THE CRYING STOPPED

The sun was shining, the birds were singing and Andrea was crying. So what else is new? I thought as I fixed breakfast.

Suddenly Andrea's crying turned to screaming and I winced .What are they doing to the child? I wondered as I turned up the radio.Andrea was nearly 5 and a lovely little girl. Her sad eyes often peeked out at me as I passed the apartment she shared with her mother and a man, Tom.  Andrea seldom went outside, and when she did she wore long dresses or pants. They covered bruises; it was common knowledge.   

One morning as we left for church, my husband and I walked right past apartment 12A, pretending not to hear Andrea's  screams, but Cissy and Jason refused to play the game."  

"Why is she crying so load?" Cissy asked.

"Sound like they're beating her to death," Jason said.               

"That's their business, son, "Mike told him.       

"We don't meddle in family matters"                   

 

“You heard your father,” I interrupted.” Let’s hurry or we'll be late."   

 I wanted to talk to Mike about Andréa, but I knew exactly what he would say. What he told Jason summed up his philosophy and what had somewhat become mine as well

“Can’t we call someone?" I had asked him one time before when Andrea's crying was louder than usual. "Shouldn't we report it?"                                             

"To whom? , Mike asked.
" I don't know," I admitted. “The police? I'm sure they're beating her or at least Tom is."   "Okay,so the police come out ."Mike said.                        

"Suppose Andrea's not crying then? Child abuse has to be proved, you know. Besides, that Tom's a mean one,and he gets a lot meaner when he's had few beers.  The cops will ask a million questions. And what have we actually seen? Have you ever seen either of them hit Andrea?"             

"Well,no," I replied, " but listen to her."
"Let somebody else report it to somebody who's got time to spent in court."   I frowned.” Court?"                

"If you file a complaint, you’ll have to appear in court to testify," Mike said, “and you'd better have your story straight when those lawyers start hammering away at you."    

The thought of appearing in court and testifying against a neighbor made me weak. l just couldn't. Who was l to accuse anyway? Doesn’t the Bible teach that it's wrong to judge? Besides, others have lived in the building longer than we have. Let them call. 
"Beautiful day, huh?" Mike said interrupting my thoughts as we drove from home to church.
"Perfect for a picnic." Mike pulled up in front of the building, and the kids scrambled out, racing each other up the walk. Even before I left the car l heard Andrea's screams,louder than before. 

Why    isn't somebody doing something’ll demand silently.   

"I'll get the picnic basket," Mike said.               

"Honey. . . "

"Stay out of it, Nancy," he instructed.                                 
"Something must be wrong with Andrea,"Jason said as l entered the apartment.
"Maybe she needs a doctor," Cissy suggested.                 

"I'll go see,"Jason said, heading for the door.   

"Come back, Jason."     

"But Mom. . . "

"lf Andrea's sick her mother will take care  of her ,"  I said.                 
" I could get Susan,"Cissy said.           

Susan Greer was a registered nurse who lived upstairs. Her blue VW was parked in front.  "Susan can hear Andrea crying.” I answered. 

"You'd better get ready if you want a pinic."                                         

Cissy ran to her bedroom, but Jason lingered.         

"We should do something.”he muttered.   

Soon we were on our way. We found a grassy spot under a tree at the small park just two blocks from home. Frisbees sailed through the air, pursued by lanky teenagers.lt was fun watching them, especially when dog joined in to catch the brightly colored disk in his mouth.         

"Wow! Did you see that? Jason exclaimed. I spread a red checkered tablecloth. Mike said grace, and we continued watching the boys and the dog while we ate lunch.               

After a while, we had to head back. l wondered if Andrea would still be crying. I hadn't thought of her during our picnic, but suddenly her pathetic screams were vivid in my mind. I had to do something.     

There was silence when we pulled up into our parking lot. I was relieved, yet uneasy.
Then we heard the unmistakable wail of a siren. An ambulance pulled up behind our car.   “What's going on?"Jason asked.     
 Mike didn't answer. Neither did I. I just sat there and prayed silently. Finally Mike suggested we go inside.   Andrea's not crying anymore, Cissy announced as we hurried up the walk. I swallowed.   Suddenly there were people everywhere. Residents from all over the neighborhood stood on the lawn, talking in hushed tones. 

We didn't join them. We could see everything from our window. I kept hoping l would hear Andrea cry even a muffled sob. But l didn't .She was brought out on a stretcher, her tiny body covered. Only a few strands of hair were visible.                     

Next day's newspaper revealed that her mother and Tom had been charged with murder .When Andrea stopped breathing, her mother panicked and asked Susan for help. Susan had called the paramedics.       

It is quiet in our neighborhood now, but sometimes late at night I hear Andrea crying.                                         
WHAT CAN YOU DO?
Little Andrea's story forces us to ask: if we are aware of child abuse, what is our responsibility as Christians?