The human memory isn’t like a film real, feeding us a constant stream of exactly what happened and why. It’s more like a stack of pictures, or one of those old flip-page books. You remember certain images, sensations and smells, all disjointed, with no meaning, and your mind puts them all together, fills in a lot of the gaps, and tries to make sense of it.
This is really how I see that night. It’s just a bunch of random pieces, that I’ve filled the gaps of on my own. It’s been so long, I’m not sure if some pieces are real or what I added anymore. But, I still grasp the essence of what happened really well. I can’t promise that this is completely accurate, but you keep demanding to know why I do the things I do when I’m upset, so I’ll tell you as best I can.
Now, I don’t know how it all started. To this day, I have racked my memory, and still hasn’t the faintest idea exactly why mom was so upset. Maybe we broke something precious. Maybe we said something bad. It really doesn’t matter.
The irony is, she wasn’t even mad at me at first. It was Rachael and Lisa that were in trouble. But, when I saw her, eyes red, yielding that huge wooden paddle as they scrambled to get as far under the desk as possible, I knew something was wrong. We didn’t typically hide from parental punishments. If we did something wrong, we knew it, and stood quietly for the spanking, never more than 6 swats, and then we were hugged and petted and firmly told not to be naughty again. This was different. So, I tried to stop her. It seems so silly now, I scrawny ten year old girl trying to stop a fully grown, enraged women from doing anything. But, I tried.
That’s the first thing I remember; throwing myself between my mom and sisters and refusing to move no matter how much she screamed at me. By that point, I don’t think mom really cared whose fault it was anymore. Someone had made her unhappy, and if I was going to stand there and intervene, it was as easy to hurt me as anyone else.
I don’t remember how or when I fell, but my clearest memory of that day is rolling, trying to lead her as far away from the little ones as possible while the wide end of the wooden spoon cracked against my ankles, my knees, my spine, and my wrists. The dust and wood shavings from the carpet got in my nose and mouth and it all seemed to be made of the same loathsome stuff as the spoon.
There were several thoughts going through my mind all at once. The first was to keep her attention on me. So, I wailed and moaned excessively. I let the pain flow through my mind and out my mouth Sure, it hurt, but I could have taken it silently if I’d wanted, holding all of it inside and burying it until she couldn’t see. However, doing that would only have fueled her anger and I knew it, even then. So, I let myself cry. I begged and groveled and cried out. After a while, my body became numb, but I kept crying, letting her feel that her lashing out was having a physical, effect, letting her see the stir her pain was making. The second was to protect my face. You can hide arms and legs easily. I remember it being cold, though whether it was from excursion or whether it was winter I’m not sure, but either way, long sleeved shirts, and ankle lengths skirts could hide any marks on limbs. You can’t hide your face, though. So, I tucked my head up against my belly, making as tight a ball as I could and only exposing my limbs and back as I rolled.
After a while, a third thought came; blood. Bruises are one thing, but at some point the skin broke, and I was feeling pain again. I risked a look and saw blood coming from my knees, the backs of my thighs, and my shoulders. If I got blood on the carpet, there would be no calming mom. Plus, the pain was starting to make me woozy, and I was at the end of the hallway, with nowhere else to roll. So, I curled up, my face under my arms, and waited for it to be over. The egg-shaped head of the spoon had left marks all along my body in red, purples, and blacks that made me look like a terrible Easter decoration.
I was crying for real by now. I was scared. Mom had never lasted this long, never made me bleed. I could feel it running down my body, and soaking into my rumpled clothes like thick tears, making it hard to distinguish from the saltwater dripping from my nose and chin.
I could hear Rachael and Lisa whimpering behind me, and wished above anything else that they didn’t have to see this. I saw several times, through the small gap between my wrist and shoulders, at the other end of the hall, Rachael begin to crawl out and come towards me, and Lisa pulling her back. They were brave, I was so proud of them. But, this wasn’t their fight anymore.
At some point, mom stopped, backed up, and gasped all at once. I waited a moment, and then turned. She stood there, shaking, breathing hard, her eyes dazed like she’d just woken up. She dropped the paddle and went to her room, locking the door behind her.
I got up very slowly, trying not to wince. I went and got the little ones, assuring them that everything was safe now, and took them outside to play. Mom never liked going out of doors, and they could run much faster than her anyways in open spaces, just in case. When I got back in, the door to moms room was still locked so I went to the room Rachael and I shared and changed clothes while taking a washcloth and sponging myself to make sure I didn’t bloody any more clothes. I put on a wide, full skirt, tall socks, and a long sleeved shirt. I remember very well trying not to move my arms too much, so that my broken skin wouldn’t catch on the rough fabric. I checked my face and was very proud that I was kept it from being scratched. One I washed the dust off, I looked fine, though I felt extremely tired.
Then, I waited. That’s always the worst part of everything; knowing something is going to happen, and not being sure what. I sat in the hallway in front of her door for a long time. I didn’t make a sound, nor did I hear one. It seemed as if the whole house was tense with silent anticipation. I remember wondering time and time again if I should do something, and hating myself for not knowing what to do.
I know children that small don’t have a very good sense of time, but I know the sun had moved quite a bit, and all the shadows were pointing a different way when mom came out. She didn’t say anything and wouldn’t look at me. She went around me to the kitchen and started to get dinner ready. I followed, and wordlessly helped her peel the potatoes, turn the frying chicken and toss the salad.
Just as she was pulling rolls out of the oven, dad came home. I got Rachael and Lisa out of the back yard and cleaned them up, and then we all sat down for dinner. That’s another thing I remember well, mom and dad talking at dinner, and smiling while Rachael and Lisa traded vegetables and giggled. They were all happy. I didn’t feel bad anymore after that.
I took my bath alone that evening so Rachael and Lisa wouldn’t feel guilty about my marks, and was very careful lying down for bed that night. But, I slept soundly and had good dreams of daddies’’ smile, moms’ warm rolls, and the little ones giggles. It seemed that everyone was happy. Everyone in my family was safe and together. That was all I needed.
So, I hope you can see now why I tremble before you when raise your hand over my head? My mind knows you would never strike me, darling, but my instincts have been fine tuned over many years.
Do you see why I’m silent when I’m upset or angry, never expressing what’s bothering me? I know you are here to help me with any problem, large or small, but I can’t help but think that telling you would be weakness, or that it might bring more anger from you then it’s worth. Does my never noticing any small physical hurt make sense now? Is it logical now that I am so enraged any time a child is punished hastily, even if they have honestly wronged?
The nightmares? No, I stopped dreaming of that sort of abuse when I grew too large to be dominated that way anymore. If you want an explanation for why I weep and cling to you in the dark, I’ll tell you. It’s another event, or really a series of event, conveniently packaged as one long event in my mind, everything else seeming to be merely results of this one drama.
You see, Daddy always loved mom, but he tried to fix her. It’s really hard to fix a person who won’t admit to being broken. Mom would always grow angry and defensive. Over time, she fancied herself abused in some way, whether mentally or emotionally I don’t know, for Dad never raised a finger to harm her physically.
Eventually, she could take no more of his insistence that her view of the world was inaccurate, and she left, taking me and my siblings with her. By this time Mathias had joined us, and she had become pregnant with Mark. We lived with her parents for a while, and then spent some months in government housing.
Can you imagine it; a fourteen year old girl taking care of her brother and sisters, and her pregnant mother, while trying to hide from the guilt, fancying it her own fault? To be honest, it wasn’t that hard, but it was monotonous. It felt a like a cage, alone with my thoughts and my chores most of the time while my siblings played and my mother watched television.
But, Dad still came around to see us. I remember one day, that last night I was able to sleep in my old room, the weekend before my Dad also got an apartment of his own. I woke up early, unable to rest, and slowly, one by one, took my posters off the walls and listened to my sisters snore.
When Dad came to get us, the walls were clean and all my things packed. I woke Rachael and Lisa, and started doing their hair. It was hard. I tried to remember exactly how Mom had done it, keeping it tight and smooth and perfect. My sisters were patient, and didn’t yelp or wiggle no matter how much I accidentally pulled, but the end it still looked hastily done. Dad praised me, and worked hard to make the day special for us. He let us eat all our favorite foods, and played whatever games we wanted. Then, on the way home, we stopped by a store and he let us help him pick out a gift for Mom. We chose a teddy- bear, holding a charming little mug full of candy.
But, when he dropped us off, she shouted at him, and wouldn’t except the gift. She called it tacky, stupid, and many other harsh things. We never told her that we had chosen it. But, I think that’s when I started to go numb inside. Even now I find it silly that after all the times I’d been struck, screamed at, or humiliated, it was seeing the defeated look in my Daddy’s eyes that finally broke me. That’s one memory I will never forget. It wasn’t that Dad didn’t want to help us, it was that he couldn’t. That realization stabbed right through me. I’ve never felt so alone. As long as I was with Mom, no one could help me, but there was nothing I could do about it.
Still, I tried hard to make everything normal. Mom had the baby, a darling little boy, and not long after she and Dad got back together, and we moved to a new town. But, things were different. Mom and Dad were awkward, and I didn’t trust anymore.
They sent me to public school, and I did well there, always immersed in my books and studies. There I was safe and happy. Pretty soon I everyone started to talk about colleges and that gave me hope. I could get out. I could leave. So, I worked even harder. I had few friends. I had no time for gossip or boys. I had a goal, and this time, no one could stop me. I even made plans, just in case Mom and Dad fell apart again.
Well, fortunately, I never had to need any back up plans. I got through, and got accepted into the school I wanted, with enough scholarships to get me through the first couple years, at least. That’s where I met you. Ah, I see you still remember. I was so happy then. I was free, and I had new friends, people who really cared about me. I also had you. I had never had a lover before, but you’re patience and care warmed my hearts, washing away the numbness. For the first time in my life, I felt at ease.
Sadly, it was short-lived. Whenever I visited home, whenever mom came to see me, whenever I posted pictures on the computer, or let her know what was going on in my life, she hated it. She hated what I did, what I watched, what I wore, and most of all she hated you. She wouldn’t let Dad call me, and she intercepted any e-mails or other communications I tried to send him. She told me not to come home until I had gotten rid of you and our friends. She said she couldn’t have me influencing my siblings. I would stand in the shower and cry, and it felt like when I was little, the water flowing over my aching back and sides, sliding down my neck and legs like fresh blood. My wounds of my newly healed heart were reopened.
So, that’s where the nightmares came from. It was being without a father, without mother, without siblings, and no friends to turn to. All my memories of family felt false, and I had not spent enough time with reliable friends to know how to turn to them. I felt like the loneliness was the only thing that was real, since it was the only thing that always came back. Maybe happiness was an illusion and a lie, like my mothers’ smiles.
I know, a grown woman shouldn’t fall into such fantasies, but whenever it has to do with my family, I always feel like a child. They have never treated me as an adult, so I’m not sure how to act like one around them. But, you saved me; you made happiness seem real, and reachable. Still, my past is never fully gone, and I think it’s only fair to explain.
Now, I have one last favor. If I; no, if we, are ever going to be truly happy, it can’t be here. Mom still knows where I am. She haunts me like a living nightmare. Loneliness, humiliation, darkness, and despair follow soon after her, wherever she goes. The more I shrink from her, the farther she reaches. I want to disappear from her world. Come with me. We can create a new world, a beautiful world.
No. Please don’t say I’m running away. Don’t look at me like that. That’s how father looked. I’m not like her, I promise I’m not. I just want to be rid of her forever.
How dare you speak to me that way! I’m not a child. I know my own mind. I’ve told you everything, poured out my heart and soul to you. But still, you won’t come away with me? You brutal fiend! After all I’ve given up for you, you won’t give me this one chance to be happy? Get out! Get out! I don’t want to look at you! Just go away. Leave me alone. If you are going to condemn me to bitter loneliness, let it be complete and unwavering. Let me forget how to smile and love and be happy.
Yes, cower. I don’t care if you cry; I don’t care if you bleed. I am here, with you, and you will acknowledge me. You won’t leave me alone. You won’t treat me like a child. I will make you see me. Maybe then you’ll think twice.
See, I am already forgetting. There will be no childhood, no love, no brightness, this will be all there is, and the longing inside me will cease. I want you to know how it feels. I want you to share this one last emotion with me. I want to see you bleed as my heart does, as I strike the final blow.
