Silent Secrets

Chapter II

[EDITING IN PROGRESS]

The alley might have been my safe haven, but I couldn't stay long. I'd already been found by someone; what if someone else came along? I couldn't risk it, but I also couldn't risk Remus stalking me home. I had to wait to ensure he was gone.

A few minutes after Remus left, I groaned, forcing myself to stand. Rubbing my haggard face, I slowly shuffled toward the mouth of the alley, glancing cautiously in all directions to ensure I was alone and would not be seen. As I slunk down the dark streets, I breathed a sigh of relief at the conspicuous absence of drunken laughter, or of any indication of human nightlife at all. Quickly, I continued through the night, until at last I came to my house. I bit my lip, wondering if I could be so lucky as to slip in as I had slipped out: silent and unnoticed. I doubted it.

Carefully pulling the creaky screen door open, I twisted the knob of the wooden back door and eased it open, slowly allowing the screen door shut behind me. I crept past the dining table, through the dark kitchen, and up the narrow, back staircase, skipping the seventh step, I came to the small broom closet I called mine--the last door after the stairs. I jerked it open and slid inside, silent as a shadow, my breath coming in shallow, silent heaves. Had my absence been noticed? Was my father still passed out drunk downstairs? I didn't dare to check.

[PICK UP HERE]

Groaning, I pushed myself upright against the wall, stretching out my stiff, aching knee as far out as I could, until my bare foot collided with the wall. With a sigh, I began massaging the knee, probing it gently with my fingers, sucking in a breath when I found a tender spot.

My ears were pricked for any movement downstairs--or anywhere else--and anxiety clawed at my gut. was pressing in around me, and to push it back, I began to softly sing--or really, whimper--a simple song I picked up from the younger kids at daycare--back when I was three or four, and my father allowed me to mingle with normal children.

And so I began, whispering a soft, hiccuping melody, simple and sweet, singing to the darkness.

Jesus loves me, this I know

For the Bible tells me so

Little ones to Him belong

They are weak but He is strong

Yes --, Jesus loves me.

Yes--, Jesus loves me.

Yes--, Jesus loves me

The Bible tells me so.

When I was younger, unused to the insults, the teasing, the harsh, stark truth, I would hide in my closet, terrified. I imagined it to be filled with evil monsters that were just waiting to devour me. To calm myself down, I would sing to myself in hiccuping stanzas. I had never heard an actual song before, and I couldn't sing that well, but I would make up simple nothings, setting any light, happy thoughts I possessed to melody. Not only did it calm my fear and bring peace to my heart, but when I had finished, I found it easy to fall into a dreamless, painless sleep. It was like music was a balm that soothed my soul, healed my body, and quieted my mind so I wouldn't have nightmares.

I repeated the lyrics, wishing I could believe them. I didn't even know who Jesus was, much less what a Bible was. But the one thing I knew was if Jesus loved me, then I wouldn't be in this mess. I wouldn't be the stupid, lonely castaway. I wouldn't be a freak to be hidden in darkness and shadow. If Jesus loved me, then others in my life probably would too.

I sang until the dull aches faded away, sang until the tears stopped flowing, sang until my eyelids drooped with sleep. Knowing it was what my body needed most, I fell back into it's warm embrace, the silvery tracks of tears still visible on my face.