2014-362 Arts - Compass Center for Women and Families for Spring 2014 Arts Grant Agreement $1,500

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Vi I (taAvi er Wt CV Hanging up the phone, she turns and says, "I remember a lot of sunny days,but one day it was sunny and raining at the same time-that was pretty weird." My grandmother used say, on days that the rain broke through the sunshine, "looks like the Devil's beatin'his wife again." I never understood why, and never worked up the nerve to ask. It portended danger and something that adults knew and gave us glimpses of, but always hid from our direct sight. "I never thought it would happen," she cocks her head to the side, gaze sliding off to the floor, "but when it happened-it was really weird." Her parents divorced when she was twelve. They had been together for 23 years,their two oldest children were in college.April and her younger brother were home to watch it all unravel, listening to the fighting through bedroom walls. "I remember-well, I didn't until my brother reminded me the other day, actually,"her hand reaches back up to that dangly earring, fingertips smoothing over the beaded disk, "the police showed up during one of their arguments." April paused to turn her attention to two young women who have come in. She gives them forms to fill out and types something into the computer. I am suddenly uncomfortable,my own parents'messy divorce cracking through this quiet space in our conversation. Mom's yelling accusations and Dad slamming doors. My grandmother's voice barely a murmur under the crack of the door where my sister and I listened, paralyzed with fear of divorce, as she tried to mediate between the two. After their clipboards are turned in,the two women settle into the circular waiting room chairs.April glances their way quickly,then turns back to me-her voice just a shade quieter now. She tells me that her mother moved into a guest bedroom. She slept there for about a week before her husband came pounding on the door. That's when the cops came.