Читать книгу Sing For Me - Betsy Jiron - Страница 10

CHAPTER 3

The Move

Visiting my mother at the beach was the only Band-Aid I had for the other 10 months of the year. As the end of every summer neared, I feared going back to that hell at my father's with no other options.

Every day I felt more and more like a tornado entering a Volcano. The step-monster had a problem with everything I did. The way I dressed, did my hair, walked, and talked. There was no pleasing her. “You're a whore like your mother” and “You're a worthless piece of shit” had become her way of saying “Hi” and “Have a good day.” Eventually the “I hate you” statements started and that was my snapping point.

My brothers and I couldn't get along for shit either. The fighting was constant. One night the bickering had gotten completely out of control. Dad was asleep and we all knew what would happen if we woke him. I didn't care about the repercussions anymore. A person can only get so many black eyes and bloody noses before it doesn't hurt anymore.

Nancy came downstairs to tell us to shut the fuck up, but by then it was too late. Dad was right behind her with both fists balled up and veins ready to blow through the sides of his neck. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I ran and so did Ryan and Jim. They were friends of mine that I hung out with regularly and they were well aware of my father's temper. “SHUT THE FUCK UP” was the last thing I heard before slamming the door behind me.

Jim lived ten blocks or so from me, so that's where we were headed. I explained to his mom what had happened and pleaded with her not to send me home. She agreed to let me stay with a pitiful sympathetic look on her face. It made me feel like a horrible person for bringing my family problems in to her house. I thought for sure she was going to cry.

The three of us went downstairs to Jim's room. Ryan had a joint in his pocket and I couldn't think of a better time to light it. This was my first experience with weed. I took one drag and about coughed my lungs up. It smelled horrible and made me feel like the blood from my brain would blow out from my ears. I hated it.

The initial shock from what happened at my dad's had finally hit me and I started to shake. I was cold and scared to death of having to go back. I had a vision of him coming to Jim's and beating the life out of me in front of his mom.

After a few hours, Jim's mom came downstairs to tell me the step-monster called and I was supposed to come home. Tears welted in my eyes and my face felt like it was on fire. With my heart in my guts, I thanked Jim's mom and apologized for the inconvenience. She looked as bad as I felt. If it were up to her, I would have never had to leave.

I was so scared walking home that I couldn't feel my legs. I was frozen and terrified.

I stopped at the front door and wanted to puke. Why couldn't I have frozen to death or been hit by a car? I was convinced that God hated me.

My fear turned to misery as I entered the house. The atmosphere was so sad and empty. All the lights were off and I was hoping everyone was asleep. I tiptoed past my father's room and walked as quietly as I could down the stairs to check on my brothers. What I saw when I walked in their room turned my anger and rage into hate and disgust.

Max was leaning against his dresser, eyes swollen shut from crying. There was dried blood beneath his nose and on his bottom lip. Derren was sitting on his bed with a kitchen rag soaked with water and wrapped in ice. He had knots on his forehead, above his right eye and another very large one on the back of his head. His eyes were glossy and swollen from crying as well.

Leave it to my step-monster to make the situation that much worse. “Take a good look at what happened because of you.” She made it abundantly clear that this was my entire fault. I felt bad enough as it was, but I can honestly say I was glad it wasn't me on the receiving end of my father's iron fist for once. “This is why the family hates you.” is what she said in her most wicked witch of the west voice just before flicking her hair over her shoulder and making her famous snotty exit.

I had gotten to a point where I wasn't blaming myself for everything anymore nor did I have the desire to die every day. My desire was now focused on killing them instead. The thought of slowly slicing Nancy's tongue from her mouth made my hands sweat. The vivid torturous dreams had become nightly pleasures as I slept. It was almost a sense of self-gratification and a blanket of peace as I slept knowing they were dead in my mind.

In my dreams, I would look them in the eyes and laugh as they begged for mercy from their bloody mouths. I had begun to look forward to going to bed just to dream of the pain I longed to inflict on them in life. I woke every morning with a smile.

By this time, I was 14 going on “35 to life.” I was mature enough to realize no one around could save me. I spent the evenings after basketball practice in my room playing with my sister and doing homework. This very simple routine changed in a matter of seconds.

Six o’clock had come around and my dad had come upstairs to round us up for dinner. I immediately thought it was awkward because it was usually one of my brothers yelling up the stairs at us. Dad and an agenda aside from telling us it was dinnertime.

In the corner of my room, there was an ugly white chair. I hated this chair for more reasons than one. It blocked one of my closet doors and it was just hideous. Dad sat in the chair and motioned for me to come over. I looked at my little sister and my heart sank. I prayed she would leave the room and head down to dinner to avoid destroying her innocence.

I walked slowly over to my dad. With every step, the knot in my throat grew larger. He folded me over his knee belly down. I felt his right hand press against the back of my head while his left hand pulled my shorts back and moved my panties to the side. I begged God not to let my baby sister turn her head.

Dad took his two center fingers and crammed them inside me. He jammed them repeatedly until I started to cramp. I was left with bruises between my legs from his hands bashing against my bones. My pubic area was swollen for days and it burned to urinate.

I covered my face out of fright and embarrassment. What had I done this time? Why couldn't he have just beat me and yanked me around by my hair until I wet myself? And where was Nancy? As nosy as she was, she should have been upstairs two or three times in the 5 minutes dad was upstairs.

When Dad finally decided he had enough, he lifted me off his knee and patted me on the ass as if to say, “good game.” It hurt to stand and my privates were sore. I bent down to pull up my panties and my shorts. I turned around just in time to see him smell his fingers before washing them in the bathroom that was attached to the bedroom.

I never made it down for dinner that night. Before going to bed, I brushed my teeth and hid my bloody panties in the bottom of the trashcan. As I lay in bed that night, I realized for the first time that I had become an empty hallow shell. The walking dead.

I started sneaking phone calls to my mom in South Carolina and to the Andrews 2 or 3 times a week. A year or so went by and a decision had been made. I would write a letter to my dad and Nancy, pack my things and leave in 3 days.

Each article of clothe I folded and stuffed in a suitcase was accompanied by tears streaming down my face and dripping down my chin. I would like to say they were tears of joy, but my heart told me they were tears of frustration for taking so long to do this. It had taken far too long for me to admit to myself how miserable and broken I was.

Dad was taking his afternoon nap the day I left. I was trembling from head to toe as I passed his bedroom with my suitcase. I had left my younger siblings downstairs playing to make sure they didn't wake him.

I made it past his bedroom and through the kitchen. I set the 8-page letter I wrote to them on the table and slowly turned the knob to the garage door. I had made it to the driveway when I heard the garage door open. I froze expecting to see my father standing there. What I saw was much more heartbreaking than anything that had ever been said or done to me.

My baby sister stood there looking at me with her big beautiful brown eyes. The pain in my chest reminded me I still had a heart. I bent down to kiss her precious innocent face. She whispered the words, “I love you.” I whispered them back and walked away. She didn't ask me to stay. Something in my heart told me she understood.

I ran as fast as I could around the block where Grandpa Andrews was to meet me. I got in the car as quickly as I could and we drove off to the big beautiful house on the lake. My safe zone.

Six a.m. came way too early. My father had called the Andrews a few times the night before but I had no desire to speak with him especially after reading my “fuck you and die in pain” letter.

My plane landed in Myrtle Beach, S. Carolina in midafternoon. My mother's arms wrapped around me like a safety blanket. Immediately, I felt secure with my decision and no longer felt any guilt for leaving my siblings behind.

I settled in upstairs in the bedroom my mother and I remodeled together the summer before. It smelled of old wood, wallpaper and humidity. It was the first sense of safety I had felt in years.

My mother had remarried a few years earlier to a man named Daniel. I wasn't real excited to be around a man posing as a father figure. I couldn't have been more wrong about him. He never yelled, never raised a hand to me, and never in a million years would he have molested me.

Daniel was very patient with me. Psychologically I was so fucked up that I could have sworn this man had to be an angel to have the patience for me. I was hateful and aggressive, atop of the line-troubled teenager. Both my mother and Daniel worked for the school district and had seen this behavior a million times. However, neither of which had any idea of the damage that had been done.

This was my new beginning. New friends, new school, and no siblings. I felt a sudden rush of loneliness creep up from inside. My grandparents were so far away and I never said goodbye to any of my friends. I had never been alone before. I had no idea what to do with myself with no one to take care of but myself. The only positive thought I had at that moment was when I realized I had no desire to cut or burn myself anymore.

My mother's house was absolutely amazing. She and Daniel had remodeled this old 1800's country style home. Hardwood floors, 20-foot ceilings, rooms and bedrooms everywhere. The house always smelled so fresh. The humidity and the afternoon breeze would allow the scent of the wild flowers and forestry to circulate in every room. The house had become my sanctuary and my second chance at life.

Summer 1992. I had only been settled in my new quiet life for a few weeks before Max came to visit for the summer. Turned out, dad wanted nothing to do with me and my running away was never discussed. The feeling was mutual so it didn't bother me that I no longer existed in that house. Derren graduated high school that year and went on to the military just days after graduation. Dad decided to cancel the child support my mother was paying him since he saw this as a fair trade. Sad part was Max would have to go back at the end of the summer.

July was calm and beautiful. I had met a ton of people and made a bunch of friends. We spent every spare second we had at the beach. This whole freedom thing was new to me. I came and went as I pleased as long as I respected curfew. I had no use for drugs or alcohol after the failed suicide attempt. Therefore, mom and Daniel had nothing really to worry.

The “tomboy” in me came out loud and clear that summer. I wore nothing but bikini tops and oversized jean shorts. Mom and I were just about the same size so I shopped in her closet if I ever needed to wear anything with a little more tact. She dressed very young so style wasn't an issue. Either.

As perfect, as everything seemed I was still a hot mess on the inside. My everyday anger seemed to have subsided quite a bit. It wasn't the anger itself I was worried about. It was the constant rage I couldn't control. Anger made me hateful. But the rage, that only the strong survive, Dad taught us made me violent. I had to fight for everything growing up and I couldn't figure out how to reprogram my brain into believing that it was over and I didn't have to live that way anymore. This was by far the hardest adjustment for me.

My mother's house was the exact opposite of everything I had ever known. I had become so defensive every time she said anything to me; I snapped at her and attacked her verbally. “Talking” about your feelings was unheard of at my dad's. To him, it was a sign of weakness to even have feelings at all. Being passive was a weakness to me and I let my mother hear those words a million times. I never let her in emotionally because I didn't want her to think I was weak. My head still told me it was unacceptable. I envied her for being everything I wished I were. My father stripped me of that.

Mom wasn't real affectionate which was fine with me. I wouldn't have known how to return it anyway. Family meals were a little tense. I had nothing to say, and they had nothing to ask. The silence may have been a little awkward but it was nice not to have the yelling and screaming I experienced at dads. Occasionally mom would bring up counseling which resulted in me dropping my fork and leaving the table. Clearly, I needed to talk to someone but I couldn't get past my father's words of, “Counseling is for the weak and quitters that can't handle their own shit.” I was still afraid of him 20 states away.

My bedroom was perfect. I enjoyed the shadows passing cars left dancing on my walls. My room was shaped like an attic so the shadows made the most beautiful shapes. I still cried on occasion when I watched them. Only this time I cried because I was happy and no longer envious of where the cars were going because I could actually be in one of those cars at any time. I knew that this is where I belonged. This was my life and I loved it. I reminded myself constantly that not everyone gets a second chance at life. I felt blessed. God had answered my prayers. My prayers were now for my baby sister. I begged the Lord to show mercy on her and to keep her innocence sacred. I couldn't live with myself if I ever found out that my moving away affected her safety.

….Lord God keep her safe….

Inferno

The fire inside me flows through my whole body

Torn between living and dying

I'm so sick of fucking crying

Dear God what have you done

How could this be

That my innocent childhood could be taken from me

I'm supposed to be swimming and playing

Not wiping blood from my knees

It's burning inside

So dark I can't see

I'm reaching and screaming

Dear God please save me

If this is reality what will I come to be

This is my fortune

I have no future to see

God carried me through this

And helped me accept

That I had died

BEFORE life was given to me