Tattered Check: The Road To Healing

The Nightmare

Eighteen years back

It was that nightmare again, haunting me all these years. I wish I could get over it but when trouble arises, it comes back. I tried to shake my head willing myself to believe that it was just a nightmare. That it never happened. But as the sun rises in the east and dips in the west, so are my nightmares true. I still feel the revulsion I felt before.

My skin cringed as he touched me, pulled me toward him, an evil smile on his lips. His mind is distorted and my grandma trusted him enough to leave us, my siblings and I, to him as she went to an errand, something she seldom does. Our house doesn't have a bedroom but it was divided into four parts - the living room, sleeping quarters, a small stockroom and kitchen/dining area. The sleeping quarters is separated from the kitchen and living room only by a bamboo wall, no doors, just an opening on both ends. One may go to the living room and kitchen through the sleeping quarters.

I was alone in the sleeping quarters at that time. I didn't remember much what I was doing, probably reading or writing which is usual when I am alone. He came through the kitchen. It was past noon but he was reeking of coconut wine (tuba). I thought he isn't up to something and because we were taught to treat househelp as members of the family, I smiled at him but that smile vanished when I saw something evil about him. He grabbed me and pushed me down to the bed, trying to undress me, the fly of his pants already open. I was about 8 years old then. I struggled and screamed. While I don't understand why he is doing that, I know It was something I don't want.

My younger brother, upon hearing my screams, came in. But instead of helping me, he held both hands over my head, pinning me down as the wolf tried to ride me, his manhood erect. I was desperate. Fortunately, my younger sister came to my rescue. She bit the wolf's butt and he yelped. My brother, finally understanding what had just happened, fled. He knew I'd be angry with him. I didn't. I hated him. Still do after so many years after.

What hurt more was my grandmother's reaction. I might have showed motive, she told me. She didn't fire the wolf, she was more concerned of her pigs. I was appalled as the meaning of her words sank in. I showed motive? An eight-year old? I found it preposterous but I couldn't cross my grandma. I kept quiet about it but when she is not home, I'd lock the doors so no one could come in. Fortunately, about a week after the incident, the wolf and my brother had a row. My brother chased him off with a knife. He never came back. It was only then I told my grandma's tenant of what happened. He was furious but he could do nothing anymore as the offender had already left. Will my father's reaction to my plight the same as that of our tenant's or like my grandma's? I never did find out. My father died not knowing this.