Trigger Warning: Childhood abuse, CSA
This is the introduction of a book I’m tossing around in my head…
Part One: The Four Corners.
Upper Left piece:
3 am and the bedroom is still pink, Pepto Bismol, though, NOT ballerina because she didn’t listen. Again.
The ceramic lamps on the bone dresser flank the stinky hamster cage. The hamster runs in its wheel, going nowhere and anywhere but where it is. The squeaks of the wheel and the wooden headboard are nearly indistinguishable as they overlap with each turn and thrust.
The ceiling fan rotates counter-clockwise and with each rotation, it calms me, separates me, hypnotizes me, divides me into pieces so small, so miniscule that whatever it is that is happening to me can barely be felt but not destroyed.
Upper Right piece:
The disco ball flicks its mirrored rainbow prisms all over the floor and wooden, paneled walls. The floor, concrete ice, allows our roller skates to glide easily but the falls hurt so badly. Skinned knees and elbows go without Band- Aids and kisses. The music gives all-day headaches,but they are worth it. Sometimes.
The washer and dryer live in the adjacent washroom where I saw the dogs being born; the mother breathed them out without even a whimper, the birth sac she ate, and their tiny heads she licked clean. She loved them without them begging for it, nursed them without biting. I was promised a pup and then they were all given away.
The 70’s couch pukes out its mustard yellow and avocado green pattern. Smoke, spit, and armpits layer against Aqua Net and Old Spice. The carpeted stairs are soundless, more so when someone is walking down them. Little people play with Little People on the scratchy oval rope rug; their giggles cover up the projector flipping and clicking in the makeshift bedroom next door.
The bed never holds sleep. The sheets don’t protect. The blanket only smothers. The camera’s eye stares, red light angry. It doesn’t want to record this. Birthday parties with funny clowns and weddings with happy brides are not the same as SHUT THE FUCK UP.
Lower Left piece:
A blue whale engulfs the deep end, its mouth open in a large grin. The mermaid with the mannish face and seashell boobs perpetually swims sideways with long, lithe arms dancing in delight. The anchor on the bottom is black and strong and when we throw our rocks into the water we always try to aim for it.
We reserve the shallow end for underwater tea parties and handstand contests where nobody cares who wins or loses.
When the faded sky blue slide isn’t being used to flop on and plop into the pool, it is my library, my spot in the sun, bleaching my mousy brown hair into something special and making my skin glow like a model’s.
We skinny-dip at night while the neighbors sleep and we play Marco Polo until our hands wrinkle so much they hurt.
We catch chicken pox together (on purpose) and spend that entire recovery time itching and swimming, swimming and itching, smelling of Coppertone and calamine, strawberry popsicles and Lay’s potato chips.
I feel lucky.
Lower Right piece:
The wicker swing on the side porch fits all of the cousins with no room for any adults. We go so high that it hits the house each time, gouging the hole a bit deeper with each bump, We just smile at each other, laughing at the silly faces we are making. Pap- Pap pushes the highest because he’s too old to be afraid.
Inside we drink Ovaltine from fancy tea cup sets, mine the white one with little purple posies. Sometimes I forget about the chip on the rim and I get scratched; but the cup is heavy in my hand and it feels fancy, not like my princess one at home.
If you’re the chosen one, he pulls you onto his lap while he’s playing the piano and lets you put your feet on top of his feet. He moves the funny pedals that make it echo. It’s usually “Chopsticks” and it gets faster than fast, fast, fast towards the end which makes the whole room laugh and everyone feels special because everyone will get a turn at some point.
Then it’s my favorite time. We move to the family room. All the older cousins go upstairs and the little kids are allowed to go into the puzzle room. I open the door and the shelves inside the crawlspace are filled with all types of mind-mashing, brain-battering, synapse-snapping games, toys, and puzzles. You’re allowed to choose one at a time. I usually pick the neon Rubix cube pyramid. I can never figure it out, but that just means my Pap-Pap will let me sit on his lap or next to him so he can show me how quickly he can master it. I watch, amazed, as he makes each side all one color, neon chartreuse, neon salmon, neon teal. Then, he lets me put it away and pick another toy. The older cousins have been gone a very long time but I don’t know where, I don’t care, who’s with them up there? I erase those thoughts; my brain has no space for them. I’m in my favorite place with my saving grace. The only one who sees me, sees me. And he’s smiling at me which nobody does, (because I’m the bad one, the quiet one, the CRYBABY, the BRAT, the LITTLE BITCH! but also the only one who will scream) and I allow a smile to sneak out to him because I finally feel safe. He puts his soft hand on top of mine and I let him hold it. It doesn’t hurt.