Wednesday, November 30, 2016

The windows in my father’s house were so big I could see the sky

The windows in my father’s house were so big I could see the sky. I’d press my face against the glass just to feel alive.

It was a moment, one sliver of a moment – I could see beyond his house. I could be grass or a tree or rain or wind. I could see people moving through the world. How strange how mysterious. Children – alive. Running and breathing and playing and crying. It happened beyond my father’s window. Beyond my father’s house. That dark house. That gapping wound with wires allowed through it’s flesh. Wires to trap you and pinch you and stick you – when you moved, when you blinked, when you took a breath. A breath a moment – it was not for you – it was not for this house.

I want to tell you about the rape. It started in my bed, in my fathers house, when I was a little girl. He didn’t touch me but his presence was there on top of me. There in that room in that bed. I wasn’t allowed to move. The blankets were over my face. protection. I was hot, I was suffocating with the heat. My legs ached. But I’m not allowed to move. It’s very dangerous and scary. They are fighting in the next room. Their bedroom. I hope he doesn’t hurt her. I hope he doesn’t hurt me. I’m thinking that I want her to shut up and do whatever he wants her to do, say whatever he wants her to say, think whatever he wants her to think. So we will be safe. So we can make it through the night.

No one can know how it feels. To be in that much danger. No one knows what it is like not to be able to move in their own bed.

It’s like not owning yourself. Somewhere I crossed a line and entered a place where I gave myself permission to do anything.

My father was off of me.