23 years later

I was about 8 when my life was changed. It was a weekend day and on this day I was particularly happy, because my mother had decided to try to get my father’s attention. They had been separated since daddy came home from out to sea and mom found out that once again my father had cheated. But my mother loved my father very much and it was clear. This day she pulled out all the stops. She curled her hair in the fashion of the time, Claire Huxtable or Oprah, put on her tight black jeans, sexy ankle boots and her black leather jacket with silver trimmings. She beat her face like only my mother can do and adorned her nose with a dainty nose ring. She came that day for my father’s wandering eyes. So much packed in this day for me. It was the first time I’d ever seen my mother and father in the same room enjoying each other’s company it was sadly the last. I had hope that day, childish hope. I thought: “Maybe today mommy and daddy will get back together! Oh how marvelous this day will be.” Well maybe I didn’t think the word marvelous at 8 but I was indeed excited! The day was going so well. We went to my paternal grand-parents’ house where most of the kicking it would go down with all my mom and dad’s friends from high school and family members. My parents had been together since the ages of 13 and 14 and where now in their mid-20’s with 2 children. There laid a rich history of what I call day one-ism with the family and friends. On this occasion my Fathers half-brother (my uncle) Greg was in town. At one point in my life Greg was one of my favorite uncles. The out of town uncle that came in town for family functions, so it always seemed like we were having a good time when he was in town. The one who gives you money to buy super-soakers and candy. I was always happy to see Greg.

On this day, I stayed with my grandfather while my parents went out with their cousins and friends. My grandmother was at work, my grandfather and Greg were home. I don’t remember where my big brother was but he wasn’t around this day. I remember being in the kitchen with my grandfather and him kneeling down one knee and saying to me: “Nee-nee (family nick-name) I want you to stay away from your uncle Greg today.” The 8-year-old girl in me was puzzled. “Why Pop-pop I love Uncle Greg?”  His response was: “I know you love your Uncle, just listen to your pop-pop ok? Your uncle has had too much to drink.” Even at the age of 8, it was comical coming from my Grandad who was notorious for having his drink in the same spot at the same time daily. Oblivious to the gravity of the situation, that warning fell lightly on my young naïve ears. So I thought nothing of it, throughout the day, when my uncle patted me on the butt. Thought nothing of it, till after, when my uncle held me too long during a hug and asked for a kiss on the lips. No big deal to me he was my Uncle, I trusted my life with him as did my parents. I’d given him a kiss before, I’d sat on his lap, I’d danced on his feet, jumped on his back, laughed at his silly jokes. All in innocence.

When my parents and the rest of the group returned for the night I was so happy to see them. Mom and daddy were sitting together on a couch laughing, talking to family and friends. Music in the air, they were having adult conversations. But me I just wanted to be there soak it all in. What they laughing about? Who’s going to say something funny next? Will my mommy and daddy kiss? 

But Daddy never played that. When he noticed me in the room  he says to me : “Nee-nee ain’t no kids out here go in the room and watch tv." In the room I went. I pulled out the knob on the tv to power it on.. I was kind of bummed when I was told to go in the room. All the fun was in the other room and now it was just me and the tv. I sat on the edge of the king size bed, engrossed in the tv, when Greg walked in the room. In his hand was a large photo album. He sat down next to me on the bed: “Want to look at some pictures?” he asked me. “Yes” I replied. So he opens up the photo album and shows me pictures of my aunt (his ex-wife) and their children, pictures of my other cousins,aunts and uncles. Then he says : “Come sit on your uncles lap”.  So I hopped off the bed to face him to climb in his lap but he grabbed my arm while I was facing him as to stop me in my tracks. My young innocent mind puzzled by his contradictory actions. He undid my zipper, put his hands inside my panties stroked my underdeveloped and sleeping woman-hood with one of his fingers. Then removed his hand.  I was stunned, and truthfully wasn’t quite sure what just happened I just know it felt….

“Did that feel good?” he asked. Well, to my body it did and my answer was “Yes”. But to my mind something was wrong. I hadn’t had a talk about strangers touching my privates, most likely cause I was NEVER AROUND STRANGERS. However, my mother always told me, and still tells, me I can talk to her about anything. So this was definitely something to talk about! But how? I didn’t know, so I first tried to remove myself from Greg. I grabbed the photo album and went back to the living room where the rest of my family was. However, I wasn’t out there long before my father unwittingly barked at me as if I was in trouble: “Didn’t I tell you to go in the room” Ohhh SHIT!! What to do now? I remember walking back to the room, full of fear, because I knew Greg was still in there. I got to the room and my fears were realized. There he was with a look that I can only describe as perverted lust. This was the Greg I had known all my 8 years and trusted???  No? Right?  He stood up and beckoned me to come near him plagued with fear and confusion I couldn’t move so, he walked over to me. He reached for my zipper again and said: “Feels good right?” I looked in his eyes and said : “NO.”

That look oh his face changed from perverted lust to sinister to, after my answer, fear. I threw down the photo album and ran to the living room. The room was full of laughter and high spirits.  My parents were laughing heartily when I entered the room. My mother’s smile came to a complete halt. I could see that she could see in my eyes something was wrong. “Daddy” I said “ your brother is dead drunk!” My father responded jokingly “I know” and the rest of the room burst into laughter EXCEPT my mother. Clearly shaken, my mother grabs my father’s arm while still staring at me and says “No, No listen to her Kelvin something is wrong.” The room went silent. The longest 3 seconds of my life. I’m about to kill one of the happiest moments I’ve had to date my entire life. (that is up until the molestation) But I had to. So I did, however, at 8 I wasn’t sure how much of this was my fault. Just think grown women who are victims of sex crimes often struggle with feelings of guilt. My thought process as a child was I was guilty, for allowing him to get that close, I felt stupid and also felt part and party because I didn’t stop him. So I lied, I said: “He tried to touch me”.  Well that was enough though for both my parents.

My father is the guy you go have a good time with. Not the guy you call when it’s time to kick some ass. You wouldn’t have known it that day! The words hadn’t hit the aire good yet before my father was out his seat and headed to the backroom where Greg was. “She lying!!-“ were the last words I’ve ever heard Greg say. My father did not come in that room to have a dialogue with him and that was clear. Punch after punch after punch after punch after punch I could hear.  Greg was getting his ASS WHOOPED!

My mother lost it immediately. Her eyes bugged in hysteria, frantically surveying the room. Her hands raised level with her head shaking in fury. She began counting backwards from 10 slowly, I believe in effort to calm herself. But by the number 7 I was nervous that at the number 1 she would literally explode. I’d never seen a countdown like this! My father had reached my uncle by  the number 5. So my senses were almost on TILT. My dad beating my uncle, my mom losing it, my family and friends rushing to the back to get my dad off of Greg. My mother reached the number 1 finally and, just as i thought, exploded. She let out a blood curdling scream and reached for the nearest blunt object, which was a wooden cane in the umbrella holder by the door. I ran outside to the hallway and crouched down with my hands  covering my ears ,crying, feeling somehow responsible for the chaos.  About 5 seconds passed when I see Greg, running for his life, out the house,the front of his white t-shirt covered in blood and still on the receiving end of the wooden cane my mother was wielding.

That was the last time I saw him. It was an out of sight out of mind deal. I suppressed those emotions, repressed those memories and told myself I was over it and I forgave him. But I haven’t, still I carry anger with him. In fact I told my grandmother today. If he had punched me in the face I could’ve gotten over it faster than what happened. Cause that created a ripple effect in my life. In fact, a cripple effect. I feigned indifference, for years, I even fooled myself at times. But I really am, still to this day, as I type this, angry. What was taken away from that little girl can never be given back no matter the effort. I avoided becoming a woman in all her glory because of the pain introduced by Greg. I wasn’t allowed to be a little girl, and afraid to become a woman. So where did that leave me? All over the place.

I’m an advocate of forgiveness, I want to be forgiven. I had this notion if I forgive him then that made me weak. But the true weakness is letting the mistake of others in the past dictate your future. While I still have no desire to be involved with him in any capacity. I really want the mental roadblock that he has created to be destroyed forever. How do I let go? I don’t know But this is me saying I’m ready and willing.