It’s time
4 months ago
11/01/2005
It's 2:55 p.m., the bell will ring shortly so I better get my stuff together. Daddy will be waiting outside, he hates it when I dilly dally. "Brrrrrrrnnnngg," sounds the bell. I race down the steps, grab my coat from my locker and run full force out the front doors. "Where is he," I say. Daddy isn't here. I look around, up and down the street, I don't see him. I perch myself on top of the last step, and I wait. It's 3:05, he'll be here, he's always here. The buses come and go, filled with kids leaving this place. It's kind of cold out - it's November. I wait a little while longer, now teachers are starting to leave, it's 3:20. My legs are kind of numb, this uniform skirt doesn't cover much. I better go wait inside. Oh no, the doors are locked. I guess I'll just wait here. This building that was filled with screaming kids only moments ago, is quiet - almost abandoned. I guess people have places to go, people to see. Maybe daddy had to stay after school late after all he is a very important professor - all the kids like to stay and chat with him, especially those girls. Mommy hates those girls, she says they are always sniffing around. It's funny, I've never seen them smell daddy. It's 3:55, still no daddy. Maybe I could walk to his school, it doesn't seem far when we drive there. No, I better just wait right here because I'm not allowed to walk on the busy streets. I have some chalk, maybe I'll draw on the sidewalk. Pretty pictures, pretty words, smiley faces - it's 4:15. I like to write my name with curly y's and dotted i's. HATE, that's what I spell. Now why did I write that, daddy said it's not nice to hate people. I have a rope, maybe I'll skip awhile. Cinderella....lost her fella...oh it's no use, I don't feel like skipping rope. Wait...someone is coming, oh it's my daddy's truck, it's 4:35. Oh I'm so happy, daddy is here - no, that's not daddy but that's his truck. Who's that driving? "Hi NWC, your daddy told us to come and pick you up because he had to stay late after his class," the young pimple faced boy called out. "No, I'm not supposed to get into cars with strangers," I reply. "It's ok NWC, your daddy sent us," he answers. Hmmm, they look harmless enough, but no, mommy said I should never get into cars with strangers. Run - as fast as you can, oh where can I hide, there's nowhere to hide. The bushes, I'll hide under the bushes. Oh these needles are scratchy, quiet, stop breathing - he'll hear you. "NWC come out, please, your daddy sent us," the boy yells out. I say nothing. He's driving away, he's leaving, ok - I'm safe. I'll just lay here until daddy comes. I'm so tired, maybe I'll just close my eyes for a little while. "NWC, where are you, come out honey, daddy is here." It's 5:30 and daddy is here to get me, finally. I'm 8 years old but people tell me I act more grown up.
Do you remember the moment that defined the rest of your existence? Maybe define isn't a good choice of word, after all many of us claim to 'redefine' ourselves through many different moments. Maybe I should say, do you remember the moment that changed the way you would live your life? I bet most of us can remember it, but never realized when it was happening that it would have so much power. The day my daddy left me waiting alone in an empty school so that he could 'give extra credit' to one of his students, was the day that I would start believing there were more important things in this life - than me.
I have more to write, but honestly, it hurts. As I type the words I can feel my heart wrenching with the very remembrance of those memories. So this is going to be a process, because that's what therapy is right - tiny steps. You can push and push and push those memories so deep inside of yourself, that you think they've gone - disappeared - loosened their grip on your soul. One day you wake up and you are angry. Angry that the sun isn't shining, angry that the guy on the train has his music too loud, angry that there are too many people on the elevator, angry - angry - angry. And then they come, the memories. It's funny really, because I thought I was past all this. Apparently, I have some things to remember - before I let them go. This is post one, and the next day - they'll be another. Until they are gone, or hurt less. Until I stop letting those memories define me.
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Reading this reminded me of my own childhood memories that I have tried so hard to block over the years...maybe an entry for another day.
I do believe it is therapeutic to get it out..not sure why I believe that.
Can you talk to your father about how this made you feel? Perhaps write him a letter...even if he's not alive anymore. It might help.
Give yourself a hug from me!
Oh, and just thought I'd let you know I LOVE the new look - especially with Happy Bunny. Gotta love the Happy Bunny (my fav bar-shirt "make the stupid people shut up")
One time though when I was 12 (living all wild) I ran a way from my group home and was walking back to my own town. I was walking on the Freeway, going in circles.. (I was never any good at finding my way) it was dark, cold and raining, this guy pulled over... I am alone, I get in. I know better, I am scared tired and ready to go back to the group home, he tells me he will take me to the police station, but first we have to go to his work for something. I freaked, I screamed and jumped out of his car, and ran, he did convice me he was a good samaritan, and handed me his wallet and pocket knife, he did take me to the police station. I am soo soo soo lucky God was there.. I would freak if my daughters ever did that.
Sorry this memory still haunts ya to this day.