In Plain Sight

Chapter One - A Childhood

To understand my state of mind during the summer of 2010, it's important for you to understand my history. A lot of my reasons for making the choices I did that summer, are a direct reflection of the traumas I endured throughout my childhood.

My very first memory as a child occurred when I was about 4 or 5 years old. I remember opening my little eyes and scanning the Winnie-the-pooh themed room around me. My eyes caught my older sister, Christina, standing in the corner. When she noticed I was awake, she ran as fast as her chubby thighs could take her to our bedroom door. She gave me an evil smirk before slamming the door as she left. Click. She had locked the door.

I bolted out of bed and grabbed the doorknob, frantically twisting and pulling at it. I knew that it wouldn't open, but I was determined to try. I screamed at the top of my lungs as the tears began streaming down my face. I was scared; I didn't want to be locked in there alone. Finally, after what felt like an eternity – though was only actually a minute – my mom opened the door. Before I could let the relief settle in, my mom began screaming at me for pounding on the door. All while Christina stood nearby, enjoying the trauma she was inflicting on me.

I wish I could say that my first memory was some glitch in the matrix. That it wasn't an omen of what was to come for the remainder of my childhood. But alas, my childhood was riddled with physical abuse at the hands of my sister, followed by the emotional abuse of my mother. No matter what Christina did to me or our little brother, Cary, my mother had a magical way of making it my fault. Christina could do no harm in her eyes.

Take, for instance, the time my foot got broken in kindergarten. My mom had taken us to a nearby park so we could run out some energy on the playground. This particular playground had an elevated tunnel that connected two separate platforms. The top of the tunnel must have been only about 6 feet from the ground. Christina had always been built like an ox, so climbing on top of this tunnel and jumping off of it, was of no concern to her. I, however, was as petite as a toothpick, ready to snap under enough pressure. Christina insisted that I try jumping off of the tunnel, and when she told you to do something, you did it. Or else.

So, I climbed up and gulped as I looked down. I changed my mind, there was no way I was going to jump. I began crawling back to where the platform was, but before I could reach it, a hand grabbed at my ankle and pulled me back. I screamed at Christina to let me go, but the noise was caught in my throat as she threw me off. I heard the crunch in my foot as I landed; the sound of 3 bones breaking. I cried for my mom, begged for the pain to go away. But instead of comfort, I was once again met with an angry mother screaming at me. How dare I not do what my sister told me to do?

At some point in my younger years, my siblings and I became latch key kids. My mom would work until 9 or 10 o'clock each night, leaving us to take care of ourselves. Christina, naturally, took on the role of the boss. If Cary and I did something that she didn't like, we would get beaten. She would pull the phone cord out of the wall so we couldn't call for help, leaving her free to use our tiny bodies as her personal punching bags. If we did somehow manage to get hold of my mom, she would scream at me for having the nerve to bother her at work. She honestly believed I was provoking the nightly beatings at the hands of my sister. The thing is, when Christina would get out of control, she would hit my mother too. One time, she was beating on my mom with such force, that Cary and I called the cops. By the time the cops arrived, Christina had calmed down. My mom had given Cary and me strict instructions to lie to the cops about what had actually occurred that night. My mom managed to convince them that it was simply a matter of a 14-year-old throwing a tantrum. They believed her when she claimed that there was no need to arrest Christina or remove her from the home. When the cops left, my mom showed me her elbow that had swollen to the size of a football. But instead of getting mad at Christina for the physical damage she incurred, my mother yelled at me for calling the cops. How dare I call the cops on my sister?