By my twelfth birthday, I knew how to take care of all the household chores: meals, laundry, cleaning- everything. Mama never had to do any of the work. I thought she'd be happy to relax. Instead she became very angry. Sometimes dinner would be ready by the time we came home from school. HE complained though because it was too cold. "Can't even make a fucking meal right," HE mumbled. A look of extreme hurt crossed her face for a brief second. Then she turned to me and glared.
Mama had been very mean to me at the last few months before my birthday. She'd been ignoring me and tearing me down. I was no longer her daughter. In her eyes I was her worst enemy. For my birthday, she threatened to give me nothing. "Haven't you taken enough?" she spat. In the end she gave me five dollars in a card apparently from both her and David. HE however presented something much different. The white rectangular box stirred up a great mixture of emotions. Excitement and fear clouded my mind. Everyone in the room had their eyes on it. Mama didn't look very happy. Her eyes were narrowed in a cold-stare focused on the box as if she were warding off some evil.
Under the lid and the tissue paper lay a white dress. "Go try it on," HE said in a gentle, unrecognizable voice. I took the box and headed upstairs. It slipped over my head easily. I had worn baggy clothes for so long I'd forgotten how small my body actually was. In the back of the dress, laces went up my spine. The front dipped down into a bow an inch below my collarbone. It was sleeveless, the skirt went down to my knees, and the whole thing clung to my skin. I had to present it to the people downstairs, feeling self-conscious and exposed.
"Thank your father," mama said. My voice still hadn't returned. When I didn't say anything she became angry. "You're so ungrateful. We shouldn't even bother."
'Can I change back now?' my mind screamed out. No one could hear me of course. No one could ever hear me- even when I could speak.
HE finally looked in my eyes and enunciated every word he as he said, "Don't get it dirty." I could only nod in return. Obviously the consequences for disobeying that order were unimaginable.
Our family has never had a lot of money. Whatever money my parents had usually went towards HIS alcohol consumption. So when mama told me to wear my new dress for school pictures I didn't understand why. We never bought them so why did it matter? "This is the one day of the year you should at least TRY to look decent," she growled as she roughly rubbed my face with a wet washcloth. She tried to run a comb through my matted hair but that didn't work out very well. "Just try to fix yourself up on the way. I can't believe how dirty you are! Don't you ever get tired of being a disgusting pig?"
David pushed me out the door as I walked by. "We have to get going," he said. Anyone who didn't already know him could have easily mistaken David for an adult. David stood up to HIS shoulders now and HE was near six feet tall. No doubt it wouldn't surprise anybody to know David was in football.
It had rained the previous night so the ground was still wet. The grass glistened in the sunlight. Puddles had formed in the few scattered potholes on the road. "Don't fall in!" David called. He'd gotten ahead o me because I had been straggling behind. "Hurry up! We're going to be late if you don't get moving!" I knew he cared for some hidden reason, one that would end in my humiliation. He waited until I caught up then walked behind me. For the past few years, ever since viewing one of those INCIDENTS from the closet, David started in his own routine with me. If he wasn't hurting me himself, he was getting me in trouble so someone else would. Once in a while his friends would join in too. So getting this new white dress only added to the list of worries. If the dress got dirty HE would surely beat me instead of David. Only on certain occasions would HE ever hit David. Those were the few times my brother wouldn't be able to pass the blame unto me. David could be compared to Hermes- a messenger for Zeus.
The two of us were just about to reach the school when relief began setting in. Almost there and no incident had occurred. Predictably, this thought came too soon. David gave my shoulder a shove hard enough to cause me to trip and fall in one of the mud-filled potholes. He laughed as he ran the rest of the way. Had the dress only gotten wet it wouldn't have been so bad. Dark brown spots formed all over after it dried. In the bathroom I was able to clean the splattered dirt off my face. 'I'm going to be in so much trouble!' I screamed in my head. The abyss allowed me to feel the heavy burden of fear. Tears never came, however.
Pictures started immediately with first grade. For the first couple of hours I prayed they wouldn't get to my grade until the next day but I knew that was unlikely (our school wasn't very big) and dropped the prayer immediately. Praying seemed worthless anyway. It never helped me against HIM. Later in the day, sometime after lunch, the sixth grade obeyed the order barked over the intercom by heading to the gym. Throughout the day my fellow classmates snickered and made their comments. It didn't bother me as much as the thought of what HE was going to do to me. I was able to get near the front (this way I'd be away from the crowd fast) but one of the "popular" girls shoved her way through saying, "Trash in back."
The woman standing behind the camera smiled sweetly at me. "Turn just a little bit please," she said (not unkindly). "Thank you." Just hearing her voice made me wish mama could be more like her. If this woman was the definition of happy then mama clearly wasn't happy, I don't think anyone in our family was- not even HIM. "Okay show me that pretty smile of yours." 'Pretty?' I thought. Nobody but HIM ever said I was pretty. "Don't worry, dear," she continued, "you'll only be able to see your shoulders in the picture. Let me see your smile. Oh how nice!"
David laugher as soon as he saw me after school, "You're going to be in so much trouble." Mama's normal glare got even colder when I walked in the door.
"What the hell happened to your dress?" she asked but not really because she cared. She yanked on the strap of my dress, nearly ripping it apart. Using a washcloth she tried to clean it up. "I can't believe you. You're so dirty all the time! Aren't you ashamed of yourself at all?" She didn't expect any kind of answer and I didn't have the voice to give her one. I started to my room not even stopping when she called, "I expect you to show that mess to your father!"
I wanted so badly to rid myself of that dress but I knew the consequences would be worse if I did so- HIS gift all dirty, thrown on the floor like garbage. Clearly this wouldn't make HIM happy. HE wouldn't be home for another hour, giving me time to contemplate my punishment. It's hard to decide which is worse- the actual thin or the contemplation. At any rate, to try to clear my mind of it I crawled into my hiding spot n the closet. All the "survival" objects were still there (with the addition of juice boxes and a pack of crackers) scarcely used. In earlier years I hadn't gotten the opportunity to escape HIM. But now I was getting better and learning the patterns HE went through when intoxicated. Since HIS mind was so clouded HE could never remember what happened the next morning.
The flashlight illuminated the protective blanket perfectly. A bookmark held the spot of a favorite story chosen long ago. Cinderella always gave me a boost of hope but for what? Fairy God Mothers aren't real. No one really gave a damn about what happened to you. Real families could be just as evil as stepfamilies. And there was no such thing as a happy ending. Thinking of all this brought to mind a good question: Why would someone fabricate such stories for children just to bring their hopes crashing down later on in life? Where was the story about the girl who's used for her (so-called) "daddy's" sick enjoyment when he's drunk? Why wasn't that story in the book? Maybe that story didn't have an ending pleasant enough for people to read. What did that mean for me?
The front door slammed and my name was called. I quickly retreated from my hiding place to the hallway so it would not be discovered. David passed me on the stairs. HE waited in the kitchen, preparing his afternoon drink. "Come here," HE said without turning around. The abyss (put there to betray and humiliate me) allowed me to feel fear. My jaw began to tremble. Very slowly HE continued HIS ritual of preparing HIS anticipated endless glass of alcohol. The whole time HIS eyes avoided mine. This was HIS way of torturing me. For only a few moments I would be forced to try to conjure up an idea of what HE had planned for me. But by not looking at me I was unable to see what HE had on HIS mind. "Do you want to explain to me how you got your dress so dirty?"
My lips moved but no sound came out. HE liked to do this to me. HE had control of when I could talk through the abyss. "I'm not talking to myself," HE grumbled. Then HE turned to look at me. I shifted uncomfortably where I was standing. Before speaking again HE took a swig of HIS drink. "Do you enjoy making your mother and I angry?" (It surprised me HE had actually included mama in this) Another swig. "That's a nice birthday present you got on there- one you don't deserve- and you ruined it. What happened? What are those spots?"
My voice came out in stuttered fear, "I- it's mud ffrrom when Dave- David ppushedd me."
"David pushed you?" I nodded. "DAVID! Get your ass down here!" As David came into the kitchen, HE finished off his drink. "Did you push Angela?"
"No," David answered without hesitation. "She tripped and fell. You know how bad the roads are. When you're careless its easy to trip. I tried to catch her arm but I didn't grab her in time." Time to refill while I silently cursed my brother for once again betraying me. Although had I not been the one on trial, I probably would have believed his smooth delivery too.
"You lied to me." I shook my head. "Tryin' to blame your brother for something YOU did. You little shit! You're going to wash that! Take it off!" David began walking out and HE said, "Go get your mother and come back here." The two of us were left in the room for a brief moment. I could hear myself breathing. Mama and David soon joined us. "Angela is going to hand-wash that dress by herself," HE said as though making some important family announcement. "Now, take it off. Where are you going? Did I say you could leave?"
I shook my head. Everyone watched me as I slowly stripped the dirty dress off. I felt so humiliated standing in my recently acquired training bra and underwear. A bucket, kicked by HIS foot, slid toward me. "Use that and the hose and wash that up. Then you can figure out a way to dry it off." I knew not to question HIS orders so I gathered it all up before heading out the back door. No doubt the neighbors saw me crouched in the grass, trying to wash the dress in a bucket. The water became muddy fast but the stains hadn't yet come out. The wind, which hadn't been going at all before, teased me by brushing against my skin. It got cold fast.
Mama said to hang it up outside, "I don't want water dripped all over the house." We didn't have a clothesline. Besides the door to the basement was right next to the back door. The dress could go in the dryer. But she wouldn't stand for arguing. The only spot to put it happened to be a tree branch barely low enough for my reach. So I threw the dress up there and hurried to my room to get some clothes on.
At night I learned why exactly mama was so afraid of HIM. Maybe I was just stupid but I hadn't really thought about it before. I can't remember exactly why I'd gotten up in the first place. But I headed straight downstairs in a sleepy daze thinking, 'What's going on now?' HIS yelling stopped me at the bottom of the steps. Apparently when mama tried to sneak out, she tried to take a noticeable amount of money with her. This angered HIM. I peered around the corner to take a glance at the scene. HE had mama nearly sitting on the table. She had her head lowered in shame. As HE began cursing at her she started sidestepping toward the living room. For a brief second her gaze shifted toward me. Pain flashed in her eyes before she looked back at HIM. They were moving into the living room (mama walked backwards with her arms ready to block anything about to be thrown at her). Then HE lashed out, striking her face. Her yelp only encouraged HIM. From there the beating commenced. It surprised me David didn't wake up. If I had been able to feel anything, I would've cried. The sound it made was like a hammer hitting a chunk of meat. Could mama break that easily? Out of fear I fled to my room.
Within a week of witnessing that mama was gone again. Whether she'd taken any money with her wasn't obvious. HE never complained but maybe HE never noticed. David decided not to come home after school. It didn't really matter. At home he'd lock himself in his room anyway. The lock on my own door was broken so I didn't have that comfort. Every night after school I stayed in my closet. It worked. For a while I was safe. Fairy tales (as fake as they are) kept me company. They created a temporary fantasyland to get lost in. Saturday night HE surprised us by staying home instead of going out to get drunk. This sparked a false hope that HE would leave us alone. Of course we were foolish to think so. HE yelled at David for skipping school (which he'd done for a year by then but HE didn't notice until earlier that week) and me for not getting the dishes done fast enough. David managed to sneak out a little later and I escaped to my room.
The house remained quiet and David still hadn't returned. When the stars came out, someone rapped their knuckles on the door. Despite receiving no response it opened anyway, revealing HIS face. 'What does HE want?' I asked myself. HE came in and shut the door behind HIM. I didn't know why, David and mama were gone. "Come here," HE said. HE must have been about seven feet away from me but I obeyed. What other option was there? With the palm of HIS hand HE pushed me down to my knees. What HE wanted became obvious with the sound of HIS zipper. The taste of bile hit my tongue. HE still had a hold of my hair. When HE noticed my reluctance, HE threatened to pry my mouth open. I did what I had to do.
If there was an award for the ability to control exactly when you threw up I ought to win. HE told me not to even think about spitting on the floor. It scared me to wonder what HE might do if I threw up. So I held it back. That disgusting slimy substance sat in my mouth until HE left and I had the chance to race to the bathroom. Even when I was sick I've never been happier to get it all out. Afterwards I washed my face with cold water then brushed my teeth. The reflection in the mirror, I noticed, was wrong. The girl in the mirror had blank confusion glowing in her eyes. The question 'Why?' had been scrawled on her face. But I knew why. I was in hell getting what I deserved for all the things I'd done wrong. All the anger inside of me exploded for the first time. The glass smashed beneath my fist. Pain flared and liquid rose. The painted shards clattered in the sink. I stood there fascinated with the tear in my skin. Dark drops blotted onto the sink. The abyss was falling from the wound. Not only the abyss but also those feelings of shame HE'D put in me were replaced with comfort.
In the cupboard under the sink I found a roll of bandages. When the flow stopped I covered it. Now I had a way to get out all the bad things inside. And it was so easy and reliable, something to be trusted. Of course I couldn't share this new secret with anyone. If they knew they'd try to stop me. Maybe I DID deserve it all but I could still try to cleanse myself. That would involve getting rid of the abyss. Hiding it was easier than I thought it would be. Mama never said anything to me unless she wanted to lecture me for not doing something right. David didn't care. HE was too drunk to notice the scars. Whenever I ran out of bandages though I had to steal some money to get more. No one cared what I bought and I received my punishment for stealing (a couple hits to the face). Of course that was at home.
In school the biggest problem turned out to be gym class. Everyone hated gym (well, except for the sports players, of course) so even if you were a loser like me, someone would agree with you. For a moment I felt like I had a friend or something similar. But that moment never lasted very long. There were three bathroom stalls in the girl's locker room. All the lockers were on the left and right sides of the room leaving a big open area for us to change. The girls involved in sports changed into their gym clothes as though they were modeling or something. The rest of us self-consciously waited in line to use one of the stalls. I made a habit of keeping my sweater on. The gym teacher was a short, balding, red-faced man who also happened to be the school "athletic director" (whatever that meant- though I think its just a fancy title for permission to favor the jocks).
Every day after we changed we all had to run two laps. I was the slowest but I didn't care. "Orosco! Let's move it," he barked. He always called the "losers" by their last names like we weren't important enough to be remembered by our first names. For nearly two months he didn't say a word to me about my clothes. Then after laps he called me over. The whole room got silent and he didn't bother to lower his voice. "You're supposed to change. Why are you still wearing that sweater?" I couldn't find my voice to spout an excuse. "You don't need a sweater. Once you get your blood going you wont need it. Take it off." Wearily I pulled it over my head and tied the sleeves around my waist. The bandage on my right arm had a bloodstain coming through. A few people nearby that could see it began whispering. He didn't know what to say for a brief moment. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "You'd better go to the nurse and have that checked out." Instead I escaped into the bathroom until class was over. The subject never came up again.
I managed to get a collection of sharp objects. The Home Economics teacher hardly ever noticed me. She never kept track of her red handled scissors or the number of pincushions in the room. Since I did all the dishes at home, I knew no one would notice if a couple of the fancy knives went missing. I emptied out an old jewelry box buried in a pile of junk to hide my precious items in. The wounds did help quite a bit. Slowly I was bleeding all of him out of me. It did nothing for the rage building up after HE bruised my rib and nearly suffocated me with HIS massive weight. 'I hate you,' I thought as HE slithered HIS way inside of me. 'I hate you.'
The next few years passed in a steady blur. The only notable change was mama began favoring David. Whenever she left he went with her. Of course this angered HIM to no end. My brother became caught up in a power struggle between his parents. I envied him though for mama would protect him at all costs but this is a selfish thought I shall keep to myself. The week mama left a plan of escape entered my mind. There was a bus stop at the edge of town not far from the gas station (which was a pretty long walk from my house). If I could get enough money for the fare I could get out of hell and back into the world. On days when HE passed out I searched for HIS wallet, grabbing whatever loose change happened to be in there. HE would notice if wads of cash went missing. That would ruin the whole plan. It didn't take long to gather what was needed (plus extra).
The day came like a sympathy gift from God. Mama and David hadn't yet received the opportunity to escape. HE wouldn't wake up. Immediately (with extreme calmness in her voice as though discussing dinner choices) mama instructed David to phone for an ambulance. When help arrived mama and David followed in the car. I threw a bag of clothes together (not forgetting the jewelry box) and took off as soon as they disappeared.
The streetlights were beginning to come on as the sun went down. The sky revealed its pink veins to the world. The cool air breezing past nipped my skin. I made it to the bus on time, handing over my money happily. A majority of the passengers were elderly. A window seat in the second row on the right called my name. I had neglected to look at the destination of the bus. But what did it matter? Anywhere was better than here.