CHAPTER 9
Learning the Rules
Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak. Courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen. - Winston Churchill
The Monster was proud of everything he did, including taking a shit. When he had a particularly large, satisfying shit, Kimmie and I would be beckoned into the bathroom to view it. He would make us kneel in front of the toilet and stare at it while he walked around like a rooster strutting his stuff. The stench was unbearable. He would laugh at our discontent and relish in his control. His antics began very shortly after we moved into the house together. I never understood why my mother would allow it. Monster Jr. didn’t have to kneel and stare at his father’s shit. He wasn’t included in this ritual. Instead, he was allowed to mock us. My mother just stood by and watched it all happen. She did nothing while Kimmie and I knelt down staring at his shit in the toilet like this was normal.
The Monster had a piece of shit car to match his piece of shit personality. There was a hole in the backseat floorboard the size of a volleyball. He covered it with a mat, but we were often asked to move the mat and push trash down it. It was illegal to dump trash, but this way no one would know it was us. I would watch the road through that hole and wanted to squeeze through it and disappear like the trash we were throwing out. The mat used to cover the hole seemed to represent his true “at home” personality that he hid from the outside world. Instead, everyone saw an engaging, energetic, outgoing person with an amazing voice.
Abuse is insidious but his domination quickly crept in to our lives. The Monster gave me the nickname, Vaginafer. He made a sign on a piece of computer paper and used a black sharpie to write VAGINAFER in big, bold letters. The sign hung above my bedroom door. He was very proud of his home and showed it off to everyone who came to visit. He was like a peacock showing off his feathers. “Look at me! I’m being an asshole to a nine year old girl!” When my grandmother came to visit and he showed her the sign I was completely mortified. I brought a dining room chair upstairs and still couldn’t reach it to pull it down, not that it would have stopped him from putting up another sign. He was just that mean.
Introducing Monster Jr.
Monster Jr. spent some time with his mother, although I never met her. When he was with us, which happened more as time went by, things in the house became progressively worse. He was the prodigy son and didn’t have to follow the same rules as we did. He aimed to follow in his father’s footsteps, which would prove horrifying over time. I hated him. I hated being around him. The Monster encouraged his son to put me in the corner and air punch at me also. It was a game for them. But I proved to be stronger.
Junior was always jumping on me on the couch and anywhere he could, rubbing himself against me and telling me he was going to rape me and fuck me good. He was always playing with his dick, trying to get a hard on and rub it on me. To terrorize Kimmie he would hide under her bed and grab her ankles when she was getting into bed. He was short like his father ,but unlike The Monster, Junior had thick, dark hair and eyes. He was a scrawny kid and The Monster beat him up sometimes. I was able to push him off me as I grew stronger. I pushed him off even when The Monster was cheering him on. The Monster and Junior were disappointed that I could end their little game. Junior yearned to control me just like his father did.
My mother seemed to hate Junior also. He acted just like his father, but since Junior was so scrawny she could fight back if he was acting up. There were several times when she beat him, once holding him up against the wall and choking him. I loved it. I wanted her to kill him. I was so ecstatic that someone else was getting the brunt of abuse for a change. I don’t know what Junior did to infuriate my mother. She didn’t stick up for us, he just pissed her off on his own. He was a belligerent little shit and talked back to my mother when The Monster wasn’t around. He was trying to become his father. He didn’t defend himself, but tried to deflect the abuse. He took it until it was over and then ran outside.
Ready to Run
I had set up the closet in the eaves of my room with a blanket, a flashlight, and some items I felt were essential for hiding. This included a favorite stuffed animal and a couple small toys. Being in the eaves meant the closet had a pitched roof, so the space was more of a triangle and only 3’ tall at the highest point. It ran the length of most of the bedroom and was probably 7’ long. I hid in the closet as much as possible, and, naturally, there was room for Kimmie, too.
I had a bag packed for Kimmie and myself so we could run away if needed. I hid the bag under Kimmie’s bed because I figured I’d be getting her, too. I would have never left without her. Within six months of moving in with The Monster ,that bag was packed. Extra clothing and shoes were in it ,and I knew from being out on the street that we would be OK. I had a pocket knife and I knew how to use it.
Once Kimmie and I were on the streets at night with a group of people we didn’t know. I must have realized there should be safety in numbers. It was dark and getting late. A man approached Kimmie and was bothering her. I told him to leave her alone, but he kept on talking to her in that syrupy sweet voice that’s meant to calm a child down. But I knew his game. When he repeatedly ignored me asking him to stop talking to her, I stabbed him in the leg with my knife and Kimmie and I left fast, running away and back to the house. I was terrified of getting caught, scared the police would come, but it felt good to stick up for myself. I didn’t do a lot of damage to the man. I just wanted him to know I wasn’t afraid of him and to leave us alone. There was only one other time when we were on the streets that we had an issue. A man in a car was following us very closely and slowly asking us if we needed a ride somewhere. “I’m just trying to be helpful,” he explained. By then I was 11 and I told him to leave us alone and go fuck himself. Eventually he left.
I had a friend named Debbie that lived down the street and across from us. Her mother spoke English but was more comfortable with Portuguese. She was loud, boisterous, and for the most part happy. She had fake reddish hair and was a large, short woman who loved to cook. I wanted to be invited over to eat because–not only did she like to cook–it was different than anything I had eaten. One time when I was there, she was boiling water to cook live lobsters. The lobsters were crawling around in the kitchen sink, not getting anywhere. She was very afraid of the claws, which weren’t taped, and grabbed the lobsters by the middle to shove them in the enormous pot. One jumped out and started running across the kitchen floor, making us all jump and scream. She swore in Portuguese and chased it down and made sure when she dropped it in the pot the lid was on tight.
I had a few sleepovers with Debbie. One night when we were in sixth grade, she told me she wanted to touch me. She was interested in girls and wanted to experiment. I told her I wasn’t interested in girls at all and it made me uncomfortable, but I let her kiss me a little. She was developing faster than I was and already had a C cup, so she liked to sleep in her underwear and show them off. They were great boobs so I understood her pride and fascination with them. Debbie never made me feel uncomfortable or bad for saying no and we remained friends after that night like it never happened.
Listening for Sounds of Life
The Monster beat the living shit out of my mother. Everything they did was loud and frequent. The sex. The fighting. He liked to keep her in the bedroom and scream at her until she cried. He’d throw her against the wall and choke her. She often had bruises on her upper arms. She had bruises other places too. I would sit outside the door and wait until they were done fighting. Usually they had loud makeup sex and I would know my mother was alive and I would walk away knowing she made it through being beat to shit. She wasn’t dead. Just covered with a fresh set of bruises.
One time, I didn’t hear anything. Minutes that seemed like hours passed, and I got more and more panicked that she was dead. I went into Junior’s room and climbed out the window onto the front porch roof. The bedroom windows were connected by the roof, so I scooted across to peer into their window. They were lying in bed, naked and intertwined. I felt a mixture of relief, disgust and hate. They caught me peering in and came out of the room wondering what I was doing on the roof. I said something lame like I was getting some air.
Becoming A Warrior Princess
Being regularly humiliated and demeaned is a horrible way to grow up. Listening to my mother be abused, knowing how much she cried and how bruised she would be was awful. As a result, I learned to have better relationships in my life, but even knowing what I didn’t want, I didn’t always choose well. I’ve had my fair share of failed relationships and dysfunction, but no one has ever physically abused me as an adult. A residual reaction that I’ve never been able to get rid of is hating anything coming at my face. Whether it’s playing a sport, someone reaching towards me too close to my face or a rock hitting my windshield while driving. I have an exaggerated knee jerk reaction to anything approaching my face too fast or too close. I hate people standing over me–even my kids at the dinner table or someone looking over my shoulder. It’s amazing the baggage we carry and the scars no one sees.
Triumph with Love
My therapist taught me not to be afraid of the silence. Silence growing up was the calm before the storm, so I always tried to fill it in the hopes I could stop the ensuing storm. Now I’m not only comfortable with silence, I sometimes welcome it. To learn to be alone with my thoughts was almost physically painful at first. I have also learned to be cautious in relationships– to a fault - and walk away from them when they aren’t functioning well–also to a fault. I balance a lower tolerance for bullshit with an enormous willingness to work hard in relationships, so when I walk I feel that I’ve done everything I could have done.
LEARN AND GROW
• Don’t be afraid of the silence
• Don’t tolerate bad treatment
• Work hard on relationships