the third anniversary
The Third Anniversary
Kristina dyed her hair black.
The five of us -- my
father's children --
have fire-red hair
and fire-red tempers --
but Kristina's hair is black now.
I consider it symbolic.
It's been three years.
Three years of
Is-that-him-behind-me-on-the-highway.
Three years of
warm milk in the middle of the night.
Three years of
secrets and shame
and learning how to fit into
a tainted skin.
Three years.
I would love
for this to be a story
about the effect time has
on pain --
a story about healing
and growing
and forgetting
but hers is a story of
survival.
This year
she has learned to shop alone.
She has fallen in love and
told her boyfriend the truth.
She has begun to equate
silence with solitude
but it is never that easy.
Kristina is forever haunted
by a ghost she can't identify.
She is still afraid of the dark
but at least now,
with black hair,
it will be easier to blend in.
===
I know the story. I know it better than she does now. I know that the police found makeup and saliva smeared across one of the pillows in the motel room; I know that they found blood on the sheets. I know that they found drugs in her system, drugs that she didn't take, drugs that no girl would take. I know that when she woke up, she was in the back of some guy's car, naked, and he yelled at her to get dressed, hurry, someone was coming, and she started to, and then he yelled at her to stop, nevermind, they left, they went the other way, and then he was inside her again. I know that she was cold.
I know that she showered for three hours when they brought her home. I know that afterward, she had my mother bring mattresses into the living room, and everyone slept on them, and on the couches, with her in the middle. I know that she still dreams about it. She thrashes and screams and sweats when she's dreaming, but when she wakes up, she smiles and pretends like she's okay.
I know that she doesn't talk to strangers anymore.
(excerpt from my sister's story.)
===
I've seen the anger and I've seen all the dreams
And I've watched their existence torn apart at the seams
And though I may seem helpless
I will do all that I can do
I've seen a part of people that I never really wanted to share
Oh, I've seen a part of people that I never knew was there
Shelter, give them shelter...
(Sarah McLachlan)
Kristina dyed her hair black.
The five of us -- my
father's children --
have fire-red hair
and fire-red tempers --
but Kristina's hair is black now.
I consider it symbolic.
It's been three years.
Three years of
Is-that-him-behind-me-on-the-highway.
Three years of
warm milk in the middle of the night.
Three years of
secrets and shame
and learning how to fit into
a tainted skin.
Three years.
I would love
for this to be a story
about the effect time has
on pain --
a story about healing
and growing
and forgetting
but hers is a story of
survival.
This year
she has learned to shop alone.
She has fallen in love and
told her boyfriend the truth.
She has begun to equate
silence with solitude
but it is never that easy.
Kristina is forever haunted
by a ghost she can't identify.
She is still afraid of the dark
but at least now,
with black hair,
it will be easier to blend in.
===
I know the story. I know it better than she does now. I know that the police found makeup and saliva smeared across one of the pillows in the motel room; I know that they found blood on the sheets. I know that they found drugs in her system, drugs that she didn't take, drugs that no girl would take. I know that when she woke up, she was in the back of some guy's car, naked, and he yelled at her to get dressed, hurry, someone was coming, and she started to, and then he yelled at her to stop, nevermind, they left, they went the other way, and then he was inside her again. I know that she was cold.
I know that she showered for three hours when they brought her home. I know that afterward, she had my mother bring mattresses into the living room, and everyone slept on them, and on the couches, with her in the middle. I know that she still dreams about it. She thrashes and screams and sweats when she's dreaming, but when she wakes up, she smiles and pretends like she's okay.
I know that she doesn't talk to strangers anymore.
(excerpt from my sister's story.)
===
I've seen the anger and I've seen all the dreams
And I've watched their existence torn apart at the seams
And though I may seem helpless
I will do all that I can do
I've seen a part of people that I never really wanted to share
Oh, I've seen a part of people that I never knew was there
Shelter, give them shelter...
(Sarah McLachlan)