She had dreams she once had family. She'd had a mother that
loved her, a father that provided and hugged like a bear, and a sister with
missing front teeth that teased her eternally. She missed them, yet never knew
them, not really.
What she does remember so very
well, from the reality she endured, was a father that would rage in violent
acts within the domicile. He beat the shit out of them all, until finally splitting open mother’s
head with a hot frying pan…she burned his sausages…because she was sick…from a
flu
the child had given her…she sat down at the table while getting dizzy at the stove…she lay her head to rest and may have passed out. We can only pray. She did not hear his rage storm over head before crushing hers.
the child had given her…she sat down at the table while getting dizzy at the stove…she lay her head to rest and may have passed out. We can only pray. She did not hear his rage storm over head before crushing hers.
From under her bed she saw
him approach. The room filled with the smell of burnt sausage. His feet now
inches from where she huddled, He dropped the pan to the floor with a dull
clang. Seeing the blood, she attempted in vain to stifle the scream.
“I won’t hurt you again…” he
said. To his promise, he walked the eight blocks and turned himself in at the
station. He had the blood on his hands. They locked him in a cell, then cops
and Marta, came for the girls. Marta was her martyr, she’d say, and for good
reason. She missed her sister who went to live with ‘Aunt Ri’ out of state.
The smell of fried meat haunts
and nauseates her. The vegan, ever since, she’d cover her nose when driving by
burger joints, less she lurch her lunch …again, and often took routes to avoid
them. She learned to adjust, and enjoyed a stuffy sinus and her persistent
allergies. But…
Moth balls…moth balls will
trigger these memories. Mothballs in her sweater box tucked under her bed, and
the round ones that hung in her closet – places they’d huddle.
The dreams? That family? She
lives with them, not so much welcoming them, …oh, enjoying them in their
moment, but simply being in that space with them was reassuring. Like walking
in the front door of a house she grew up in. As if, she belonged.
