She - Part One

She had her hands tangled in my long brown hair and shook my head hard from side to side, and back and forth; like She was shaking a little rag doll. With her hands still twisted in my hair She pulled me from my room, dragging me down the hallway, through the dining room and into the kitchen. I tripped and slipped on the hard wood floors several times and kept scrambling to stay on my feet. She never slowed her step when I fell, She would just yank me along by my hair and I could feel the hairs ripping from my scalp. She was yelling at me, but I don’t know what She was saying. My screams were as ringing as her words. One of her hands let go of my hair and fumbled with the garage door lock. The other hand still grasping my hair lifted higher until I was forced to stand on my tip toes. I squinted my eyes and kept screaming, my fingers trying to open hers and free her grasp. When the garage door would fail to unlock, She shook me by my hair, twisting her hand to get a better hold on me. Finally, She unlocked the door, stepped backward and opened the door wide. I was pulled backwards then thrown so forcefully through the garage door. Instead of my hands instinctively going in front of my body and stopping my fall, my arms spread outward like a bird as I flew through the air. I flew over the two steps leading down at the entry way and landed face first on the concrete floor of the garage. I saw a quick white brightness as my face smacked against the floor. I drew in a slow intake of air and let out a long exhale of a scream so loud and strong that no sound came out at all.

“Get the fuck up and stop crying!” She yelled.

I pushed myself up with my arms and got to my knees sitting on my calves. I turned over my shoulder to look at her and scooted my body around a little. Then I saw the blood dripping from my nose down my shoulder and onto my arm. I didn't feel any pain, but I was scared of the blood. I touched my face and looked down at my hands covered in blood and scream loud and hard.

The rage on her face twisted then dissolved to furrowed frustration. My chest heaved with each breath rapidly and my screams came quicker. I didn't know what to do so I looked at her for help. This time instead of my tears fueling her anger, She came towards me.

“Sush, hold on” She said.

She put her hands under my armpits and pulled me up to my feet. She grabbed my left arm and trailed me behind her leading me back into the kitchen. I looked to the floor and watched the drops of blood fall and splatter on the dark oil stains of the garage, they followed me into the kitchen and hit the linoleum. She pulled me to the sink and pushed my head over it and put both my hands over the sink as well. She turned the water on as She tore a few paper towels from its holder. I watched the blood drip down, and mix and swirl with the running water, making its escape down the drain. She bunched up the paper towels, put them on my face for me to hold and told me to keep my head up. My sobs were muffled by the paper towels now and I looked up to the ceiling. I started to feel the blood slide down my throat, and I swallowed it.

She stood over me and took the paper towels off my face looking at my nose.

She said, “Shut up, you’re ok. I didn’t mean to hurt you…that bad.”

 

I closed my eyes and shook the memory from my head. I looked down at my 15-month-old daughter Michelle, sitting at the entry way of the garage. She would only go as far as the threshold. Michelle knew she was not allowed inside so she would get as close as she could to the inside to look in at all of the interesting things that were kept there.

“Leedle leedle”, Michelle said.

Lovely brown eyes looked up at me as she spoke her secret language. Each ‘leedle’ a different meaning to her. Her dark brown curls covered her little head. Her curls almost dark enough to be black framed her little face as she frowned at her feet. She was having a hard time trying to walk on the wood floors with her socks on. So, she sat on the floor with a thump and began tugging them off her miniature feet. I bent down and picked her up in my arms, hugging her tight. I stood with her in my arms and could feel the rush of tears gathering in my eyes. Overwhelmed by the sudden wave of emotion; there was so much sadness, fear and shame; I quietly sobbed into Michelle’s hair. I breathed in her scent, she smelled of peaches and I smiled as the tears fell down my face.

I took a deep breath of her and I thought to myself, ‘You will never have memories like that. You will never go through anything like that in your life, I promise you’.

I adjusted Michelle on my hip, closed and locked the garage door and began to carry her out of the kitchen.

“Come on Baby Bear” I said, talking to her as normal as possible; I did not want her to hear any sadness in my voice. “Let’s go back into the playroom”.

As I carried Michelle through the kitchen and down the hall, I could not help but wonder what must have trigged that memory to surface. Was it the arrangement of my washer and dryer next to the kitchen door inside the garage? Was it that the garage door was in the kitchen, like in that house so many years ago? Was it the scenario of a mother and daughter in a similar location in a similar house? Seeing Michelle close to the garage, wanting to go down those few steps to the cool concrete floor? What could have sparked recognition and bring such a strong reaction? I am not an emotional woman. I have spent years learning how to control my emotions and reactions. I never let anyone see too much.

    Whatever it was, it keeps happening. I keep getting these strange visions and a sudden onset of emotions from a memory that was long ago forgotten and buried. I am remembering more and more of these horrible moments I wish never happened. I am 38 now with a family of my own, a family I have created on my terms. I was 5 years old when that happened; and She…She was my mother.