita seems desperate, as if she wants me to understand, for anyone to understand, "It all happened when Mom went to college.  She told me all about it a couple of years ago, just before I got married."

This is so insanely unbelievable to me, but I just listen to Angelita's soft sincerity, "Mom's best friend at college was friendly ...like you.   Mom was happy when her friend introduced her to some of her family.   They were friendly too.  And one of the men ...he was friendly, and rich. He bought Mom things, and it made her happy.   He told Mom she had to join his religion for them to be married. She told him she was okay with it.  She didn't mention it to him, but she told me that at the time she didn't know anyone who took their religion seriously anyway, so could see no harm in it.  Mom said it was the happiest day of her life when I was born.  And things were good for a while, but things began to get strange after that.  Mom thought he had a lot of money, but he began to owe money after that.  Mom said it was the religious law that he pay ...and I was part of that payment, when I turned eight years old."

I want to ask what kind of insanity is that ...but I am too stunned, and I just listen.   Angelita has a tear come to her eye, but she wipes it away, perhaps not wanting me to care too much ...being too dangerous, to risk having me insist on getting involved.   I know how it is ...as I was afraid of my dad.   But this isn't her dad, like I had previously assumed.   This is too crazy ...she had said the man I'd seen was her husband.  And I could tell that she fears him. Those brief seconds I was in his presence, I feared him!

Angelita attempts to be convincing, "But it is better not to fight the law ...trying does no good, only bad."  I have to say something to her, "Angelita, what could be worse than this?  I've never heard of a religion like this!  Who taught you this?"  Angelita desperately tries to help me understand, "I can't tell you. It is forbidden, not to talk good of the religion ... to talk bad of it.  And since I've already told you bad, I can't say what it is."

I have to know more, so I ask, "Does your mom believe in this?   Do you still see your mom?"   Angelita wipes away another tear, "No, she's gone.  They say it was a thing of honor."   She wipes both eyes, while still trying to hide her full emotions, "But to answer your question, no, Mom did not believe in it.  None of us believe in it ...I mean, none of us women do.   How could we?"   Angelita smiles through her tears, "But it doesn't really matter what us women believe.   There is a book containing a lot of hard to believe stuff.   But the men follow it, and the one they follow lived over 15 centuries ago; which I don't see as a problem.  It is only what they say he was like, that is troublesome.   They say when he was over 50 year old, he married a six year old girl named Aisha.   Mom said it doesn't matter whether that is true or not ...it is what the men believe, and that is what they follow.   Us women don't know if that is true, but it is true that they follow it, and that is all that matters."

I can't handle all this!   I must tell her, "I know you say you can't tell who this is ...that they follow, but I can tell you who I follow.   The One I follow walked this earth as a man more centuries ago than what you mentioned, but this man is in every way different from the one you describe.   I can think of no way they are alike.   I am speaking of Jesus."

Angelita smiles, "Mom told me about Jesus.   She said many women who are in torment, cry out to God ...and they feel a sense of peace at that time.   They know the One they cry out to is not the one they have been taught about ...because they know that truly God does not approve of all the things we go through ...the real God gives us peace inside our heart ...even if peace isn't all around us.   So many don't know the Name, but they can feel Jesus ...and those who hear the Name, are often not hearing what is true; but when they hear what is true, they accept Jesus.   They just can't let it be known that they know the truth."

Angelita does appear to have inner peace, but I am sure she has inner turmoil as well.   Angelita smiles, "I enjoy talking with you, Ruth.   I enjoy talking with someone who knows Jesus."   I am thinking about what to say next, but I am so overwhelmed, the words just don't come.   I still find it unbelievable!   I can't imagine what Agelita must be going through ...and only ten years old!   This is a terrible crime!   Yet, the way she stands before me ...the way she talks and reasons, she appears way beyond her age in intellectual maturity.   More so than most adults I know.  Angelita's laundry is done.   She stacks her dry clothes in her huge basket and begins to carry it to the door, but she puts it down on a table.   She reaches for the phone that is mounted on the wall near the door.   She puts it up to her ear for only a second, then rests the phone back in its cradle.  She turns back to me and smiles, "I want my son to know Jesus too ...I don't want him to grow up to be like his dad."

I finish my laundry, and busy myself doing little chores around my apartment until it is time for my first class at the college.   Being in class doesn't change much though. It seems I can't concentrate on anything other than what has been on my mind.

When I'm through with my last class, I feel like taking a ride. It is a warm sunny day. I decide to bicycle to the cemetery.  It is a ways, but I want to visit Stephen.  Knowing he is in Heaven, I find peace, not only in knowing that, but in the peaceful surroundings where his body was put to rest.

I stay there a long time.   I take in the beautiful sunset.   Then I let the cool evening breeze refresh me as I bicycle back to my apartment.