crowded thoughts

mom's story

mom

I was young when it happened. I remember it vividly in an innocent way, almost like I didn't really know what was happening during it all, but I knew in my heart it was wrong. I let him run his hands down my stomach and over my chubby thighs. I let him pucker his mouth and kiss down my neck and chest. I let him give me a "special" kind of hug, one that lasted a long time and hurt, causing me to walk funny for the next couple days after. I let him pat my head after he finished and watched as he pulled my underwear back up. I let him smile at me as he told me to go back to playing with my toys. I let him do it again, and again, and again.
I understand it now, the cruelty and evil of it all. In my head, I thought he was just being nice and doing something to me that all the kids had to go through, like getting your diaper changed. I didn't know it was supposed to be something between two consensual individuals, something so raw and passionate and sexy. I just thought it was something innocent, and now I know it wasn't.
He did it to my sisters, too. They were older, much more mature than I was, and they knew what was going on. They knew what he was doing to them. My sisters were always outspoken in their own ways, and I always knew what they were thinking, but not this. They never spoke about this, not physically. With their eyes, maybe, and with small touches. I knew their pain, and they knew mine, but we couldn't talk about it. Talking about something like this was dangerous and unknown, almost alien. So, we kept him a secret.

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     It was like a white lie, but not really. My dad would ask me, "Where have you been all day?" And I would say, "Playing with toys with Uncle Jim." He would then say, "Oh, I hope you had fun." And I would mutter, "Oh, I did." Nothing would be said afterward.

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    We were in love, a kid kind of love. One of recklessness and passion but also friendship and heartache. He was mine, and I was his. We knew we wouldn't be together after high school, but we were so in love. I still love him. He still has a piece of my heart, and he always will. I couldn't stop loving him if I tried.

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     This isn't the life I deserve, and I know that. I know that it could've been better if I had only done certain things differently. I know that. I really do. But I can't change anything. This is my life. I hate it, but I also love it. I am who I am, and nothing will ever change that. I deserve better, but so do they. They are going to get a better life. I will make sure of that.

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