A New Beginning

Things might have seemed to be over, and in some ways it was. In others, it was only beginning.

After the move, She started middle school. Living with Her grandparents was not always easy. They were used to having their home to themselves, save for babysitting Her baby cousin. It was a big change to add an 11 year old and a 5 year old. The transition was not always easy, for anyone.

Just a few months later, Her mother found a home to rent about 20 minutes away. It was small, but adequate. She had a room that while not a bedroom, suited her. There were built in shelving units and She was an avid reader. The Girl turned 12 in November, and moved to Her new school in January. Still a fairly quiet kid, she met some friends in her neighborhood. She learned to fit in, and slowly blossomed. Her closest friend was Cherie, and her older sisters. The Girl spent countless nights at their home (just a street over) and going to their church. They became much like a second family.

Her new school was where She witnessed her first physical fight - on her first day, two girls fought and one was slashed with a razor blade. It certainly wasn't the last either; there were fights quite often. There were bomb threats as well - more than once the whole school spent hours outside, waiting for the building to be cleared. The whole bit was a much more rough environment than the one she had come from and She had to adapt. She was louder, more outspoken, and sometimes, meaner. Some of the meanness was perhaps due to the things she had suppressed.

*****

In seventh grade, a lot stayed the same. Lots happened, friendships faded and new ones grew. There were childish fights that were mended. It was also the first time She began to struggle in school. The Girl remembers crying over her first C. It was a Social Studies class and Her teacher wrote her a note. Again, things The Girl had never thought of or dealt with - like pregnant classmates and kids 'dating.' They called themselves "going out with" but rarely actually went anywhere with these boyfriends. Occasional group dates was the most She had experienced...and had her first kiss at one of them.

They spent time at the nearby beach with their friend Krysta during the summer. She got her first sunburn that summer. There were lots of sleepovers and general young teenage girl stuff.They giggled and talked about boys. That fall, they went to football games at the high school where Cherie's older sisters now attended.

This was the year though, that things began to flood back to The Girl. Snippets, small visions. Nightmares and waking up at night. She still refused to talk about it beyond the most basic statement, "I was molested by my father." There was no emotion attached to it, it was just a fact. However, the emotion came back with the memories. She was full of anger, rage really, and hated remembering. She decided that the way to deal with this was to kill herself. 

While serious, She was never quite brave enough. She did end up telling her school counselor though, and Mrs C once again called her mother. She landed right back in counseling at a local children's center, where She once again never shared details. Things went on as before, only now with added counseling appointments. They would continue for a few years.

Aftermath

Life went on.

They continued going to the Methodist church. It's distinct smell and green carpet are clear in Her memories. She was part of the children's choir. It was something that took up Her time - practice. Her younger brother went to preschool there.

School started again. There isn't a lot that stands out about the year. She remembers some writing that the teacher wanted to submit for an award, but not what it was about or the outcome. She does recall polling her female classmates at least once during the year; once, regarding a hair cut. The Girl had always had very long hair and bangs. She'd been growing the bangs out, and She ultimately decided that She'd cut her hair. And cut it was - chin length. Quite a ways different from the waist length hair She'd had. She was 11.

Some time during that summer and fall, the court stuff must have gone on. The Girl remembers no details, only what She learned as She got older. She wasn't present. Apparently, her father plead guilty to the charges. The lawyer that his parents paid for bargained the court down to 10 years probation and First Offenders Status. That last bit meant that if he successfully completed probation and counseling requirements, his record would be expunged. He was allowed supervised visits for the duration of the 10 years. With the family still operating under Her expressed want of things eventually returning to "normal," The Girl, brother and mother began attending another church with her father. He also came to the family home to do his laundry - She remembers having to fold it. Usually they had lunch on Sundays after church, and that was the extent to which She saw him for quite some time.

Again, nothing stands out in her memory about that year. She was part of an Alleluia concert at the Methodist church, and graduated from Elementary school. She loved the Sunday school class at the new church they were attending. The whole thing was very laid back and not "churchy." The Girl was more at ease in these surroundings, because being in a traditional church setting made her feel panic.

The following summer, She and her brother spent lots of time at her Aunt Sue's home. She was the wife of her Uncle Kyle - her father's brother. There was lots of swimming, jumping on the trampoline and going to the movies with her older cousin. Lots of happy memories are what She has of that house, yard and people. They, along with Her mother, were what kept The Girl anchored. They had all three realized that something was Wrong before she confessed her secret. They asked questions, assuming She was being bullied at school. More than once, She startled so badly when Uncle Kyle touched her that He was afraid that He was hurting her in some way. Her Aunt, Uncle and Mother knew that something was wrong, but not what. And She wouldn't talk for such a long time.

During the same time, her parents decided to divorce. The Girl would move, along with her brother and mother, to the next state over. The family would move in with her mother's parents whom she called Grandma and Grandpa. For awhile, her father called weekly and and spoke to The Girl and her brother. Over the months that followed, The Girl started refusing those phone calls.

******

It was 1994 when She revealed her story. That same year, the Jacob Wetterling Act required all states to pass legislation that would require sex offenders to register with registries created by each state. Two years later, Megan's Law would be enacted - this required all states to create legislation mandating public notification of these registries. The states had until 1997 to make these changes to their Law, with an available two year extension for a "good faith effort." The State that The Girl resided in enacted the registry in 1996. However, these laws were not made retroactive. Offenders that were convicted prior to their enacting do not have to register.

Refusal

It was a day late in January that this happened. The next months are all one big jumble. The information She knows is split between memories and what She learned later. It's all very hard to separate. 

Immediately after, an exam was required. Refusing wasn't an option no matter how much She cried. Her mother took her to her family doctor, but before the appointment started, they had to leave. The Girl was panicked about the exam happening and now she was just as scared that it wouldn't. It was discovered that they didn't have small enough equipment that were required. They had to go to the local Children's Hospital. She remembers being in a dim from with a doctor and a couple of nurses. One held her hand and tried to talk to her in soothing words. The Girl remembers talking about horses, but the only thing she recalls about the exam is that the light from the lamp was warm. 

Then there were conversations with Her mother about what She wanted to happen. Did She never want to see him? Did She want everything to attempt some kind of "normalcy?" Without understanding what She was feeling or meant, She replied that she wanted things back to normal. 

Her father was bailed out of jail, because it was what her mother felt was best. The Girl doesn't know much about it, simply because she wasn't privy to it. Her father never lived in the family home again. Without fully explaining why, he went to live with his own aunt. 

There was court mandated therapy for The Girl. Her father as well, She would soon learn. She remembers her counselor. A woman, Dr T. The Girl simply shut down through these months of therapy. She remembers complaining about her mother not allowing her to use hairspray and surely many other trivial things. Never once did she talk about the molestation unless directly asked. She had shoved it away, refused to remember or acknowledge the memories. The Girl succeeded in shutting them out altogether. 

Months passed and it came near to Spring Break. The Girl was asked if She'd like to spend it at her other aunts home. This aunt would be her father's sister. The Girl was mildly looking forward to this, when Her mother told her that that wasn't an option anymore. The reason would soon come to light. 

Her mother explained that her father had to leave where he was staying and had nowhere to go. He couldn't come stay in the family home because he wasn't allowed to be around The Girl. So, they asked if she would like to stay with her Grandmother and Grandfather. They had moved further south in their state, so it must have sounded fun. 

On the day She left, her mother drove her. Still in their own driveway, her mother handed her an Easter basket. Her mother explained that she didn't know how to tell Her that the Easter Bunny wasn't real (though nearing 11, she already knew). 

Her Grandmother took her to some nearby outlets to go shopping. She got a new dress- dark blue, pink flowers. New white tights and shiny white shoes. It was time for the Spring Forward time change, and She purposefully didn't remind her Grandmother. She wasn't looking forward to church.

The next morning, they were and hour late and had missed Sunday School. She remembers being forced to shake hands with many people, which she resented. She had developed an aversion to people touching her at all. 

Her clearest memory is crying in the sanctuary. Her Grandmother kept trying to force her to the front of the church so that she could repent of her sin. Grandmother wanted her to admit to God and church that she had lied about her father molesting her. The Girl refused and for the rest of the week made her pray at her home, trying to force her to admit that she lied. 

What came out later was just as shocking. The reason that The Girl hasn't been able to stay with her aunt was because her Grandmother had convinced the aunt not to let her. After all, the woman claimed, what would happen if The Girl lied about her uncle or cousin the way She had about her father? 

Eventually, seven or so months after the arrest,  Dr T proposed a joint session. Her father would be there, and She could ask any questions she wanted. Her heart pounded when the date arrives. She curled up as small as she could into the corner of the sofa. Her mother sat on a nearby chair.  When her father came in, he sat in the chair furthest from The Girl. She made no eye contact or move for a long time. And when She finally spoke, being prodded by Dr. T, She simply asked, "Why?"

"I don't know."

She didn't speak anymore, no matter who said what. 

The therapy sessions ended soon after. Unbeknownst to Her, Dr T recommended termination to the court due to lack progress. The Girl wouldn't acknowledge or talk about the abuse, and there was simply nothing the Doctor. could do to help Her. 

Revealing

She asked for a pass to the counselor's office and got it. She walked there alone. Knocked. Went in and sat on the couch. She told Mrs. Silver that she needed to tell her something. The Girl must have looked uncomfortable, because Mrs. Silver gave her Timmy the Tiger to hold.
 
It took a long time to find Her voice. When she did, She was more concerned that the bell had rung and that she would miss the bus home. Mrs. Silver told her that they'd call her mom and it was okay, but She wasn't convinced. Finally She spoke. In very matter of fact terms, She told the school counselor that She was being molested by her father.
 
The rest begins to blur in memory. She remembers her heart pounding and being terrified. Mrs. Silver must have called her mother, and clearly she was driven home. The next thing She remembers is talking to her mother. Her mother asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"
 
The Girl replied that she didn't know. Later, She would remember that she tried to tell, but she couldn't find the words to tell her mother and She had been too afraid to try again.
 
Everything is blurry again. The next place she remembers is a small room with a child's table and chairs, a couple of toys. The Girl sat on the sofa with two detectives facing her. She refused to speak.
 
They asked her questions, trying to gently probe and pry a response out of Her. The Girl had her hands in the pockets of her heavy denim coat. There was a wad of tissues in the left pockets that She was systematically shredding into confetti.
 
The detectives left and brought back diagrams. One of a man, one of a girl. She must have at least uttered that she was being touched, because they asked if She could just label body parts. They pointed, She responded with one word answers. Head, arms, chest, hands, fingers, legs, etc. Then the genital area on each - She said they were "privates."
 
The detectives asked then if she could point to the areas and circle the ones that had been touched. He said the words that She had provided and She answered yes. They moved to the adult male diagram and asked to her similar questions regarding what appendages She had been touched with. The hand.
 
Once She began to speak, She found it was a little easier. Her answers were clipped and brief, but verbal.
 
How long had this happened?
She didn't remember, so she tossed a random answer out. "A few months."
 
How many times?
The Girl struggled to remember, but must have blocked the memories. Again, she made something up. "Six."
 
It wouldn't be until years later that She would remember how it started, with being made to touch and see him. She wouldn't recall the day on the couch at home, or the day in her room. These things were left out that day and for years later, before they came back to the surface to haunt Her.
 
She cannot recall the other questions. It's obvious now that this interview was being recorded - at the time, She didn't know.
 
Her next memory is one of those two detectives interviewing her mother. She can remember the introduction on the tape - the detective shared the same last name as The Girl and her family. No relation though. She doesn't know what other questions her mother was asked. At some point the statement was made that her father would not be allowed to see The Girl or be in her vicinity. She remembers being alarmed and asking, "Won't he be home by now?"
 
Her mother said yes, he'd be home from work. The detective made a comment that she doesn't remember either.
 
Blurry again. The next place She recalls is her aunt and uncles. This was her fathers brother, but that didn't matter. They had always been and would stay on Her side. The night is fuzzy, but She and her brother stayed there.
 
Her mother came back, very late in the night. Her mother told her that she'd done the right thing by telling and that her father had even said so.
 
There were other words, assurances that no one was mad. Soft words meant to comfort. She doesn't remember them. She slept, finally.
 
So much was happening that She didn't know then. People were doing so many things. It would all come to light later.

Night Time

Third grade. Home of a teacher with wild black hair and crazy eye make-up. Her first experience with a student teacher - Mr. Walsh. A kickball tournament. Her class won the whole bit. Puberty started. She began developing a bit young - nine years old. A very active school counselor, Mrs. Silver. Timmy the Tiger - her cuddly stuffed animal. Tigers were the school mascot. A trip to an amusement park, and her first roller coaster ride. She remembers spending a lot of her summer at her aunt and uncles house. Swimming in the pool, jumping on the trampoline. A trip to her mother's parents home.

But these take second place to the darker memories.

The first time it happened, she was in her bed. Early morning, world still dark. She was awakened by a tugging on her nightgown. A hand down the back of her underpants that began to fondle her. She didn't fight, she didn't say "no." She didn't do anything except freeze in place. She cried furiously after, and told herself that she'd tell. If it happened again, She would march into the kitchen, pick up the phone, and call the cops herself. She never did.

The Girl cannot recall when the next time was. Or how many times. Always the same. She tried to clench her legs together. It never worked. She never spoke, never struggled. She lay there frozen and helpless. In her bed, in her room, in her home - she should have been safe.

Bold.

Daylight. She saw the truck in the parking spot. She managed to make a two minute walk take what seemed like hours. She was asked to lie down on the couch with him. Without speaking, or acknowledgement, she did. He unbuttoned her pants, and did the same. Everything bleeds together, and She's not sure how many instances. In her room, her younger brother on the bed playing. She sat in his lap, as told. This time, she said to stop. Please, just stop.

"Only if you tell me how it makes you feel." Her heart was pounding, she was terrified and angry. But all that came out was, "Stop. I don't like it."

 
Bolder still.

He walked into her room, nude. Looked out the window, presumably at a passing car...except that they lived on a cul-de-sac. She lay flat as a board on her back, because by now she anticipated the early mornings. She woke up, no matter what. Fear. This time he lay on top of her, on top of the blankets, and sheets. Again, she kept her silence.


Time twists. She hated Wednesdays, that she recalls. Her mother had a book group, and she hated being at home with him. Anytime that she was left home without her mother, she dreaded. By now, this had gone on from third grade until the fourth. New teacher. New room. New friends, old friends. Kelly, and a new friend. Dawn. They fancied themselves The Three Musketeers.

Fourth grade saw the first year of sex ed. Separated genders, both learning what was to happen (or already happening) to their own bodies. A group presentation, by the school counselor regarding Good Touch and Bad Touch. The girl remembers laying her head on her desk, and crying. A neighboring student asked what was wrong. She told her, "Nothing."

That day, Dawn, Kelly and the Girl went to recess. She paced restlessly. She told her friends she had something to tell them. It took almost the whole of recess for her to work up the courage, to find her voice and choose the words. But she did it. She told someone what was happening to her.

Kelly and Dawn were dismayed. All three were ten years old. The girls insisted that She tell someone else. An adult. She refused. Kelly and Dawn pushed and insisted. Finally, a couple of hours later and just before school ended, she relented. They'd just had the presentation that very day, after all. She could tell Mrs. Silver, the school counselor.

A Robe

Small things, tiny bits, so small that even She didn't realize what was happening. Not until later.

As a small girl, She often ran to sit in her father's recliner with him. He tucked her feet beneath his robe under his leg to warm them up. Such an innocent beginning, tainted with evil. She didn't recall it for a long time, but once the memory surfaced, it shone like a beacon. The Girl went to his chair as normal, though it was just starting to be uncomfortable for her. She sat on the arm of the grey La-Z-Boy and covered her feet. This time though, her father stuck her hands under to warm them up as well. She didn't notice for a moment, wrapped up in Saturday morning cartoons. Suddenly she realized her hand had been placed on his penis. She jerked her hand away and jumped up, retreating to her room.

Why didn't she say something then?

Another Saturday - how many had passed she doesn't know. Was it weeks, months? The first incident was a distant memory, quickly shoved away and buried. This time She lay on the sofa, reading a book. Her father sat at the foot of couch wearing the robe. Perhaps they were tossing a ball - it isn't completely clear. Whatever the object, it flew over her head and the arm of the couch. Instead of standing to retrieve it, or asking The Girl to, he leaned over her. He was on his knees, and reached above her head. This meant She was covered by the robe. It had fallen open and draped over her. Like hiding in a curtain. Except that his erect penis was in her face.

She didn't even realize at first, having never seen a penis besides on babies. The Girl was eight years old. She froze. Didn't make a sound, didn't utter a word. He moved as if nothing had happened. She still made no sound and just lay there. The day must have progressed as normal, and She never said anything about it. Not once.


Little things, built over time.

She supposed now that perhaps this was the "grooming." Waiting to see what She would say and who She would say it too. Maybe he had a plan on how he would claim it was a mistake, a misunderstanding. Unfortunately, She said exactly nothing. To anyone.

A Glimpse

Memories are a funny thing. They twist and flow and bleed together. Her childhood holds so many small things...maybe it is the small things that led to the big.

The Girl remembers loving chocolate Yoo-Hoo. After her brother was older, she was always given strawberry instead...She recalls drinking Mountain Dew from a glass bottle, and being admonished to not knock it against her teeth. Another blink and she's sitting on a bucket in a power boat. She asks to lift a crab pot, intent on putting the crab beneath her overturned bucket to keep. She remembers tumbles that led to skinned knees, playing with sticks, and climbing trees. These and so many more have softened with time, and run together instead of being fixed in time and space.

It all leads back to hearth and home, and her father.

When things didn't happen his way, he was angry. Some was surely justified. After all, what about cleaning her room was so difficult? He'd stand the mattress against the wall to force her to clean under the bed. She learned to hop to it quickly when asked to retrieve something he wanted, or to do something that was commanded. She learned to be quiet when he was watching the television. The girl tried to keep out from underfoot and keep her cat to herself. More than once, her furry companion was booted - literally - through the front door.

Punishments were swift, and often not much. She got spankings, as was the norm for most children. The Girl assumes that she was first hit with a hand on her bottom. Hazy remembrances of him using the blade of ceiling fan to paddle her come to her mind. She can't remember the number of times, or the infractions. Backtalk, not listening...normal childhood things. It progressed to getting hit with a leather belt.

The Girl recalls these instances vividly. Bent over, hands on the bed rail. Three licks! If she instinctively tried to cover her bottom from the sting, then it didn't count. She remembers waiting for him to go get the belt on the rare time he wasn't actually wearing it. Waiting for it, anticipating the pain, was worse than the beating. The belt itself stands out in her mind. Blond leather, embossed with deer. It had a shiny eagle buckle.

Her tears were inumerous. They rolled down her face, hot and fast. It never occurred to her to tell anyone about the belt, even as the "licks" got worse. In her child's mind, her mother must have known. How could she not? Adults knew it all, and it was her father doing the deed. She never realized that help could have been had, even before the glimpse of what was to come.