Tangled up in you

The Washcloth Closet

I often wonder why I made such a horrible choice for a first husband, until I look much further back at my life as a kid. It's so weird the things people remember, and the things we forget.

I remember walking down the long hallway in my childhood home, passing my big brother's room, the bathroom, and then as I started to walk into my room I heard my name called. "Shannan" called out my new step-father, "Shannan, come here!" I clearly remember thinking to run, to not go to him. I remember looking at the stained wood bedroom door that lead to my mom's room, I must of stared at it for many seconds because I heard him with a far more aggressive voice calling my name again. It was like I was stuck in slow motion, and everything was magnified and clear yet I felt like I was falling and I would never be able to right myself. When my hand finally touched the bedroom door, I felt like I was going to be sick. I didn't know where my mother was, but I also knew that it didn't matter because she was never much help anyway. I wanted to turn around and bolt, but my feet wouldn't move, as if they were stuck to the floor. I just wanted to go to my room and play with my new kitchen set that I got for Christmas. I didn't ask for it, I know cause I always asked for a German Shepherd puppy or a horse, and my new weird little kitchen set was no adorable puppy. And although asking for a horse was a long shot, I felt like I couldn't give up on that dream yet. Regardless of how I originally felt about my newest toy, I realized how much I wanted to go to my room and play with that odd little kitchen set.

Again he called out my name, increasingly growing more aggressive each time, as I grew more anxious. I just wanted to disappear, I don't know how one could disappear, but if I could of that day I would have. I begged God to turn me into a bird, and I would fly away. I would have been fine with any animal in that moment, if I became a snake I would have slithered away. A deer, and I could have ran, jumped over he fence, and be free of my own personal hell.

I jolted back into reality as I began to push open my mom's bedroom door it let out a squeal so loud that I thought how ironic it was that even an inanimate object, such as a wooden door, was screaming as loudly as I was, if only on the inside. How much I wanted to leave this place and be any where else. I was so angry with my mom, the one who was supposed to love me, protect me, encourage me, and demonstrate to me how to live a happy life with good morals and values. How could my mother, who was beautiful, smart, shy yet charming, how could she have chosen this man to be the one whom she would turn over a new page in her life with. What qualified this man to be the one to start over fresh with, to raise her children with. What made her think in a million years this man would be anything other than living scum using up oxygen that could have been used to allow mold to live, cause even mold had a better purpose and a better excuse to be here. My little 4 year old brain just couldn't understand how she thought this was going to be a good thing, or maybe she never thought that.

I know there was my life before my parents' divorce, in which everything was so different. Yes, there were disagreements in our family, and we didn't all get along all the time, but there was something in that family that there already will never be in this family... respect. Respect of one's personal safety, respect of one's personal health, but mainly respect of one's body. This horrible man would never understand or care to understand that concept. That was this family's legacy and it was tragic, for everyone, not just for me. Everyday I thought how could this be the life my mother chose for us, I was just a kid, I wasn't able to make choices that big, except one. I could choose to not be alive anymore. I wanted to be free from this hell on earth, and yet it was my new life.

And the topping on the cake was my Dad was gone, moved out as quickly as his replacement moved in. And now, both of my parents had remarried within a few short months as if our family never existed. Dad married twenty-something year old Lisa, who was half his age, twice as mean, and hated kids, dogs, cats, basically anything innocent with a soul. Mom didn't hit the lottery either with her choice. My new step-dad, Jim, was even meaner than Lisa, who also hated kids, dogs, and absolutely hated cats because I saw him grab my cat by his tail and slam him into the garage wall where he instantly died. My poor cat didn't know that evil had moved in. He didn't understand that something as simple as walking across his car leaving his cute little paw prints was a death sentence. I wish I could have told him and maybe he wouldn't have died like that. As my 4 year old eyes met my step-father's I wished him dead, to be as dead as my cat.

"Shannan get me a wash cloth from the closet" Jim said. I stood there and my eyes must have been about to pop out of my head, cause he had to say it again before I complied. I really didn't understand what I was seeing, it was all too much for me to understand, and yet I did understand. I understood that things were progressing, the other day when he set me in his lap, it felt different, and then that turned into touching me while I was in my cute little wonder woman pajama's. And now this, he had relieved himself, all over himself, and I was supposed to help him clean it up. I guess this was his way of trying to make anything in my future seem like it wasn't a big deal, nothing to see here. I hated this man, and I hated my mom for bringing this man in my life.

I grabbed a dark green washcloth and headed back to my mom's room and that's where my memory ends. I don't know what happened after that. Maybe I did run away, or my mom came home, but far more likely something even worse happened and it was so terrible that my brain block it out and I am ok with that. I remember far too much, as I look back, I wish I could have forgotten more. I never could get any kind of answer from my mom as to why she chose Jim. Taking a guess at it, I believe that she was jealous that my dad was remarrying, and she chose the first man that looked her way. But choices like that have consequences, and none of us walked away without deep, permanent scars that we turned around and made other people in our lives bleed for. I hurt other people who never hurt me, because I was angry. And for that I am deeply sorry. It is funny the things that people remember, out of everything that happened that day, the two things that I remember so vividly are the door leading to my mom's room and that damn green washcloth.