The Murder of Jeffrey Dryden: The Grim Truth Surrounding Male Domestic Abuse (2 page)

Driving home from work that damp humid
morning it pained me to think that I would never be able to say
“Jeff and Jason,” again without feeling a great emptiness inside me
each time his name escaped my lips. It upset me to think how I
would have to catch myself from instantly saying his name each time
I saw Jason and I wondered then if anyone else was thinking the
same thing at that moment. Most importantly however, it pained me
to think how Jason would react, and go on each morning having to
gaze into the mirror everyday only to see Jeff’s reflection gazing
back at him, the memory of what once was, the feelings of what
could never be again and the pain that would go on each passing
day.

Could the day go on without the night?
Would a storm still be thriving and wonderful with only the thunder
but no lightning? Would Jason be the same without his brother by
his side? These are the things that rolled through my mind that
morning, and these are the thing that I think about even now,
wondering, thinking, and praying for Jason each day.

12PM

“The knife
slipped…”

If you ever have, the unfortunate
pleasure of finding yourself taking a sociology class, one of the
first things you will learn is a term sociologists refer to as a
“Mediated Culture,” also known to some as “Media Shadowboxing.”
This term is often used when applied to how the mass media (such as
TV, press, and radio for example) constantly bombard us with their
version of facts so much that our society eventually falls prey to
these interpretations of events, regardless the lack of actual
truth.

This is similar, oddly enough, to some
forms of repetitive verbal abuse, or abusive “conditioning,” where
the abuser continues to abuse the victim with verbal, demeaning
attacks until they begin to believe it themselves, thus breaking
them to the point of conditioning.

This persuasion, or rather personal
skew on the facts (or in cases of abuse, the victim’s perspective
on themselves) thus changes the intrinsic mood and attitude of the
public until such a time comes where the truth of what really
happened is undeniable by most or thought as conspiracy by others.
In fact, if you take this same construct to the next level, you can
easily show that, at certain times in our own Nations History, it
has been the, “Mediated Culture,” which has set the tone of our own
personal morals and beliefs. Thus changing the moral and ethical
values of all people to what the media has dictated to be
politically correct and moral.

As was the case when the local media
began reporting on Jeff’s murder, and to this day, I have never
heard them apologize for their spin on the facts. I guess to some
(not all) members of the mass media, the dead; the victims and
their family have no say in the truth when it comes to the ideology
of a mediated culture. Yet I will not fault all members of the
media, as there were a few reporters from the Grand Rapids Press
that followed this story to the end, monitoring what was going on,
and eventually, with accuracy of the truth as their guide, reported
the reality as it unfolded.

That said however, it wasn’t until
early that afternoon that I was able to get a hold of my mother and
get a clearer image on the situation than what I had been able to
obtain after I got home that morning. The local news had reported
that the Wyoming Police were called to the scene of a domestic
dispute, and that a white male, (name unknown at that time) had
been stabbed in the neck by his girlfriend after he came at her
with a knife. The girl reported to witnesses on scene that they
were arguing over her cell phone and that as he lunged at her with
the knife, “the knife slipped and he was cut.” Other reports from
the local TV news reported that there had been domestic assaults
between the couple before, but did not state who the aggressor was
in past incidents.

Thus, almost immediately, reporters
from both facets of the media (TV and Press) began to write
articles and show stories that left the reader or viewer to believe
that Jeff was the abuser. Thanks to this form of “Mediated
Culture,” comments left on local news sites instantly made Jeff out
to be the abuser and Chiquita the rightful feminist whom defended
herself against an insane and drunk brute looking for a
fight.

One of the reports that I saved during
this time was done by FOX17, in which they stated that witnesses
had told them that they heard screaming and ran out to find Jeff
with a sever stab wound to his neck. The article reported that
several people tried to help Jeff by applying pressure to the wound
and/or calling an ambulance and other emergency
services.

One of the witnesses stated in the
article, "It was hard because he looked right at me, and I'd never
seen anybody look like that before. He looked up at me for a second
as if to say, it looked like he was saying help me, and he just
kind of laid his head back down and that was that, it just happened
that fast (Reporter, 2010)."

Strangely enough, the article went on
to add what Chiquita was doing as others were trying to save her
“so called” boyfriend. One of the neighbors stated that, "The first
thing she (Chiquita) did was run up to me and grabbed me and said,
‘oh my God we were arguing, he's drunk, and he grabbed a butcher
knife and we started fighting for the knife and it
slipped."

I and several of my family members,
after reading this article again later, thought it strange that as
others were trying to save her lovers life, the first thing that
Chiquita did was go up to a neighbor and lay down a basic
foundation for a defense. Sadly, as we are a nation lead by the
words of the media or rather, once more, we are a “Mediated
Culture.” Most people that made comments on that report took her
for her word, and made her look like the sweet, poor,
African-American girl defending herself from the drunken white
hillbilly (yes, the whole issue of race eventually peaked its evil
head out). It would not be until later that night that the truth of
what really happened began to filter through as to what transpired
that warm summer morning.

The Family in
Denial

As I had suspected, my mom was in the
center of it all, doing the best she could to be there for Paula
and her family while at the same time trying to contact everyone
she could to help with the situation. What made things even more
difficult at the time was that my aunt Linda, (the aunt everyone
comes to when they need help, outside of my mom), was out of
communication for the first few hours while all this was going
on.

As this had occurred in the middle of
summer, she and my uncle Ron were out at their summer trailer and
no one except her two daughters knew the number to her cell phone.
To add to this quandary, the only number they had at the time was
my cousin Ronda. Who (and not to be mean when saying this) is not
the best person to suddenly drop something so earth shattering on
without knowing if there is someone else there with her, as she is
asthmatic, and in all seriousness is not the best at handling
stressful situation. Thus, it took a while for the information to
trickle down to her and the rest of the family, such as my other
cousins.

When talking to my mom, who was already
with Paula as well as my aunt Peggy, cousin Mandy and the bulk of
Paula’s immediate family and group of friends, she told me that
several members of the family were having trouble accepting the
idea that Jeff was gone let alone murdered. As expected, his twin
brother Jason refused to talk about it with anyone. From what I was
told, he spent most of his time outside, smoking cigarettes as his
fiancée and his friends tried to comfort him in whatever way they
could while they too tried to make sense of their own feelings of
loss; their own feelings of pain mixed with anger and
animosity.

Out of all the family members, Jason
was the last one to see him alive, the last one to hear his words,
see his smile and feel the warmth of his hand as they said good-bye
to each other, not knowing at that time it would be the last time
he saw his brother alive.

This will be something I am sure Jason
will remember every day for the rest of his life. It may sound odd
to some, but for those of us that have seen death head on, those of
us who have been there at the moment of death, we remember
everything, every moment, every feeling, every smell, touch, and
sound.

It was the same for me when I stood
above my father the moment he passed away, feeling the warmth
fading from his body, remember the last words I said to him as I
heard the light clicking of the clock in his hospital room and so
too will it be the same for Jason and his family as
well.

From what I can recall, his youngest
brother, Josh and his sister Jillian were not fairing any better. I
was told that Josh flat out refused to believe that his brother was
dead. That he would not believe it until he could see the body for
himself, as for Jill, I didn’t get much information on how she was
fairing, except to be told that she seemed to be dealing with it a
bit better than others, as she was crying and allowing herself to
grieve.

Paula however, was not doing well.
Having several health issues already, her sisters and Tony were
doing everything they could to keep her relatively calm, a task I
am sure was not at all too easy. My conversation with my mother at
the time was cut short when Linda had called her cell phone; it was
the first time my mother intentionally hung up on me while I was
midsentence.

Eric

Shortly after hanging up with my mom,
Eric came back over to my house, after leaving for a bit to get
something to eat and see what, if anything, he could learn about
Jeff. The thing you have to know about Eric is that he has a
condition known as Tourette Syndrome, as well as some learning
issues and around that time was also having some issues with his
neck and shoulder, which was later discovered to be something
called Torticollis. Torticollis is a painful condition in which
your neck muscles contract involuntarily, causing your head to
twist or turn to one side, sadly as of yet there is no cure, and
the only known treatment for it are quarterly injections of Botox
to the affected area.

Eric has been going through some sort
of pain on a daily basis nearly all his life, be it either physical
pain due to his health issues or emotional pain due to how society
discriminates against him for what he has, not for whom he is. Yet
through it all, almost anyone that has met him would tell you that
he is one of the nicest and kindest guy’s you could meet. I mention
all this not for you to feel sorry for him but so you can
understand or at the very least get some sort of idea what I was
seeing and experiencing when he came back over that day.

Here Eric was, walking into my living
room; he moved slowly past me on his way towards the computer room
and as his face met with mine I could see the pain in his eyes, the
tears gliding slowly down the sides of his cheeks. “Eric, you
okay?” I asked as he pulled his glasses away from his face, draping
the back of his hand over his eyes, wiping away his tears. “Dude,
does the shoulder hurt again?” I asked. “It’s… not the shoulder,
the neck and shoulder always hurt,” Eric paused for a moment,
trying his best to hold in his pain, the sorrow in his voice
echoing the truth of his thoughts. “Do you think…, do you think he
felt much pain?” he asked. Sighing for a moment, I took a deep
breath, not really sure what I was going to say to answer his
question, to put his mind at ease, to calm his sadness.

“
I think he did, at least
for a few seconds, I would like to believe that once he fell down
on the ground his body was in shock,” I said feeling a building pit
of dread in my stomach as I thought about what Jeff must have gone
through. “To be honest,” I said as I paused, breathing deeply,
allowing my lungs to fill.

“
To be honest Eric I was
thinking the same thing on the way home from work, I… I don’t even
want to imagine the confusion that was rolling through his mind
those last few minutes as he bled out.” I said almost quietly to
myself, “I want to believe that he wasn’t thinking of his family or
the fact that he knew he was dying.” I paused as my mind raced with
images of what he might have seen, the faces of his loved ones
feathering through his mind like bolts of lightning. “More so I
pray the last thing he heard was not the hysterical voice of the
woman; that monster that killed him… it pisses me off to think
about it right now you know?” I asked.

“
Yeah… I do,” he mumbled.
“Sorry,” he said as he took a breath, “I didn’t mean to upset you,
though I hope aunt Paula and Jason are doing okay.” Eric added. “Me
too Eric,” I said as he walked back into the computer room, I could
hear the slight deepening of his breath through the crack of the
open door, “I love you Jeff,” I heard him whimper to himself,
before hearing the theme to the Anime ‘Bleach’ kick on the
speakers.

To see Eric like this, to know what he
was secretly thinking, to know he was thinking of our father who
had passed away more than 10 years before, I knew he was feeling
that same pain. Remember the feelings he had long since buried,
long since forgotten. It pained me to see him this way, yet I knew
it was a pain I would see in the eyes of several others over the
days, weeks and months to come.

11PM