chapter 1

Reads: 198  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
first chapter of a novel that i am working on.

Submitted: October 14, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 14, 2016

A A A

A A A


We really don’t appreciate the strength of our own heart. Maybe it’s because we don’t understand how it can continue to function after so many years of heartbreak and abuse. The heart begins beating at four weeks after conception and it does not stop until we die. I guess that’s true because my heart has been broken to the point where I don’t believe a bandage could protect the wound on it that life has created. There is a gaping hole in my soul and the bandage covering it has never done much to help it heal; instead every memory of what happened to me became like a new scar. This is my story. The story of me and my wounded heart and the bandage that I tried to cover it with but could never replace with a new or better one.  There is nothing special about me but yet I have a story that no matter how much I have tried to ignore it, I could not. I began writing stories as a child. It was my escape from reality and it still is. Maybe writing is the bandage that has protected my wounded heart.  The only thing that has changed is that I am no longer trying to escape my reality, I am trying to face it by letting out the past. The things that you want to forget but they are with you every single moment of the day. They have lived in your head longer than anything you can remember. Some people suppress memories of abuse. I wish I could have suppressed what happened to me since wishing it never happened is pointless. It happened thirty six years ago but the sounds, the feelings of disgust, and even the smell seem like it all just happened yesterday. I don’t remember much about the girl that I was before HE did what HE did to me which started when I was six years old. My parents divorced when I was five. To say I never lived a normal life would be accurate. My father was abusive to my mother. The few good memories I have during the time that my parents were married do not involve either one of them. It was the times when my brothers and I would run around in our backyard with our pet goat chasing behind us. We loved that goat more than anything. When my mom would leave to go into town to get groceries, we would bring the goat into the house to watch cartoons and to eat cereal with us. The goat (I believe we called her Nanny) would eat up the cereal and the box it came in. Going outside to play in the rain was my favorite thing to do. It was the most carefree I have ever felt in my entire life. The rain became my comforter. When I would wake up in the middle of the night to hear my mother’s screams and my father’s angry cursing I would try to tune it out by thinking about the mud cakes I would make outside in the rain or the baby tadpoles that I would catch when the rain was gone. It was hard not to cry hearing my parents fight and it was hard not to cry seeing my mother’s face; beaten and bruised. It was hard not to cry seeing my mother cry or seeing my little brother cry. It was hard not to cry seeing my big brother try to help my mom and watching my father take his fist and punch him in the head as hard as he could. I hated my father. I never knew a person could be so evil. Even now I struggle to love him and move past those days. My mother would pack us up and we would move away repeatedly only to return.  Even at the age of five I never understood why she kept going back.  I was glad to be away from him. My grandmother used to say my father was the devil and I believed it. My mom was a good mother. I don’t remember her being affectionate or even a doting parent. She never did the things with me that most mothers did with their daughters. My grandmother taught me how to cook and how to sweep a floor. One thing I can say without a doubt is that my mom would do whatever she had to do to make sure my brothers and I were not without food or clothing. My father would not pay child support nor would he even give her money to buy us winter coats. My aunts and uncles helped us out a lot which is how the secret nightmare that’s been my reality began. In the summer I would got stay in the city with my aunt. As conflicting as it is, my aunt was and still is my favorite person in the world. Being with her made me feel complete. I felt like part of a normal family. I had my uncle there who in my young mind was now the daddy that I always wanted. My aunt brought me nice clothing and taught me how to clean myself up. I was a country girl who was used to running around outside barefoot and climbing trees or going under the house to play with the dog. So being in the city with my aunt allowed me to see new and exciting things. I remember the first time I rode on the escalator and how afraid I was that my toe would get jammed in it. I remember being in an elevator for the first time and being afraid that the doors would not open. My first time seeing the beautiful downtown skyline and my first trip to the zoo.  I also developed a bond with my two younger cousins. We were inseparable every summer. Although they did not spend the entire summer at my aunt’s house with me they would come over mostly on the weekends or I would occasionally spend a night at one of their houses. We loved Michael Jackson and would try to imitate his dance moves in my aunt’s garage. My aunt had children who were a few years older than us. Her oldest son although about ten years older than me, was barely taller than I was at the age of six. I remember thinking HE was weird because HE looked like an old man with his false teeth that HE would pull out of his mouth and chase me and my cousins with. Yet we weren’t afraid of HIM. HE would walk us to the store and buy us candy and late at night we would join him when we would hear him raiding the refrigerator. HE would let us come in his room where HE had a record player and we would dance and sing our hearts out. Then one day as HE was gone for the day, my cousins and I began looking around his room for candy since HE always seemed to have some. Since his drawers were empty we decided to search underneath the bed and then underneath the mattress. What we found was definitely not what we expected- we found books full of pictures of naked women. Women who looked different than anything that we had ever seen before and doing things with men that we had never seen done before. Looking at the pictures didn’t make me curious, instead it grossed me out looking at the women with what I thought was some type of thick nasty snot running from their mouths. We hurriedly put the books away and went on to find something else to play with not thinking my cousin would know that we saw the books. The next day when we went to play in his room, he asked us had we saw the “naked people magazines”.  As kids we weren’t good liars and were afraid that we would get in trouble or worse, be sent home so we lied and said we had not. My cousin just sat there staring at us so hard that we were afraid to look him in his eyes; instead we stared at the floor waiting to see who would be the first one to leave. We were so uncomfortable and both of my younger cousins started staring at me trying to see what I would do. I had become the leader of our little crew since I was the eldest. Finally I stood up and said that I had to pee and my cousins followed behind me. We all went down the hall to the main bathroom and closed the door. My cousin Leah asked me, “Do you think he knows we lied?” My other cousin Mya started crying. She was always the scary one in the bunch. She said, “I don’t want to catch a whooping. What if he tells Auntie Debra? We won’t be able to come stay anymore.” Then they both started to cry.  I wanted to cry too because I hated the thought of leaving Auntie Debra’s house. It was the only place I had ever been that seemed to have normal people. They didn’t shout at one another or curse at one another. My uncle and aunt didn’t fight. They had a nice home and drove nice cars. They didn’t have to boil water like we did sometimes to take a bath at my grandmother’s house and we didn’t have to share bath water. It felt good to not have to worry if one of my brothers or cousins peed in the water before it was my turn. They didn’t sit outside on the porch every morning until it got hot like we did back home. Or sit up under the tree until it got dark and then go back to the porch like we did back in the country. They didn’t even drink water out of the water hose, they had a machine that you could get water out of and it was always cold. They didn’t have air conditioners in the windows that didn’t even work during the day and buckets on the porch to catch the water that dripped out of them. They had what I thought was a little air conditioner on the wall and it worked all day. It was never hot at Auntie Debra’s house. It would be so cold at night that we would sleep wrapped up in at least two comforters. Auntie Debra’s house was perfect but the only thing missing was my Big Mama. Big Mama knew everything and could fix anything. I remember when I would have a bad dream she would tell me just to shout out “Jehovah God” because she said bad dreams were from the devil and that the devil could not stand to hear God’s name. It worked every time but sometimes the dreams would come back later. I thought I could see evil faces floating towards me although I had my eyes wide open so I would run to my Big Mama’s room and she would let me climb in and everything would be just fine. Even now when I have nightmares I still scream out “Jehovah God” over and over until I finally feel safe enough to close my eyes and go back to sleep.  Sometimes when I think about my Big Mama I wonder if she knew what happened to me all of those years ago. I wonder if the person who made me feel the most secured that I have ever felt would have tried to protect me like she did each and every time my mom would threaten to whip me. From a small child I knew I could run to my Big Mama and even as an adult I still did until the day she left me. To this day I still don’t know why I didn’t run to her then and tell her what happened. Maybe I was afraid she would turn on me and treat me differently. Sometimes when certain family members came around who had money she would treat me and my brothers a little different.I remember that day in the restroom with my cousins we decided we would not say anything unless my cousin told on us if he did we would just tell the truth, that we found the nasty magazine’s by accident. We also agreed to stay out of my cousin’s room. When we would play outside or sit around watching television my cousin would try talking to us as usual and offer us candy and although we would take the candy we didn’t have much to say. To this very day, I cannot eat Now and Laters candies because they remind me of what happened. After we found the magazines I noticed my cousin looking at me in a weird way. I would be outside playing and I would look up and see him staring at my butt or even my front. He wouldn’t even turn away when I caught him. I didn’t know why he was looking at me the way he did but I felt very uncomfortable. It seemed like the more we tried to ignore my cousin the more he was around. And thinking back on it, he always seemed to have more candy.


© Copyright 2017 Cindy Dancy. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Non-Fiction Short Stories

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by Cindy Dancy

Goodbye Love

Short Story / Romance

Goodbye Love: Part II

Short Story / Romance

 PartIII :Goodbye Love

Short Story / Romance

Popular Tags