Piecing it together.
I cant sleep. The two things that seem to be keeping me awake are: 1.) short stories about possible reasons why some guy just knocked on our door at 2:30am and then walked away when he heard our demon dog barking and 2.) memories of my early childhood, when we lived in Missouri, right around the time that my Dad left.
I can't remember if I was happy but I do remember being relatively comfortable. I had lots of toys. My Mother liked to decorate my room with "Potato People," which were pretty much ugly dolls made out of potato sacks. They scared the shit out of me and whenever I was in my room I had to try hard not to look at them, especially at night because they sat on a shelf right across from my bed. I begged my Mother to take them down but she refused. She asked why and I didn't know how to tell her that it felt like they were staring at me. Since I didn't give her a legitimate excuse, she kept them up.
I also remember that my Mom made a really nice vanity for me, painted white with pink polka dots. She also made matching mirror/candle holders and put pink candle sticks in them.
My Dad wasn't home too often, but when he was, his mood was unpredictable. Sometimes he was a lot of fun, especially when my older half-sisters came to visit. We would wrestle in the living room while my Mom video taped us. We piled on top of him, trying to knock him over, but he pulled us off like rag dolls and tickled us until we cried. He also played guitar, singing "Da-doo Da-doo Loves You" while we shook maracas, tambourines, and took turns on his harmonica. We have this on video too, somewhere in my Mom's house.
There were also times when he came home in a bad mood, kicking his shoes into the wall, and plopping in front of the TV. One night, he made it clear that he wasn't in the mood to play, and I pushed the issue, he yelled and said to go to my room and wait for him. I knew what that meant, so I tried to hide myself in the covers, wrapped like a burrito, hoping that it would be too difficult to get to me. But the sting of his belt zipped through the fabric until I finally made the choice to let him spank my behind, rather than the less softer spots all over.
My brother was a baby at this point. I was really excited about being a big sister and tried to play with him. When he didn't seem to share in my enthusiasm, I became really disappointed. That, along with the fact that ate up all of my Mother's attention made me very jealous.
My Mother came in one night while I was playing and sat me down on my bed.
"I have to tell you something very important," she said. "So listen carefully." I nodded to show that I was listening, but it took her a few minutes to begin because she was crying and then had to leave to get tissues.
"You're Daddy and I are getting a divorce," she said and studied my expression. I obviously didn't know what that meant, but she waited for a response.
"What's a divorce?" I asked.
"It means that your Daddy isn't going to live here anymore." She stopped again and waited patiently for me to grasp it. "But he still loves you very much and wants to come visit you and take you to do fun things every weekend."
I didn't fully understand this because I looked for him the next morning. "He's not here, RyAnne" my Mother kept saying and she brought me into their room to show me his empty closet. I cried and she held me for a while before she had to go tend to my brother because he, too, was crying.
One time, my Mom left me alone in the kitchen to play with my brother. She gave us some pots and metal spoons and keys to make music and keep us occupied for a while. Pretty soon, my brother was bored with them. My Mother then brought out my Father's harmonica and gave it to my brother to play with. I wanted to play with it too, but whenever I tried to take a turn, he screamed and my Mother yelled at me to give it back. This made my blood boil. When she left the room again I leaned over, grabbed his arm, and bit down, hard. Instantly he screamed bloody murder and my Mother came running in.
"What happened? What happened?" She scooped him up in her arms. I just stared at her, horrified.
"Did you do this?" she screamed, holding up his arm for me to see the teeth marks. I just stared, my eyes and jaw wide open. "Did you do this?!" She came at me.
"I'm sorry..." I could barely utter the words and then she slapped my mouth. She hesitated and then slapped me again, this time with a little less force, probably because I began screaming too.
Anyone who has experienced this will agree that when your Mother slaps you in the mouth for the first time, your heart breaks.
I then felt her hand touch my shoulder and I flinched. It took me a second to realize that she too was crying, almost as loud as we were and was pulling me into her arms.
This was the beginning of a long, awkward, confusing childhood.
I can't remember if I was happy but I do remember being relatively comfortable. I had lots of toys. My Mother liked to decorate my room with "Potato People," which were pretty much ugly dolls made out of potato sacks. They scared the shit out of me and whenever I was in my room I had to try hard not to look at them, especially at night because they sat on a shelf right across from my bed. I begged my Mother to take them down but she refused. She asked why and I didn't know how to tell her that it felt like they were staring at me. Since I didn't give her a legitimate excuse, she kept them up.
I also remember that my Mom made a really nice vanity for me, painted white with pink polka dots. She also made matching mirror/candle holders and put pink candle sticks in them.
My Dad wasn't home too often, but when he was, his mood was unpredictable. Sometimes he was a lot of fun, especially when my older half-sisters came to visit. We would wrestle in the living room while my Mom video taped us. We piled on top of him, trying to knock him over, but he pulled us off like rag dolls and tickled us until we cried. He also played guitar, singing "Da-doo Da-doo Loves You" while we shook maracas, tambourines, and took turns on his harmonica. We have this on video too, somewhere in my Mom's house.
There were also times when he came home in a bad mood, kicking his shoes into the wall, and plopping in front of the TV. One night, he made it clear that he wasn't in the mood to play, and I pushed the issue, he yelled and said to go to my room and wait for him. I knew what that meant, so I tried to hide myself in the covers, wrapped like a burrito, hoping that it would be too difficult to get to me. But the sting of his belt zipped through the fabric until I finally made the choice to let him spank my behind, rather than the less softer spots all over.
My brother was a baby at this point. I was really excited about being a big sister and tried to play with him. When he didn't seem to share in my enthusiasm, I became really disappointed. That, along with the fact that ate up all of my Mother's attention made me very jealous.
My Mother came in one night while I was playing and sat me down on my bed.
"I have to tell you something very important," she said. "So listen carefully." I nodded to show that I was listening, but it took her a few minutes to begin because she was crying and then had to leave to get tissues.
"You're Daddy and I are getting a divorce," she said and studied my expression. I obviously didn't know what that meant, but she waited for a response.
"What's a divorce?" I asked.
"It means that your Daddy isn't going to live here anymore." She stopped again and waited patiently for me to grasp it. "But he still loves you very much and wants to come visit you and take you to do fun things every weekend."
I didn't fully understand this because I looked for him the next morning. "He's not here, RyAnne" my Mother kept saying and she brought me into their room to show me his empty closet. I cried and she held me for a while before she had to go tend to my brother because he, too, was crying.
One time, my Mom left me alone in the kitchen to play with my brother. She gave us some pots and metal spoons and keys to make music and keep us occupied for a while. Pretty soon, my brother was bored with them. My Mother then brought out my Father's harmonica and gave it to my brother to play with. I wanted to play with it too, but whenever I tried to take a turn, he screamed and my Mother yelled at me to give it back. This made my blood boil. When she left the room again I leaned over, grabbed his arm, and bit down, hard. Instantly he screamed bloody murder and my Mother came running in.
"What happened? What happened?" She scooped him up in her arms. I just stared at her, horrified.
"Did you do this?" she screamed, holding up his arm for me to see the teeth marks. I just stared, my eyes and jaw wide open. "Did you do this?!" She came at me.
"I'm sorry..." I could barely utter the words and then she slapped my mouth. She hesitated and then slapped me again, this time with a little less force, probably because I began screaming too.
Anyone who has experienced this will agree that when your Mother slaps you in the mouth for the first time, your heart breaks.
I then felt her hand touch my shoulder and I flinched. It took me a second to realize that she too was crying, almost as loud as we were and was pulling me into her arms.
This was the beginning of a long, awkward, confusing childhood.