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My life, as an artist and a victim. |
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Chapter One I remember that my favorite food as a kid was cream cheese and apricot sandwhiches on white bread with the crusts cut off. I remember that my cat Lucky loved water and my favorite movie was The Land Before Time. My best friends were Mandy and Katie, and I went to Blessed Sacrament Elementry school. I loved pretending I was a squirrel and sitting in the tree in my front yard for hours. I was scared of the giant palm tree in my neighbors yard, and of the Frankenstien that lived in my laundry hamper. I remember loving to read and hating to learn to write. I invented gummi bear tag and my favorite color was pink. I don't remember the first time I was hit. My dad used to be a father, I remember that. He took me fishing, which I hated, and played horse with me, which I loved. I used to sit in the seat next to him in the car and talk for hours, about everything. I looked up to him, I respected him, and I loved him. The clearest and earliest memory I have of being abused was when I was about 5. My brother had already been born, but was just a baby. I was pretending to be a squirrel in the tree in the yard, and dad came out and I knew he was angry. I don't remember why. I thought about staying in the tree forever, but he pulled me down. The fall knocked the wind out of me. And as I lay there crying and gasping, all he said was "Don't tell your mom." Obviously, he had hit me already, and I knew that the end of that sentance was, "Or I'll kill you." I remember hitting a ditch on my bigwheel, which was purple and pink, and my dad laying me on my back and telling me to breathe, and helping me. Saving me then as only a father could save me. But I knew better, even then. He wasn't a father. He was a monster with my fathers face. The good years of my childhood were short, and are permiated with periods of fuzzy gray in my mind. I remember the first vacation my mother took without me was hell. I remember holding my baby cousin for the first time. I remember how my father sounded when he loved me, and how he sounded when he didn't. I remember loosing my favorite doll in a sandbox and for a moment, thinking I could never be happy again. I remember calling fruit snacks "wrinkles" and the face my aunt got when I smiled at her and said "You have more wrinkles than my mom." I remember throwing up at school for the first time, and chasing my boyfriend around his living room threatening to kiss him and give him cooties. I remember believing in Santa. I remember laying on my kitchen floor in my swimsuit and Easter bonnet, pretending to swim as a protest to the rain at the beach. I remember the ocean. I don't remember when I started being afraid. |
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