“Her description was typical of survivors of chronic childhood abuse. Almost always, they deny or minimize the abusive memories. They have to: it's too painful to believe that their parents would do such a thing. But while the knowledge, body sensations, and feelings are shattered, they are not forgotten. They intrude in unexpected ways: through panic attacks and insomnia, through dreams and artwork, through seemingly inexplicable compulsions, and through the shadowy dread of the abusive parent. They live just outside of consciousness like noisy neighbors who bang on the pipes and occasionally show up at the door.”
~David L. Calof~
My aunt took me to school the next morning, even though I hadn't slept after the car chase, I'm guessing that my mom told her that I had to go to school. I just wanted to stay at her house though. I felt rattled. And tired.
My first class of the day was physical education. And I had that class with my best friend Memory, and yes, that may sound like an ironic made up name but that was actually her name. We had met in kindergarten.
As I was undressing and telling her what had happened the night before she saw my legs.
"WHAT IS THAT?" she shouted at me.
I looked behind me towards the lockers and asked "What?"
"THE BACK OF YOUR LEGS!!"
I looked at the back of my legs, there were reddish-purple welts from where my mom had hit me with the belt. So I told her the part of the night that I had left out, the part of the night where my mother had hit me with a belt. I had been focusing on the car chase, and the fact that I was staying at my aunt's house, and that I was afraid that I would be grounded for the rest of my life.
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After lunch I was called into the counselor's office. She asked me what had happened the night before. I told her the same thing that I had told Memory and, once again, I left out the part about the belt. She asked if she could see me legs. I showed her. And told her. She said that she would have to call the police. That she was a mandated reporter. I begged her not to. I cried; and I NEVER cried at school. She said that she had no choice and that it was the "right" thing to do. She did not counsel me or ask me any more questions. I do not think that she even asked if I was alright. She just sent me back to class.
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My aunt picked me up after school. That had been the plan. But my grandmother was with her, and that had not been the plan. They were both red-faced and smoking. "What did YOU do?" That was the first question that they asked.
"I don't know." Because honestly, at that point, I didn't know what I had done. But I knew that I had definitely done something wrong. I had ALWAYS done something wrong.
"Your mother was called by the police and is down at the police station right now. We are going to meet her there."
I don't remember anything else about the car ride to the police station - I just remember my heart pounding in my ears.
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When we got to the police station I was taken into a room, by myself. My aunt and grandma waited in the lobby. (Is it called a "lobby" in a police station?)
An officer came in and asked me what had happened the night before. I told him. He asked me about the belt and I told him. I also told him I absolutely DID NOT want my mom to get into trouble. That I didn't ask for this. That I had begged the counselor not to call the police. I think that I cried again. He did not ask to see my legs. He just left.
A minute later another officer walked in. And these words I will always remember... 100%. I will never forget the way that he looked at me and how small I felt sitting in that chair.
"I've spoken with your mother and I know what really happened last night. You CANNOT lie about your mom. You know that she could get into serious trouble for the things that you said."
"What?"
"Look, you've got a really great mom in there who is really scared right now and you have to stop sneaking out and lying about her just to get her into trouble. UNDERSTOOD!!"
"I didn't lie."
And he walked out and said follow me. My mom, aunt, and grandma were all standing there and glaring at me. Triplets.
We all walked out together and my mother said nothing. She went and got into her car and I went with my aunt and my grandmother. The had all lit cigarettes before we had even gotten to the car. My aunt started the engine. My grandma turned around and looked at me. I had never seen her look this way before. She was my angel.
She pointed at me, with her cigarette wagging between her fingers...
"Tell them that you lied!"
"But I didn't lie."
"I DON'T CARE! My daughter is more important to me than you are so just tell them that you lied."
And she turned around.
I felt my heart shatter. An unkind word from a kind person stings far more than an unkind word from an unkind person. And it was the only time in my entire life that my grandmother ever said an unkind word to me and, to this day, it still is.
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