I sit alone on a swing, my toes digging into the soft dirt between the wood chips as I push myself back and forth.
The park is deserted, save for the small rodents climbing around the jungle jim, trying to find a nice nook to build their nest in for the winter. It's autumn now. The few trees that dot the open field are almost bare, but I can still see a splash of gold and red, like the tree is trying to hold onto the leaves, refusing to lose all its color. It reminds me of myself. I'm still trying to keep hold of the few good memories I have, the ones that can help me get through this mess I call a life.
I can't say that I have had the worst life. Oh, no. Far from it most likely. Though it hasn't been exactly good, either. When I say I hate my life, I mean it. Some other teenagers may say the same, but I don't think they went through what I did.
When I was about five, I was kidnapped from my family. My parents had still long been divorced, but I was playing out in the park across the street from my house when it happened. At first, the woman had failed to take me. My father had actually been watching out the window at that time from the front room of our house near the door, so when he saw him try to take me, he grabbed his mobile, called the police, and ran out to get me before he actually ran off.
After about two months with nothing happening to me while he watched me at the park (if he even let me go), he finally let me outside by myself again. It was peaceful for a week. I had fun playing with my friends, playing games like Monkey on the Woodchips and such, but it was a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky when I saw her again. She looked different. Before she had long, dark brown hair. Now she had short, blonde hair. Looking back on it, I think she did that so if my father looked out, he wouldn't really think anything of it since the woman looked different. She had a child with her, too. I learned later that she had kidnapped this child instead when her plans were foiled by my father two months before.
She took me without leaving any trace that neither she nor I were there at the park. I don't really know what happened. I just remember being stuffed into a black van with tinted wndows. I am pretty sure I was tested on in some way.
It took over ten years for me finally to get back to my father.
Even then life wasn't as it was supposed to be. I felt alien in my own house, and I couldn't even look out the window without feeling the rush of terror through my veins. Whatever happened to me, all I can say is that it wasn't good. The worst part is, I only really remember the pain. I still feel it in my dreams, if that makes any sense at all. My therapist says it's just my brain telling my body to remember, but I think they just want me to be able to tell them who did this to me and why because I wasn't the first to go missing. I wasn't the last either.
That's not even the end, though.
After I started high school, I had a good friend, his name was Gordon. I used to make fun of him all the time for his name. I mean, what kind of name is Gordon, anyway? But we eventually became really close and I could tell him anything. It was the sort of relationship I thought I could only wish for. I was happy for the first time in years it felt and I was on Cloud Nine.
One night, though, Gordon told me to meet him at the park outside of my house. I refused for the first two nights, the sense of foreboding washing over me like water. At last, he finally wore me down and I promised that I would meet him there at one in the morning, an odd time, but I reaally didn't think too much into it.
For all those decent, innocent people out there, I will spare the gory details of that night. All you need to know that it wasn't good, and I try to block it out as much as I can. Needless to say, I don't trust anyone anymore.
I didn't speak to anyone for three years. I was made fun of. Deemed mute by my peers. My father finally found it fit to move. I had stayed out of school for a while because I had been acused of fighting one of my bullies, and who's a mute girl to say that she didn't do it? That she was being framed? No one, and no one was there to stand up for her either.
It's sad, what society is today. Just a bunch of apes who get pleasure out of making other people miserable. I found that I really had nothing to live for, and attempted suicide twice, both times to be caught by my father. I could see what this was doing to him. I saw the deep pain that seemed forever embedded in his eyes. I just couldn't stop. All I saw was the pain.
No one talked to me when I went to my new school, which was great. I didn't mess with anyone, and no one messed with me. It was finally peaceful and I could wallow in my self pity alone. One day, though, a girl came up to me during lunch. She tried to get me to speak with her and I stared. She just left with a cheery good bye and promised to come back tomorrow.
And come back she did. Every day. I learned that her name was Gayle Elizabeth, but everyone just called her Beth because she hated to be called everything else. She had long, light brown hair with honeyed highlights spread through out and bright green eyes. Her favorite color was purple and she loved to dance. She talked about dancing with such passion it made me yern to sing again. I used to love to sing, and that was the one thing that I missed about talking.
I learned to like Beth. After a while, I looked forward to her talking and me just listening. About halfway into the school year, I finally decided that I wanted to try to talk, but only to her.
I was sitting at my usual table, my nose waqs emersed deep into the book I was reading and I heard a chair scrape on the ground, thinking it was Beth, I looked up and almost opened my mouth to say hello, but it had gone dry when I saw a boy sitting in her chair. He looked identical to Beth, almost like a twin and I vaguely wondered if they were even related. I then continued reading, pretending he wasn't there.
"Aren't you going to even acknowledge me?" he had asked, his tone carrying humor.
I looked up again and saw Beth walking over. I pleaded to her with my eyes for her to get the boy away from me, but she put her hands on his shoulders and introduced him as David, her brother. Beth then sat down and started talking to me like she usually did, going on and on about her day, and David butt in after a while, putting in his two sense.
It went on like that for the rest of the year, me not acknowledging David and Beth talking the entire time. The last full day of school came and Beth was in the middle of talking when I cleared my throat and said my first words in three years:
"I'm Jennasea," I whispered.
Beth immediately stopped talking and David's mouth dropped. I continued eating like it was nothing new, though the two siblings continued to stare at me like I had two heads. David collected himself first.
"I knew that," he had replied smoothly before going back to his lunch, trying to hide his stunned look.
Beth started freaking out and soon enough,we were best friends and hanging out almost every day. I didn't trust David to stay with my just the two of us, but when Beth was there it was fine.
High schol ended as soon as I could blink and I couldn't believe that I had done it. I decided to go to college and that's my story so far. I stayed in touch with David and Beth, who both went to study abroad. I liked the States, though, so I stayed and went to a university in Utah. I felt like it was safer there. I'm still not talking much, especially in front of people. My major is in psycology right now, but who knows? Maybe I might change it to American Sign Language and deaf education, so I won't have to talk anymore.
So now I just sit on the swing, trying to remember the better times. You may be wondering about the rest of my familly. I don't talk to my mother and I have an older sister, who is currently living in England, so I don't see or talk to her too often. I guess I'm just used to being on my own, though I now know that I never was in the first place.
