I was reading the final post about killers on my fav blog. The writer touched on several things and in the process of reading her thoughts, I knew what my next post would be about. I hadn’t planned on going here yet, but it feels right…so….
This event took place when I was about 4 1/2 years old. I’m not sure when the events preceding it took place….
My sister and I are 18 months apart, born back in the mid ‘60’s-times, and laws, were very different then. “John” (I never use the term “daddy” for him, he forfeited that right) had left my mom for another woman (with 3 kids of her own), and, after an ugly divorce/custody battle, moved to another state-with his new family.
FYI: I have many issues with my grandmother-just keep that in mind, ‘k?
It was late in the afternoon, almost evening. Grandmother watched Sister and me while Mom worked and we usually played outside till it was dark. A small, white pick-up truck pulled into Grandma’s driveway. Sister and I ran into the house-we didn’t recognize it. It was John. I can so clearly remember him talking so sweetly to Grandmother, telling her all about the horse he had bought for Sister and me. Why, didn’t she see the hay bales in the back of his truck? All he wanted to do was take us to see it, what was the big deal?
She. Let. Him. Take. Us.
He pushed us down to the floorboard and told us to keep quiet. We stopped at someone’s house, a relative of his (one of his sisters, I think). I remember a long, curving staircase…Then we were off again. We went through an underground tunnel and there was a strange smell (there’s a tunnel that goes under a major river where he took us) and a strange, greenish light (the water)……and then we were “there”.
The apartment was small, 2 bedrooms for 7 people. No furniture except a small bookshelf with World Book Encyclopedias, a mattress in their bedroom, and a Coleman lantern, also in their bedroom. The carpet was red.
We ate cereal while sitting on the kitchen floor. I don’t remember where we slept. I don’t remember taking baths. I don’t remember any other foods except cereal….I don’t know if that’s significant….
I was angry the whole time. I do remember that. Her son urinated on my sister, on purpose, while they were outside one day. That boy was laughing. My sister was crying. I do remember people holding me so I wouldn’t hurt him. I really wanted to tear him to pieces-I remember screaming and screaming and screaming-that’s a crystal. clear. memory.
Another is all the times “Bee-otch” (really, I’m trying hard to be nice) tried to make me call her “Mommy”. Didn’t I see, she was my mommy now? Didn’t I just love her and see how she loved me and my sister? Didn’t I just love our new home? *PUKE*
There are other “image” memories I can’t quite pin down-they’re disturbing and involve Bee and her son…I was little, remember?
Then, one day, John gets his shotgun and tells everyone to lay down on the floor and be quiet. There’s a loud noise and the door falls down. A giant man (to a little kid) comes in, yelling….I remember he was wearing a hat. I was later told he was a sheriff…
…another really fast car ride, with my mom, my sister, my uncle’s wife, and the giant man. We rode all the way home.
We had been gone for 6 weeks. I was 4 1/2. And Grandmother didn’t call the police, or my mom at work….she let him take us…..
In case you wonder if I am able to remember all that at such a young age, I can remember the extremely rare earthquake that hit our area in ’69, and what we were doing, and who we were with, and how I reacted…my mom was amazed. And, I was still little…
And, if you want to find it in your heart to have sympathy for Grandmother, think on this: Sister and I were inside before he was near the steps-she could have locked the door. He didn’t surprise her-she knew before we got inside who was out there. She had time to dial the police. She had time to dial any of my uncles that lived next door. She had time to dial my mom. Party line-she had time to pick up the phone and yell at anyone to call the police, to come help…She had time TO LOCK THE DAMN DOOR! And, they don’t make doors like the one’s my grandparents had…an ox couldn’t knock them down….chew on that….’k? She let him. take us. Period.