The Omission: I adored my “brothers”, but as I ventured into adolescence, their inappropriate ways replaced adoration with distaste. “Mom, they said that Pa is not my father” I would whine. Downplaying their accusations, my mother would blame jealousy as the culprit. She would convince me that I was luckier than they because I had my dad under my roof whereas they did not. Through coercion and my mother’s preoccupation, I did everything with my dad. He was responsible for my cleaning, cooking, and educational work ethic. He expected total compliance in every facet of my life. I always obliged from a mixture of fear and approval until the day of the dream......
The Dream: “Stink, I want to tell you about my dream but you can’t tell anyone,” said Pa. Being in the fourth grade, I shared secrets with my friends all the time. They were totally aware of my innocent crushes. “Sure, daddy, I won’t tell anyone,” I said. The word girlfriend and sex resonated through my head. Those were the only words that poked out from behind the black screen of that conversation.
The Railroad: On Saturday mornings, mom slept in. Pa and I frequented Valley Fair, a huge department store. The two departments we frequented most were the music and liquor section with most of our time being spent in the latter. Our traditional route was out the back door of our apartment, over the bridge, down the railroad, and to the back of Valley Fair. I was an advocate for not walking on railways, however, I did it with my parents, mainly Pa, so I presumed it was okay. Routinely, dad would take a swig, is what he called it, of his liquor. In a very nonchalant manner, he offered me some. I didn’t say no, but my face answered for me. “Go ahead. Take some. You have my permission,” dad egged on. Ironically, it was sweet with a gripping bite. We proceeded to back track over the bridge and through the back door.
The Accident: “What are you crying for?” came right before the backhand slap to my face. Living in a high crime neighborhood, Pa and I would meet my mother at the bus stop after work. “What happened to her face?” my mother quizzed. The explanation presented did not please my mother but more important matters were now at hand.....gathering a story that we could all remember. It was expected that I would miss a week of school, so for the school, I was playing outside with my friends and was accidentally hit in the eye with a baseball. Having unexpected visits from my maternal side of the family was a rare occasion, but just in case, I was accidentally hit in the eye with a baseball at school during gym. Now that the crisis of gathering a story was resolved, everything resumed to normal.....
Decisions Decisions: After several attempts, this time I had to follow through. In a minuscule moment of privacy, I managed to gather a bag of clothes consisting of one outfit. I tossed the bag out of my parents’ window. I would retrieve the bag the next day on my way to school and never look back. As I hurriedly closed the window, I was hit with the realization of what I’d just done. That night, sleep was not my friend. I tossed and turned all night long. Filled with anxiety and a semblance of courage, I welcomed the morning light. With Pa leaving for work, my plan was set in motion. I carried out my daily routine of breakfast, showering, and walking to school. Telling my mom bye wasn’t difficult because according to her, I would return after school. It was when I reached for the bag outside my parents’ window that everything became difficult. The questions flooded and overwhelmed me. I was only fifteen without a job, yet. I didn’t have a diploma or any experience. I didn’t have money to call my grandmother, nana, or aunt. What would I eat? Where would I sleep? What clothes will I wear? What should I do? As I proceeded to grab the bag of clothes with knots of anxiety and uncertainty, I walked in the direction of school but never went to school that day.
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