Memoir

Book Excerpt:

I remember January 15th 2010 like a bad dream. I remember the sinking feeling when I heard 4 month old Raja, an egyptian mau/ orange tabby mix, making the most savage of snarls as I applied bronze eyeshadow in my dated bathroom mirror. I remember Kenneth racing into my bathroom from the living room, eyes wide, Raja attached to his right arm with her teeth and claws. My mouth dropped at the same speed as my eyeshadow to the pink and green hexagon tiles. Shattering the eyeshadow ironically named “paper tiger” which in the next few moments is precisely what I would be.  Raja was flung carelessly from Kenneth’s arm back against the bedroom wall. He was panicked, I grabbed a towel and moistened it, applying it to his arm. I reassured Kenneth that his arm would be just fine, he just needed to relax. His rugby polo had blood on it, I told him to change his shirt and he would be just fine. He told me he was NOT okay, I casually suggested he breathe take a moment to catch his breath and recollect, I would grab him a glass of water. As I walked back into the room I saw to my dismay he had not put on another shirt but was inside of his lockbox, catching the click of him loading his .45

 

“What are you doing?” I asked alarmed.

“I need to go” Kenneth retorted.

“No, you don’t…calm down, drink this water I got for you” I gasped, stifling my fear and apprehension of what I had just witnessed.

 

He walks out into the kitchen as I am trying to reason with him. I am terrified he is going to hop into that tank of a truck and go on a killing spree, I’m terrified of what could possibly happen if he walks out the door.

Kenneth’s eyes are vacant and far away. I know he is not coherent, my voice is shaky but calm as I give what’s left of my logic in front of the refrigerator. “

“Kenneth, you are okay, everything is fine, please, please, PLEASE calm down, you are safe here.”

He smugly cracks a devious half crescent of a smile.

“I killed your cat” he states smugly.

“What?! – no?!  Not on purpose” I reply despondently.

“I killed Raja!” he laughed

I was overcome with chills, my heart rate became rapid and that sinking feeling that was my intuition had become a knot in my gut and a lump in my throat.

“Why? – What?!” I gasped, “Why would you do that?” I stammered.

“Its just an animal”

“I love her, how could you? Why? I can’t do this, I can’t be with someone like that”

“You can’t be with me?! You won’t marry me then?!”

“Shh!! Kenneth calm down, be quiet. You are acting really weird.”

“You can’t be with me?”

“No I can’t.” I sighed regretfully

“I can’t live without you!” he pleaded

He then reached into the pan and started eating the meat and grabbed the glass of water out of my hand. Chugged the water and began breathing heavily

“I feel fine, I feel good now!”

He lunged for the door I maneuvered my way in between him and the door. His hands and mine overlapped as he fumbled for the knob as I locked the deadbolt.

Then my mind was blank, he reached in his left pocket of his jeans(he was a lefty) and I stammered “NO! NO! nononono! as I made a grab for the pistol. The next thing I remember was  shots ringing in the tiny kitchen. I remember thinking instinctively, “I hope one of the bullets doesn’t ricochet and hit me.” I saw the window on the kitchen door shatter as I crouched and covered my ears. Kenneth’s eyes widened and I saw his consciousness come back into focus during that split second. I was so afraid he was going to drive off and hurt someone or go on a shooting spree. Then he left, just like that, booked it out the door past his truck and up J street. I heard more shots fired up the street and heard him yelling something about “mama I’m coming home I’m coming home”

I almost went out the kitchen door, but thought better of it thinking he would return and come back in through the kitchen. I went into the living room to grab my purse, because woman always needs her purse. As I extended my right arm to scoop up the purse I was appalled to see a gaping hole in my forearm. “Oh fuck!” I thought, “he got me after all” I saw the trail of blood from the kitchen to the couch and grabbed my hoodie and awkwardly tried to tourniquet my wound. I hopped over my tiger throw rug so as not to get any blood on it and opened my front door, I stood cautiously in the foyer while I opened my mouth to scream for help. As the first vowel spilled out so did blood, teeth, tissue and various bodily [things?] I stumbled over to the other side of the Duplex to see if Pete was home, I was shrieking help as loud as I could. I was no longer thinking about Kenneth, Raja, or anyone else’s well being. Even though I’d heard Pete while putting on makeup in the bathroom he did not answer the door. I was shocked, I couldn’t understand why. I ran across the street to Kris’ house but her car was not there and the house was dark and vacant when I had gotten to the porch. I zigzagged down Mark and Erin’s house on the corner, I fell to my knees for a moment and looked at my kitchen, the light on blazing, my arm feeling like it was incinerating, my body like a furnace despite the chilly January night. Something was so eery about the light shining through the broken window in the kitchen. Thoughts flooded with my blood out onto the street. I thought to myself, “my house-no that’s not my house anymore, not my life anymore, everything changes, how long? Maybe 6 months” my fragments were interrupted “Oh God those recordings with the band I can’t leave that as a legacy!”

“Oh No not again, I can’t die again! I don’t want to have to do this next time! Next time?” my ego chimed in “I can’t keep running up and down the street alone, I can’t keep living like this” the X chromosome in me that is my mother pictured myself curled up on the kitchen floor bleeding to death alone, giving up, surrendering, closing my eyes forever, but my soul would not allow it, it shoved away the fear and I decided to go forth in my quest for help from my fellows. I stumbled and panted up the stairs to Mark and Erin’s kitchen door. I rapped on the door while yelling and a bleary eyed Mark answered the door as his mouth dropped, “What do I do!? What do I do?!” he stammered bewildered at the probably disturbing wake up call that was my face. I fatigued and impatient demanded an ambulance, then a chair, and a glass of water to drink as I collapsed into the chair. I attempted to chug the water but my tongue would not allow me to swallow, I remember the plumes of alizarin crimson polluting the water in the pint glass. I ordered myself to breathe as I extended my arm over my head to quell the river of blood that was pooling at my feet, I tilted my head back as I dumped the liquid over myself starting to close my eyes but quickly realized I would never open them again if I gave into the warm tingling repose of the dark. As I focused on breathing, keeping my eyes opened and maintaining my consciousness I noticed a crowd had gathered around me of 10-15 spectators. Hearing the murmur of the crowd “Who is she?”, “What’s she on?”

I shouted out, “I’m a singer! I sing! I sing blues!”

“Why are you just standing there?! Why won’t you help me!” I belted.  I ripped off my shirt and was feeling a surge of heat and I felt breathing becoming more and more difficult. Where was the help? Why was it taking so long? I begged for someone to please hold my hand, please. A maternal woman came forward named Melanie and gripped my hand, I was overcome with a feeling of relief and connection to finally be touched, consoled, reassured that help was on its way. I touched my face and felt where my upper lip had been shredded all the way to my cheek, “My lip! it used to be so pretty” the self conscious little girl whimpered. “Don’t worry,” soothed Melanie “the doctors will fix that.” Out of all those nosy bystanders only one had the guile to reach out and bear some of my burden with me. I later would meet her daughter at the Creperie. Finally an officer came down to question me and record my victim’s statement.

“Really?” I couldn’t believe I had to give a statement before I received medical attention, or the fact that medical attention wasn’t even there yet and I was only 4 blocks from the fire department. As I spurted out blood and struggled to communicate the officer kept asking “could you repeat that ma’am? I can’t understand you.”

Frustrated with how ridiculous and surreal the situation was and to have the officer state the obvious. I reached in my mouth to try and pull out the bullet lodged where my right 3rd molar had been so as to make it easier to speak. The officer said “Ugh, I wouldn’t do that miss.” My finger touched my tongue, there was what was obstructing my speech, my tongue was severed in half.

Unfortunately this would be the theme for the rest of this impossibly long night. Competency was not going to be upheld by the police force nor the medical system. I had to finish my statement painfully before I was permitted to be treated by the paramedics. My annoyance was building, though i’d been walking around and moving with ease the paramedics insisted I be strapped into the gurney to be lifted into the ambulance which pushed my pain over the edge, my adrenaline was wearing off and the paramedics were refusing my demands for morphine, stating that they need a toxicologist to run my blood samples to make sure I was not on any substances that would cause a contraindication. At this I balked, how dare they accuse me, make the assumption that I was under the influence.

“If I was on any substances I would be DEAD RIght NOW!” I shrieked.

“I am O positive, a universal TAKER of blood, and if I die of shock before your toxicologist shows up to do his job it will be on your conscious that you denied a sober dying girl blood transfusions.”

The nurses dumbstruck decided to wheel me off to the radiology lab, denying my request and further pushing my pain into the abyss. The radiologist was more insensitive than the doctors and nurses. Seeing the gaping hole in my arm he grabbed my index and middle finger and with the other hand my forefinger and pinky and pulled them apart asking

“Does this hurt?”

I howled and kicked, the pain was excruciating. I was sobbing now the pain was killing me literally.

The radiologist had two nurses restrain me and hold me down while I screamed. One of the nurses had the audacity to exclaim,

“EWW! You’re spitting blood everywhere.”

At this I thrashed and was free of their grasp.

At last the toxicology report had come back clear and I was finally permitted to have a morphine drip.

This perked me up considerably and I felt better able to manage the pain as well as manage the lack of accountability of the staff around me. I was getting really sick of having to repeat myself and luckily my Aunts Salena and WIlathi along with my grandfather had showed up. It felt good to have them grasp my hand and give me love and encouragement. Up until now I’d felt it was me against the world. My grandfather, whom I adore, even made me laugh. telling me,

“Well you won’t be pretty anymore but you’ll always be pretty to me.”

With this I was not amused, I gave him the finger and smugly said,

“That is the last thing I want to here right now, fuck off”

“I love you dear, I’m no good in these types of situations, I’m glad to see you’ve still got your spunk, you’re gonna be just fine.” he replied

My aunts were busy micromanaging the staff. I was to be airlifted to either UC Davis in Sacramento or San Francisco.

The night was foggy and now at 2 am we were waiting for the aircraft to be prepped and ready. Then I had to choose between my aunt WIlathi and my aunt Salena because they both couldn’t go. It felt like Rosemary’s choice, both of them being so important and caring for me. I chose WIlathi.

At this point I was in such a ridiculous amount of pain I was delirious and drifting in and out of consciousness.

Of course right before I’m to be wheeled into the ambulance to be taken to the airport an officer with a camera shows up and snaps a few pictures then asks me,

“Are you pregnant?”

“No, WHAT?!”

“Well we got him and he eluded that you were pregnant -  ma’am we’re going to have to ask you to take a pregnancy test.”

“SIr I don’t think its really necessary to have my niece pee on a stick right now as she’s obviously lost alot of fluids as it is.” my aunt WIlathi interjected

With that I was on my way, one of the more irritating nurses looked and me at me in awe and said,

“You are so strong!”

I wanted to tell her how I hadn’t realized until tonight how much incompetency infuriated me and her insubordination along with everyone else’s could not be excused by complimenting me, though my jaw was so swollen I could hardly do more than breathe and keep my eyes open so I wouldn’t slip through the cracks of this plane I so desperately felt the need to remain in.

En route I tried to keep my brain busy, I thought of my poor kitty Raja, I quickly changed the subject. I thought of the dirty dishes in the sink, I thought about the steak fajitas still in the pan on top of the stove. I cringed at the idea of all the people going through my house, imagined them ripping everything apart. I thought about the kitchen door being left ajar, oh wait the window was shattered anyways. As I rattled through my mental to-do list gone horribly wrong I was rudely interrupted by the airbulance paramedic absent-mindedly bumping into my arm, sending shock waves of pain radiating throughout my body, my nausea was reaching a fever pitch and it took all the strength I could muster to not vomit. My aunt WIlathi saw me glaring at the paramedic when the paramedic murmured to herself,

“Oh my God it feels like I’m doing this job for the first time, I keep forgetting what I’m doing.”

“You do realize she is conscious and is listening to every word your saying, DO YOUR JOB!”

I had never been so grateful to have Wilathi in my life up until that moment.

I felt the agonizing pain of the pressure of the cabin pressing down on my body as we descended to land in Sacramento at 4:38 am PDT. As they hoisted the gurney into yet another ambulance I was getting really sick of all the jostling that was happening to my body, I tried to say something about it but it came out so garbled I wish I hadn’t wasted the effort.

Of course these paramedics HAD to inquire what had happened to me. Oy I thought to myself would this night never end? I didn’t even now how I’d made it this long without a blood transfusion.

When we arrived at UC Davis emergency the paramedics asked if I wouldn’t mind medical students in the ER. I summoned up the last bit of strength to convey that no way in hell did I want students holding my life in their hands. WIlathi tried in vain to to uphold this request.

As I entered the ER there were 15-20 people in scrubs asking everything from “Are you okay?” to “What happened?” I was the case study of their medical careers and despite my request every medical student in the hospital seemed to want a piece of the action.

To my chagrin UC Davis had not received my x-rays so they needed to be redone. Luckily when one of them asked “What time did this happen?” my aunt Wilathi told them the first 911 call had been at 10:17pm. I looked at the clock and it was almost a quarter after 5 am. I was rolled over onto my side and a sound escaped my mouth froze everyone in the room, my aunt WIlathi grabbed the doctors who were holding my down on my side and ripped them off of me screaming, “STOP!!YOU’RE KILLING HER!”

With that she was hauled to the back of the room and I saw a blood bag being hooked up to my IV. I knew I could close my eyes now. I’d done all I could to stay alive and I was just to exhausted to care anymore if I woke up again.

5 thoughts on “Memoir

  1. Jacqueline R. Sorgen, M.A.

    Courtney:

    AND — I thought that my EX was the Bastard from Hell.

    If you ever need to talk, Wendy from TBA has my number.

    I am so sorry that you lost Raja, in all this mess.

    Take care.

    Remember that YOU are loved.

    Reply

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Photos

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One thought on “Performances

  1. Zakaria Albanna

    I googled my friend who’s name is courtney weaver and stumbled upon you. I play percussion for a local reggae band, if you ever roll through San Diego I would love to jam with you. I also play drums and a bit of banjo among other various instruments. I think your story is amazing and i’d like to be a part of it.

    Reply

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The press coverage

Press

Under Construction…Check back soon for updates!

(Copy and Paste the links below into your browser for the meantime while I figure out this code writing thing.)

http://www.king5.com/home/Domestic-violence-bill-one-step-from-becoming-law-249080481.html

http://blogs.seattletimes.com/politicsnorthwest/2014/03/06/final-approval-given-for-bill-that-would-take-guns-from-domestic-abusers/?fb_action_ids=10152280848048545&fb_action_types=og.recommends&fb_source=other_multiline&action_object_map=%5B1399975510266917%5D&action_type_map=%5B%22og.recommends%22%5D&action_ref_map=%5B%5D

http://www.parentmap.com/article/normal-from-the-outside-a-familys-story-of-guns-and-domestic-violence

http://kbcs.fm/2013/10/14/last-weeks-series-domestic-violence-survivorsthrivers-share-their-story/

http://kbcs.fm/programs/music-ideas/?pager=1

http://canyourelate.org/2013/07/09/the-hidden-cost-of-surviving-gun-violence/

http://strongattheheart.com/blog/stop-the-violence-campaign/

http://www.northcoastjournal.com/humboldt/at-last/Content?oid=2131660

http://www.northcoastjournal.com/humboldt/haf-time-show/Content?oid=2131019

http://khum.com/2010/nov/1/stop-the-violence-2010/

http://www.northcoastjournal.com/humboldt/living-the-blues/Content?oid=2130611

http://q13fox.com/2013/03/25/bill-would-allow-guns-to-be-taken-from-owners-judged-a-threat-to-spouse-partner/#axzz2hM3SrNV7

http://www.times-standard.com/ci_14220864

http://www.radioradiohumboldt.com/2010/01/courtney-weaver-blues-jam-benefit-1-19.html

http://www.times-standard.com/ci_14662054

http://www.times-standard.com/ci_14269424

http://www.king5.com/news/local/Gunshot-victim-against-doctors-reporting-to-police-190300931.html

http://www.times-standard.com/ci_16498566

http://www.willitsnews.com/news/ci_16530708

http://www.times-standard.com/localnews/ci_14653726?source=rss

http://www.northcoastjournal.com/humboldt/please-please-please/Content?oid=2129601

http://www.northcoastjournal.com/humboldt/stash-your-gun/Content?oid=2130679

One thought on “Press

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Biography

http://www.courtneyweavervoice.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/courtney-gospel-take-3.mp3Courtney’s storyWeaver12

 

Born on the after-beat in Seattle, submerged in music since her inception. Courtney’s roots are in jazz, blues, and soul lined with vague memories of dreams asleep on the floor backstage as a child at her parents gigs. She began gigging professionally when she was 14, doing jazz and soul standards at weddings, bar mitzvahs, and vocal Showcases at Tula’s. Over the past several years she began to hone and expand her repertoire to incorporating blues and R + B elements. From 2003-2006 she was deeply immersed in her study of all aspects of Jazz while attending Cornish College of the Arts.

 

In June of 2006 she left Cornish and Seattle behind and moved to Arcata, CA cultivating her art and building her chops in the local music scene, and was a featured artist at the legendary Blues Jam at the Jambalaya.

 

At 20 years old she began to explore herself s a vocalist and she honed her craft singing in various groups including a five female vocal revue, the Luscious Ladies, with Melody Walker. She also was a vocalist An 80‘s cover band, Eyes Anonymous, that did the casino circuit performing as her alter-ego Roxy Chartreuse. She found her niche in winter 2008 in Saint John and the Sinners, a blues/rock cover band in which she flourished covering Etta James, Muddy Waters, Ann Cole, Willie Dixon, and Aretha Franklin. In the year of 2009 Courtney Weaver had had over 95 musical performances in Northern California and had established herself as the resident blues belter at local blues festivals. .

 

Just as her career was beginning to take off she was derailed when she was shot in the face and arm by her abusive boyfriend on January 15th 2010 in Arcata, CA. After moving back to her hometown of Seattle in January 2011 and 13 reconstructive surgeries later she is finally healed and has successfully rehabilitated her voice as of Summer 2013. Courtney Weaver is back and better than ever before with the release of her first single, “Shot In The Dark” from her 4 song EP recorded with her father Shawn Weaver. She is currently on the hunt for a piano player to collaborate with. In the meantime she desperately misses performing at club venues and placates herself by speaking out as a survivor of domestic violence and gun violence. Stay tuned!

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2 thoughts on “Biography

  1. Jacqueline R. Sorgen, M.A.

    I am so glad to have personally met you, yesterday.

    ALL of US — NEED to stand together in order: TO: STOP DOMESTIC VIOLENCE!!

    BRAVA!!

    Reply

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