They were sitting at the kitchen table, Archie, Sandra and Dexter. It was nearing time to wind down for the night. Mom had just put the kettle on to boil for the night snack that was becoming a nightly routine these days. Had others of the brothers and sisters been there, Sandra tried to recall. How old had she been? 15? 16?
Dad came home. He'd been at the church "counseling" Cornie Wheeler, Alfrieda's dad. Alfrieda's dad had been sentenced to two years in prison for the sexual abuse of his daughter. He'd recently been released early on good behaviour. This must have been the third or so time Sandra's dad was "counseling" him. It gave Sandra the heebie jeebies every time. The blind leading the blind.
Dad came into the kitchen, was still standing when he said it. "Cornie thinks he and I have a lot in common." He looked around the room and actually made eye contact with Sandra as he said it. He looked so insecure and uncertain, like a mouse caught in a rain bucket. That was one thought flitting through Sandra's mind. Another one was astonishment that it would be a scrawny, convicted pedophile who would dare confront Dad with the truth. Did Mr. Wheeler know the truth or did he simply suspect? Sandra thought Dad's eyes gave him away sometimes - is that what had happened during their "counseling" sessions?
Archie broke the silence - Archie who had no idea what was going on but had a large enough mouth to try to make up for it. "You mean he thinks you're a pedophile like he is?"
Dad shrugged his shoulders yes. Sandra couldn't believe this was happening.
"Well, give me a mirror!" Archie continued. "Let's put his face in a mirror and see if he can see any pedophile besides himself. The two of you are nothing alike," Archie insisted.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Eyes and Ears
There were ten of them. Men. Sitting in a circle. Old men with sagging cheeks and droopy arm muscles. You could tell they'd been strong at one point. In fact, they each wore some means of muscle shirt or other "tough guy" apparel. If you didn't know the deeds of their past and what they'd done so easily without any signs of remorse - if you didn't know who they were, their appearance might seem rather comical.
Did they know she could see them? Did they suspect she had eyes and ears on them? As comical as they looked, she still felt her heart rate quicken at the thought of getting caught. Or the manipulative way in which they might retaliate if they even so much as suspected she was spying on them.
Did they know she could see them? Did they suspect she had eyes and ears on them? As comical as they looked, she still felt her heart rate quicken at the thought of getting caught. Or the manipulative way in which they might retaliate if they even so much as suspected she was spying on them.
Sunday, June 8, 2014
A Morning Moment
"Mmmm..." Sandra murmured, liking the feel of his hand on her side as they lay there, nestled together like two pieces of a puzzle, the two melding together to become one entity.
"What do you want to do today?" Tom asked leisurely, drawing lazy half-circles on her forearm.
"Stay here," Sandra smiled, knowing full well Zack and Mavis would be awake any minute.
"You know what I'd like to do?" she continued. "I'd like to plant flowers."
"What do you want to do today?" Tom asked leisurely, drawing lazy half-circles on her forearm.
"Stay here," Sandra smiled, knowing full well Zack and Mavis would be awake any minute.
"You know what I'd like to do?" she continued. "I'd like to plant flowers."
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Ready or Not
They had no idea, did they? They could see black and white in front of their noses. Sometimes. But really. They had no. Idea.
She peeled the orange in front of her and smiled. She felt the juice of the peel splash into her hands but still her mind was somewhere else. And with that thought she chose to be aware. Let them do what they might, she was going to focus on the here and now. On the simple pleasures like juicy orange peel and its pungent aroma. Her children, her...
Wait. How many lives had they stolen? How many people were waiting for her to free them all? Was there truth to... and the thought slipped away on her. Had she truly been meant to be Satan's firstborn? It didn't make sense. She was the 5th child. What was the puzzle piece she was missing? Thankfully, she didn't know enough about Satanism to figure it out on her own. Laughingly, she so totally did know enough about psychology to pull the wool over their eyes. They really were cocky little fellows, weren't they? Cocky little fellows trying to act big and tough. It didn't take a psychology degree to know their patterns of behaviour or to predict their next move.
She peeled the orange in front of her and smiled. She felt the juice of the peel splash into her hands but still her mind was somewhere else. And with that thought she chose to be aware. Let them do what they might, she was going to focus on the here and now. On the simple pleasures like juicy orange peel and its pungent aroma. Her children, her...
Wait. How many lives had they stolen? How many people were waiting for her to free them all? Was there truth to... and the thought slipped away on her. Had she truly been meant to be Satan's firstborn? It didn't make sense. She was the 5th child. What was the puzzle piece she was missing? Thankfully, she didn't know enough about Satanism to figure it out on her own. Laughingly, she so totally did know enough about psychology to pull the wool over their eyes. They really were cocky little fellows, weren't they? Cocky little fellows trying to act big and tough. It didn't take a psychology degree to know their patterns of behaviour or to predict their next move.
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Nearing Middle Age
Defiantly, she turned her head away from her accusers. She could feel the knot in her stomach growing but she'd never let them know she cared.
Hogwash! It was all hogwash!
In her defiance, she couldn't help but notice the crack in the door. Did they really think they could keep her here with a door that flimsy? But then, isn't that exactly what they were doing? What they had done for years?
-----
Ah...one sweet, tranquil deep breath followed after the other. On her way to sleep... There were some things of pure beauty that they had never been able to take from her. Her love of a restful night's sleep was one of them. And really, when you came right down to it, it was nearly miraculous that she could sleep so peacefully after all they'd done to her during night hours.
But that was in the past. They weren't interested in her sexually any longer. They were pedophiles every single one of them and she was nearing middle age.
Hogwash! It was all hogwash!
In her defiance, she couldn't help but notice the crack in the door. Did they really think they could keep her here with a door that flimsy? But then, isn't that exactly what they were doing? What they had done for years?
-----
Ah...one sweet, tranquil deep breath followed after the other. On her way to sleep... There were some things of pure beauty that they had never been able to take from her. Her love of a restful night's sleep was one of them. And really, when you came right down to it, it was nearly miraculous that she could sleep so peacefully after all they'd done to her during night hours.
But that was in the past. They weren't interested in her sexually any longer. They were pedophiles every single one of them and she was nearing middle age.
Wednesday, June 4, 2014
A Night to Remember
Click.
She froze. Stood Still. Could they hear her heart pounding in the darkness? How much had they seen? All of it? Had it all been true? Were they there the whole time? And now. Now. Was she deluding herself to think she could somehow escape? How long would it go on? If she took another step, would she break another branch? Oh, how she needed silence but then perhaps they already knew of her attempt to escape. Perhaps they were watching with mirth and amusement. Was she really going to live forever as their lab rat?
Click.
This time it wasn't her footstep that broke the silence. Someone else was out here with her.
She froze. Stood Still. Could they hear her heart pounding in the darkness? How much had they seen? All of it? Had it all been true? Were they there the whole time? And now. Now. Was she deluding herself to think she could somehow escape? How long would it go on? If she took another step, would she break another branch? Oh, how she needed silence but then perhaps they already knew of her attempt to escape. Perhaps they were watching with mirth and amusement. Was she really going to live forever as their lab rat?
Click.
This time it wasn't her footstep that broke the silence. Someone else was out here with her.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Some Words
He couldn't contain it any longer.
"It's not fair," he enunciated vehemently. "You try so hard every day to be good and then along comes Mother's Day and you have to try even harder." The seven year old boy turned to look out the window of the SUV but paused to add, "And there's Christmas and Easter."
"And Father's Day," his dad interjected.
"There's Father's Day, too?" he asked incredulously. "I forgot Father's Day."
I'm not exactly sure how the conversation continued. They were on their way to Grandma Plett's house to wish her a happy Mother's Day. I do know this. The boy's mother sat pondering for a while. Zack really did try hard every day. And those tantrums weren't signs of lack of effort but frustration at trying so hard and wanting so much and not getting it all right. How hard it is, even at seven, to live true to oneself and still try to please those around you.
---
"No!" she screamed. "I will not let you take me back there." Her hands were bound and in actuality her mouth was gagged. The words she longed to scream went unuttered. The fight she wished to demonstrate, the rebellion she wished to exert were futile expenditures of energy against a futile cause. She was. Once again. In their hands. She knew exactly where they were headed as she lay bound and gagged in the back of the utility-sized van. At least she could see, but oh, how she wished she couldn't. She didn't want to know what lay ahead. She didn't want a repeat performance. Not today. Not yesterday. Not ever.
---
It was over. That. Was over. She leaned over the tin two-gallon pail and let the vomit come in heaves. Let it come. Let her body clean her of this evil. She was wet and cold, clammy and feverish. She looked at her body in between vomits. Her clothes. She was completely naked. She'd have to get home somehow. A bus maybe. She'd need clothes. She wondered if she could find them. Probably where it all started. Did she really want to go back there? As far as she could tell, they'd left her all alone now that they'd completed their ritualistic pleasure. Pleasure. Degradation and humiliations was more like it. She'd never look at humanity the same, she knew that. She would always wonder. She'd meet good people, famous people, well-known and respected neighbourly people people... she'd meet them and wonder if there were in the habit of having sex with children in demeaning positions. She'd wonder how much pain they caused during their satanic ritual and how much pleasure they took in inflicting it. Never again would she shake hands with someone in the church foyer without wondering, "And what are the dark secrets you carry?" As for herself, tonight she was simply too numb to care. If she could find her clothes, find a way home... maybe take a hot bath... Would anything ever be the same?
---
The cross seemed out of place. This was Zimbabwe, her land of solace, her chance to get away from it all, her chance to be fully, deliciously herself.
Who was it that had given her the strength and courage to travel here on her own? Who taught her to listen to her feelings? Who brought healing to those wounds? Jesus, her Jesus, her precious Jesus. But it still seemed strange to see the cross erected in the middle of the grasslands. Strange or was it oddly free of contamination? Could Christ's cross offer her more here than it could at home? Was this trip of a lifetime a spiritual gift as well?
---
It wasn't so much that she felt safe sitting with him there on the park bench, his arm haphazardly around her shoulders. In fact, she thought she knew what her psychologist would call this - flirting with danger in an effort to make contact with her younger, more violated self. Psychologist, shmychologist. She was going to have fun.
"Tell me about something you did as a child. Something you played."
At first he resisted, pretending not to understand the question.
"Well, in Togo it's different," he started. She nodded, so glad to be hearing this story.
"We don't have toys like kids do out here. We used to play with tires. Empty tires. Sometimes we'd roll them along, running behind them. Sometimes we'd climb into a tire and roll it down a hill. We had a lot of fun. It's hard to describe..."
"It's not fair," he enunciated vehemently. "You try so hard every day to be good and then along comes Mother's Day and you have to try even harder." The seven year old boy turned to look out the window of the SUV but paused to add, "And there's Christmas and Easter."
"And Father's Day," his dad interjected.
"There's Father's Day, too?" he asked incredulously. "I forgot Father's Day."
I'm not exactly sure how the conversation continued. They were on their way to Grandma Plett's house to wish her a happy Mother's Day. I do know this. The boy's mother sat pondering for a while. Zack really did try hard every day. And those tantrums weren't signs of lack of effort but frustration at trying so hard and wanting so much and not getting it all right. How hard it is, even at seven, to live true to oneself and still try to please those around you.
---
"No!" she screamed. "I will not let you take me back there." Her hands were bound and in actuality her mouth was gagged. The words she longed to scream went unuttered. The fight she wished to demonstrate, the rebellion she wished to exert were futile expenditures of energy against a futile cause. She was. Once again. In their hands. She knew exactly where they were headed as she lay bound and gagged in the back of the utility-sized van. At least she could see, but oh, how she wished she couldn't. She didn't want to know what lay ahead. She didn't want a repeat performance. Not today. Not yesterday. Not ever.
---
It was over. That. Was over. She leaned over the tin two-gallon pail and let the vomit come in heaves. Let it come. Let her body clean her of this evil. She was wet and cold, clammy and feverish. She looked at her body in between vomits. Her clothes. She was completely naked. She'd have to get home somehow. A bus maybe. She'd need clothes. She wondered if she could find them. Probably where it all started. Did she really want to go back there? As far as she could tell, they'd left her all alone now that they'd completed their ritualistic pleasure. Pleasure. Degradation and humiliations was more like it. She'd never look at humanity the same, she knew that. She would always wonder. She'd meet good people, famous people, well-known and respected neighbourly people people... she'd meet them and wonder if there were in the habit of having sex with children in demeaning positions. She'd wonder how much pain they caused during their satanic ritual and how much pleasure they took in inflicting it. Never again would she shake hands with someone in the church foyer without wondering, "And what are the dark secrets you carry?" As for herself, tonight she was simply too numb to care. If she could find her clothes, find a way home... maybe take a hot bath... Would anything ever be the same?
---
The cross seemed out of place. This was Zimbabwe, her land of solace, her chance to get away from it all, her chance to be fully, deliciously herself.
Who was it that had given her the strength and courage to travel here on her own? Who taught her to listen to her feelings? Who brought healing to those wounds? Jesus, her Jesus, her precious Jesus. But it still seemed strange to see the cross erected in the middle of the grasslands. Strange or was it oddly free of contamination? Could Christ's cross offer her more here than it could at home? Was this trip of a lifetime a spiritual gift as well?
---
It wasn't so much that she felt safe sitting with him there on the park bench, his arm haphazardly around her shoulders. In fact, she thought she knew what her psychologist would call this - flirting with danger in an effort to make contact with her younger, more violated self. Psychologist, shmychologist. She was going to have fun.
"Tell me about something you did as a child. Something you played."
At first he resisted, pretending not to understand the question.
"Well, in Togo it's different," he started. She nodded, so glad to be hearing this story.
"We don't have toys like kids do out here. We used to play with tires. Empty tires. Sometimes we'd roll them along, running behind them. Sometimes we'd climb into a tire and roll it down a hill. We had a lot of fun. It's hard to describe..."
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