Secrets From the Past

Amber M.
*This is a series of semi-biographical short stories. I have taken creative liberty with my memories and there will be some aspects which are completely fictionalized. The point is not to share the absolute PHYSICAL truth, but to portray the EMOTIONAL truth. To gain knowledge of how another human being feels on the inside is the only truth that really matters*

"Secrets From the Past"

I.

         We sat off to the side in the living-room, as it was the easiest way, when needed, for me to keep her calm. At times, it was also a good idea to provide a safe distance between her and the other patients. I remained close as she slumped down into her usual rocking chair, her knees drawn to her chin. She stared blankly ahead as the television screen flashed again and again.

My co-worker, Ty, sat alone at one of the tables, absentmindedly flipping through channels. Though the patients would have preferred cartoons, she settled on BET before tossing the remote aside, making her final choice clear.

“Why are they doing that?” Jenny asked. “That’s bad! Where are her clothes?” she started to yell.

On the screen, a man and a woman were lying together in bed. The man was on top of the woman’s body, his mouth pressed against her skin. The volume of the woman’s breathing flowed rhythmically through the speakers. It was a sound that demanded to be felt as much as heard. It was an emotion that forcefully wrapped itself around the soul, as it reviled: Don’t you remember our secret? Don’t you remember? Keep your fucking mouth shut, bitch! I said don’t move, you fucking bitch! Don’t you remember? You do remember, don’t you?

“She has her nightgown on. You just can’t see because she’s under the covers,” I said, lying.

“I don’t want to watch this,” she said, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

“Well, good! I don’t either. How about we go to your room?”

“Okay, mama,” she said, as she gave her husky laugh and rubbed her hands together, as she often did when excited.

“You’re a silly girl!” I said. She continued laughing as we both stood to leave the room. I grabbed her hand and we walked, swinging our arms back and forth, all the way down the hall.


II.
         Jenny’s room was the last one on the right. Each room held two beds, though she was the only one without a roommate. Most days it was just the two of us. Most days I think we both liked it best that way.

She crawled onto her bed to reach for Annie, one of her favorite baby-doll’s. She held Annie out in front of her, giggling as she made her dance through the air. “Look Tammy!” she said, between her laughter. Jenny never called me by my real name. When she wasn’t calling me ‘mama’, it was ‘Tammy’. I was her Tammy—even from the very beginning. I belonged to her and her alone. Everyone knew this.

Jenny sat up on the side of her bed and grew quiet.

         “My daddy made me take my clothes off. That’s not nice, is it, mama?” she asked, a few minutes after she had settled down. Her words still echo in my mind: That’s not nice, is it, mama?

         I sat down next to her on the bed. I leaned against her shoulder with mine. “No, you’re right, Jenny,” I said. “That was a very ugly thing for him to do.”

         I fed her these words, knowing I could never free her from this burden. No one will ever be able to, as no one will ever be able to do so for me. It was clear what ran through Jenny’s mind when she saw those naked bodies moving across the screen because it was the same thing that went through mine. Both she and I had been held down and branded by people we trusted most. If only she knew just how much I understood her fears. If only she knew I too shared her same scars.

         We belong to this shit-hole, Jenny and I. A shit-hole that bloodies our fingers each time we try to crawl out. She and I walk through life with our blood stained fingertips because once you’re forced into this place, you can’t just leave. We will never leave.

“I don’t like that. Why did my daddy do that?”

“Oh, baby... I know you didn’t like any of it. But none of that stuff had anything to do with you, okay? Your daddy,” I started, “your daddy—he’s just not a good man and I wish I could make all of the things he did to you go away…”

But you know as long as you’re here, you don’t have to worry about that happening, right? I would ask, knowing it made no difference.

Yes, mama, she would respond. It was always yes, mama.