My Dad brought me to the grocery store to visit the ATM.
I waited beside him in line.
While I waited...
I played a game.
Taking great care, I walked my index and middle fingers along the edge of the blue laminate counter that separated us from the employees.
If I were at school, I would draw faces on my Thumb, Ring, and Pinkie fingers.
My Index and Middle fingers were my Thumb's legs.
My Ring and Pinkie, Thumb's companions.
In their excitement or fear, Ring and Pinkie always looked too far over the cliff.
And they fell.
Thumb and his strong legs would pull them back to safety.
It was taking a long time. I dug my other hand into the fabric of my Dad's khakis.
But the texture wasn't right.
Startled, I looked up.
"You're not my Dad."
The man smiled...
"No, I'm not."
Panicked, I back-peddled calling for him. When I didn't see him, I sobbed.
My Dad is 6'1 and nearly 300 pounds. He couldn't easily hide.
Then he was leaning on the counter around the corner from me.
"Where did you go? Why did you leave me?" I asked.
"You should have been paying attention." He said.
YOU ARE READING
What My Mother Forgot
Non-FictionBefore reading this, you should know... This is not a happy story. There is no happy ending. Simply put, this is a chronological account of the abuse, neglect, and bullying I suffered at the hands of loved ones from birth to 17 years old. It does no...
