I have tried to sit down and write my life story. This is the opening and I could get no further.
Warning: This is not for those with a weak heart or delusions of a perfect world. Please don't read this if you cannot handle the idea that a mother could do such damage to a child.
But for those who like a good read...please continue on.
The childish cry for security echos in the stillness. His mother's soothing words carry to me on the half hearted breeze. And again the night is still. For her sweet and powerful urging has once again worked it's magic and he has drifted off into sleep.
But that name sickens me and evokes chilling memories and disturbing visions that race along my spine. I half turn and listen to see if I can find the threat but discover with relief that I am still alone. Alone with my memories.
Suddenly , as if time had not passed, I find myself back in the house of my horror. I see my child sized hands pull open the forbidden door and feel my tiny feet propel me in. With a conscise mental picture I can easily recall the sky blue walls and matching carpet that was so thick it felt like I was walking on clouds. I felt like a butterfly, lifted on a breeze of childish innocence and kissed by the warmth of youth. I can still remember her fragrance. It drew me like a bee to nectar. Charlie!
The bed seemed to me like a titanic nest centered against the blue that she favored. With great effort I climbed atop the bed and gazed at her. Frightened and yet awed by her immensity I blinked and quickly turned away. On the headboard sat her liquid golden treasure.
I remember how badly I wanted to be her. So with tiny. clumsy hands I gathered the large bottle into my arms and gave a mighty twist to the lid, hoping that I could share her scent. But my hands were traitors and the heavy bottle slipped and fell onto her white persain sweater, spilling it's amber contents like a broken heart.
She turned from the closet and her pretty blue eyes flashed and turned angry gray, like dark, dangerous storm clouds that darken the sky on a summer's day. Gone was she that could love my graceless hands. In her place was she that would give me fear in abundance for my failure. Her jaw was rigid as she closed the distance between the closet and the bed in one step.
I cowered against the head board, hoping she would miss my presence but she reached out with her hard hands and laced angry fingers in my hair. With a mighty jerk I was thrown from the massive bed to the floor at her feet. I cringed low to the floor praying that my humility would ease her rage.
Stooping low she reached out to me, digging her fingers into the virgin flesh of my arm. Her cold grip was like talons gouging my flesh and I cried out in pain. She turned to me with cruelty in her eyes. Gone was the dazzling smile that I loved, and in it's place was a terrible look. One that would stay with me in my dreams always preparing to deal punishment for my transgressions even though I have not seen her for years.
She drug me to the kitchen and finally thundered a command. "Bend over and grab your ankles." The six words that I feared the most were freed on me and I trembled as I complied. She never skimped on the pain. She would some times draw out my suffering, making me humliate myself before she was satisfied. She liked to use a inch thick wooden cutting board that she called the "judge". And she would swing so hard that I could hear it cutting through the air long before it landed on my backside.
But this particular time there was no waiting for me. She swung the board with god like fury and struck my backside, my legs, and my back, since in her mind aim was not important. Hot, fat tears snaked down my cheeks and in that moment I knew only on thing.
It was a prayer, a plea, an endearment, a curse, and an apology. She was my god, my saviour, my love, and my devil. In her was the fury of the storm that knew no limits, and I was but a limb tossed about in the wind, hoping that she would soon tire and leave me be.
There would be other times that I knew pain. Each occasion left it's indelible mark on my flesh, spirit, and my mind. Even now, so many years later,I am unable to erase that pain. And I now know that pain is a part of me.
The pain she dealt to me was not always physical. There were many wounds dealt to my spirit under shouts of "can't you do anything right," and "it's you fault that your father left." But her favorite was "I never wanted you in the first place." It became so entrenced in my heart and mind that I felt there was no hope.