Lies My Parents Told Me

Chapter One

Sang

A sign on the wall reads 'home is where the heart is' but what if you don't have a heart. In case you are wondering it's a metaphor. I do have a heart. It pumps blood around my body. But, the metaphorical heart, the seat of the emotions, well, that's missing. There's a cold empty space where a heart should fit. I can remember warmth. It lurks in sepia toned memories that are more feeling than anything else. A flash of a pink blankets, a giggle, the smell of warm bread and the ghost of a kiss to my forehead. For anxiety attacks you're supposed to name three things you can feel, three things you can see and three things you can smell. I have less than a handful of sense memories to draw from that can ground me. If you've read Harry Potter the Patronus charm requires you to draw on your happiest memory, mine is a lie. I remember feeling so happy that they would pick me, out of all the children I get to leave with them, I am special. That lasted until the car door closed.

"Gonna have to take her home and bath her, I can't have that smell infesting our house. We also need to stop and get lice shampoo I don't believe for a second, she hasn't got something living in that dirty rat's nest she calls hair."

My small hand reaches up to the braid the carer had woven into my hair just that morning. It was neat, I am wearing my best clothes, a nice blue dress. I sniff my dress and only smell the cotton detergent smell.

"Um, excuse me, I don't think I need a bath I had one this morning." My timid voice shakes, at 9 I am not used to the cutting remarks that shred my self esteem and flay my soul alive.

"You don't think. Well, if I never heard a truer statement. You are a child, and you will speak only when spoken to, I can't believe they let such blatant rude behaviour go unpunished, but maybe you're just a slow learner. You've grown up in that stink, that poverty, that clings to you. When you're home you will drop your clothes at the door, everything she has with her will need to be burnt I can't risk her bringing bugs and lice into the house, especially not around Marie. You little girl, you will follow our rules so stop all the sniffling and sobbing back there, I don't bother with that nonsense. We have new clothes for you so its not like you have nothing. AND IF YOU DON'T STOP THAT NOISE I WILL COME BACK THERE AND GIVE YOU A REASON TO CRY."

She who I had once thought a lilting southern belle had in a matter of minutes transformed into a shrieking hick. I stifled my tears with a hand over my mouth and shrank into the car seat. Why does she hate me? she chose me! He seemed so nice at the group home, he offered me a mint from his pocket and told me about all the nice toys and things I would have when I came to live with them. But now as she rants about how dirty and foul I am he sits silent, a stone monolith whose eyes do not waver from the road.

"You will call me mother, not ma not mom certainly not mommy. Its to be mother, and he is your father. I don't suppose living how you have that you've had much bible education, but you will honour your father and mother. I don't tolerate back chat; you've lived without good morals but now you are living with us you will follow all our rules or there will be consequences. Redemption is earnt through pain. If you're a slow learner, there will be lots of pain, but if you're a quick learner then you'll be fine. You will only speak when spoken to, that the rules of a good lady, you're to be seen and not heard in general but I also don't want you seen except when we tell you to be. You'll finish your chores before you go to school and before you go to bed. If you forget to finish your chores... well, you don't want to know what happens, so I advise you don't forget. Spare the rod and spoil the child, the devil finds work for idle hands so you will be busy I don't want you lazing around the house. Sloths a sin you know."

This sermon, imprinted on my brain, was my first red flag that my new family was not something from a dream but something to inspire nightmares. The couple who had stood before me at the centre were tall, neat dressed, and polite. She had curled dark hair that kissed her shoulders, and smile lines around her blue grey eyes. His hair was beginning to grey with a few white and silver pieces sprinkled through his brown eyes were warm and inviting. Both of them smiled wide with white teeth. Animals show their teeth as a threat, and I should have been warned.

From that day forward I was no longer Sang, I was 'that girl' 'her' 'she'. I scrubbed floors, I dusted, mopped, folded clothes and washed dishes. I vacuumed daily between 4-5 to ensure the noise was done by the time he returned home from work. She stayed home and swept a finger across mantles and skirting boards to look for dirt and reasons to fault me. I found reprieve in school, I was guaranteed lunch and I enjoyed learning. But a phone call from a teacher asking for a parent teacher interview had lemon juice and vinegar poured down my throat. At ten this was the first punishment that scarred. They believed in belts and switches, but they were careful not to break the skin in places that could be seen. He only doled it out when her arm was tired or she wanted to make sure I learnt better.

My clothes were shapeless, new but not expensive, and in plain colours. I had five t-shirts, two jumpers, a winter coat, three skirts that fell below the knee, a pair of slacks a pair of jeans, no shorts no swimwear, white socks, black, shoes, winter boots and one pair plain white trainers. I had one nude, one white, and one navy bra and five pairs of plain white underwear. My sleep wear was a choice of one of three long nightgowns that brushed my ankles and covered to my wrists. My saving grace was the school uniform. It was a button up shirt, sweater and ankle length skirt or black pants. It was warm and the weather in Illinois was cold.

For six years we lived there, and I endured. I took the slaps and the punches, the pulled hair, and the bruised ribs. I learnt to make myself small. I lived inside myself. Cold and numb to the words that were spat at me as I failed time and time again to live to their standards. Marie their biological child was showered with love compared to me. She never had to cook or clean, was responsible only for herself and was given things as she wanted. When I needed new items, I had to write a request and leave it on the table. I cooked all our dinners, served everyone standing against the wall until a wave of a hand requested my presence. I ate the leftovers, alone in my room out of sight and out of mind. I was a ghost in the house listening to the creaks and the squeaks of floorboards trying to decode their moods from the whispering of doors on carpets, the movement of the air telling me whether to duck or to take the hit.

After the infamous school call, I was to be silent at school and not achieve or excel. I should never show up Marie. I should get b's no lower, no higher, no friends were to call for me and if Marie saw anything untoward in my behaviour I would be punished. At least once a week there was an infraction that saw additional punishments kneeling in rice until my legs burned and my bruises became almost permanent marks, the switch across my upper thighs making it impossible to sleep on my back or side. The removal of luxuries, no access to hot water, the removal of my mattress or blankets, no door for privacy, skipped meals I had slaved over. Memories of a life where I wasn't wanting had dissolved all I was left with was a giggle, a pink blanket, warm bread and the ghost of a kiss. It wasn't enough to protect me. She claimed she was saving my soul, but nothing could save me.