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tricklesNmarbles
New Member
since 2003-04-03
Posts 7
Indiana

0 posted 2003-04-03 03:13 PM



It was supposed to be a time where I had no worries.  A time where my life was always going right, and I felt as if I could fly away on those white, fluffy clouds in the sky at any moment.   A time where the only thing that would bother me was the boy’s ‘coodies’ or the way Johnny would pick his nose in the middle of class.  A time where my only care was how I could get out of taking my nap in class.  A time where my only focus was how in the world I was going to be able to tie my shoe for Mrs. Schaffer’s kindergarten class.    But everything does not always work out the way it’s supposed to be.   Things don’t follow the path in which everything is supposed to fall into.  Our lives do not end up being the way we all wished they would be.  We can wish and want and hope all we please, but nothing can change the path in which God chooses to place us.  My path, with it’s many twists and turns, turned out to be different from some kids, but unfortunately seen and heard about all to often.   My life so very stereotypical to how so many kids’ lives end up turning out to be.  

I have set out many endeavors for myself, and some of which I have accomplished.  In this story I am going to share my past, some of which is hard for me to remember.  Some of my past comes across to me as a surrealistic dream, parts I remember, others I don’t recall.  I am also going to share with you the present time, and what I have achieved on my path which was set out for me.  I am going to share with you the many obstacles I have conquered, and the many paths I have taken.  Finally, I will share with you my plans for the future.  I have set out so many goals for myself.  Some say I am incapable of accomplishing a lot of my goals, some say I have set them too high, but I feel with the background I have, and what I have accomplished, so much good can come out of what I put my mind and heart into.  

This is the story of my life...


My legs are crossed, my hands folded in my lap, and my mouth sealed as I stare at the front of the church.  The pulpit seems so shaky as the pastor pounds his fist on it, and bounces about the stage, searching for stray eyes.  I stare into his face, unaware of what he is saying.  I never seem to comprehend what he speaks about.  He always mentions “The Truth” or “Our walk with Christ”, but what does he mean?  What I learn in Sunday School about “The Truth” does not seem to fit in my life.  I don’t understand what he means anymore.  My “walk with Christ” seems to be okay.  I always walk on my daddy’s feet when we play, plus my older friend taught me how to walk like the ‘cool kids.’  I think my life is following the right path of truth and walking with Christ.  I think about so many different things as the pastor continues to preach on “The Truth.”  I always want to doodle on sheets of paper like the McGregor kids get to do in church.  They always bring one hundred sheets of colored paper from home, and then pull out the hymnals so they have something to keep their papers sturdy on as they doodle.  I watch them intently in the pew in front of us, laughing and giggling about their pictures they have drawn.  Gosh, I want to doodle like them.  I look to my mother and father, both staring at the preacher.  I might as well not ask to doodle.  I know they’ll say ‘no’, they always seem to say ‘no.’   My father would probably get angry if I asked again anyways, considering the last time I asked to doodle was ten minutes ago.

My father’s eyes stay focused on the pastor.  I wonder if my father thinks about different things while the pastor is preaching like I do.  Probably not.  Everyone says he is a good man, and a devout Christian, he probably listens to every word that the pastor says.  I watch him as he shouts out “Amen” a few times.  I lean against his arm, and tug at it lightly.  He pats my arm, then turns back to listen to the pastor.  I look to my mother now, who seems to be daydreaming.  Her eyes aren’t focused on the pastor, but they are focused on the stained glass window in the back.  She has a look of discernment, like she understands what the pastor is saying but does not take heed in it.

I glance up as the pastor is finishing up.  Please Lord, let him end the sermon, I am so tired and want to go for some ice cream.   The ritual we had every Sunday night was, we would go out for ice cream if we were all obedient during the pastor’s sermon.  We almost always got to go because my siblings and I were afraid of my father and his spankings.  If we would ever act up during church, he would pick us up by the waist, carry us out to the bathroom, and spank us until we pleaded for him to stop.  Then after he would wipe our tears away, we would have to go back into the church and sit quietly until the sermon was over.  After the sermon was over and we got home, we were sent to our room for the rest of the night with no t.v. or bedtime snack.  

My father tugged at my shirt to stand up.   The sermon was over and we were headed to get some ice cream at the store on the corner of our street.  We all sat in the car, our hands nicely folded on our Sunday outfits, as my father went to get the ice cream.  On the way out of the ice cream shop I saw my father get stopped by a familiar man.  He looked like he had gone to our church before.  My father seemed to talk to him for what seemed to be years.  The man kept smiling over to us, then turning back to talk to my father.  My father motioned that he had to leave and went to the car, handing each of us our cones.  He looked to my mother telling her that the man he was speaking with use to attend our church, but spread his wings to start his own church on the corner of West 65th street.  My mother nodded, remembering the man.  My father continued to say that the man kept telling him how our family seemed as if they were the perfect bunch of people.  We were always attending church regularly, the kids were always behaving themselves, and how the whole family participated in every activity the church had.  My father boasted about this for a few minutes, saying how proud he was of his family.  My mother only nodded in agreement.  My father leaned over and kissed my mother as we drove home that night.

I woke up that morning with a stomachache.  I hated when I had a stomachache.  I would rather lose an arm sometimes than have another stomachache in my life.  I rolled over in my bed and stared out my window.  I saw my father packing up the car.  This was odd, why was he packing up the car?  I don’t remember him telling us we were going on a trip anytime soon.  I threw off my covers and ran downstairs to where my father was.  I asked him where we were going today.  He smiled and touched my cheek with his hand.  He told me he had to go on a business trip this weekend and would be back in no time.  I pleaded with him to not go.  I had never been without my father for a whole weekend, that I could remember.  I was seven years old and didn’t want to start now.  I tugged at his leg to stay, but he smiled and kissed my cheek and told me to run inside and help my mother with breakfast.  I began to cry as I walked into the house and upstairs to my bedroom.  I don’t know why this scared me so much, my father leaving me, but all I knew is that I hated it.  I did not want him to go.  I began to think of how I could sneak into his car, but it was too late.  I watched out the window as my father drove off down the street.  

My mother began to scream for me to come downstairs and set the table.  I rushed around quickly to find my other sock that I had misplaced amidst all the previous commotion.  Mom would yell if I didn’t have my socks on my feet.  She would complain about how I could catch a cold with cold feet, and how I had better find my socks before she got the belt.  Where did I throw my sock?  I began to crawl under my bed when I felt a tug at my leg.  I stopped moving and peeked from under the bed.  My mother met my eyes, and I knew that I was in trouble.  I crawled out from under the bed.  My mom began to pinch my cheeks so I would look her directly in the eyes.  She started to yell about me not obeying her the first time she yelled...’you know that when I call for you the first time, you come running young lady.  When I say jump, you say how high!’  I tried to look down, because I hated to look into my mother’s face.  She had this way of making me feel so small with just a simple stare.  My mother jerked my face back up to meet her eyes...’young lady, you look at me when I am speaking to you.’  She began to yell about my sock not being on my foot and about how messy my room was.  I listened to her yell about how worthless I had become these last few months and how I never seemed to treat her right.  Finally, after ten minutes of non-stop screaming, she sent me downstairs to start setting the table.  

I began to cry as I laid each plate in its position.  I could hear my mother telling my sister about how she should never turn out like me, how she should remain a hard working kid, who always obeys her parents.  I wished right then that I could run away.  I could hide myself from the world forever.  Why would the world need someone as helpless as myself?  I could never help the world with how I had turned out to be...’worthless’ as my mother called me.  Tears rolled down my cheeks as I began to ponder what my mother was telling my sister.  I heard my mother’s footsteps come closer to the kitchen; I began to brush away the tears from my cheeks as quickly as possible.  My mother stopped in her tracks as she saw me wiping my tears with my sleeve.  She began to yell about how much of a baby I had turned out...’i just don’t know how I raised such a baby.  You would cry over anything.  Dry your tears and go up to your bedroom after you are done setting the table.  You’re not going to get breakfast, young lady, I will deal with you later.’  

I placed the last plate on the table, and began removing the table setting I had placed for myself.  I put the setting away and ran upstairs to my room, trying not to let my mother see the tears that streamed down my face.  As I sat in my bedroom, I began to pray.  Lord, please just let my daddy come back home.  I need him now.  Things are so scary now.  I just do not know what to do.  Amen.  I could hear my sister and brother giggling with my mother as they ate breakfast.  I could smell biscuits and gravy, and my stomach began to rumble.  I sighed, knowing in my heart, that this was going to be a long weekend.

As I opened my eyes, I could feel someone breathing on my neck.  I rolled over on my bed and saw my little brother staring back at me.  He smiled and poked my side.  I knew what he wanted; he wanted me to play video games with him for the next twenty-four hours.  I sighed and headed to his bedroom with him.  He began to tell me how mom had baked a chocolate cake for them, and they had eaten after breakfast.  The chocolate cake, still smeared across his mouth, looked so good to me.  I nodded and told him I wasn’t hungry anyways, and that lunch was coming soon, and I could eat a whole ham and cheese sandwich in one bite.  He laughed, and we began to play video games together.  My brother did not have many friends.  He was very shy, and was more interested in a game than he was any human contact.  I think, sometimes, he wished he was the characters in the game.  Conquering all the evil and shooting the evil villains.  He would get so into the video games.  I would watch him sometimes moving his body and the controller.  He made me smile frequently.  He was a caring brother.  Every time my father would spank me for something I did wrong, he would cry for my father to stop, until his eyes were so red that he couldn’t squeeze out any more tears.  I loved my brother.

I could hear my mother coming up the stairs, and I hurriedly turned the video game off and ran into my bedroom and pretended to be sleeping.  My mother knew better though, she threw off the covers and demanded I get out of bed...’this is not a time for you to be sleeping.  You should be helping me clean.  For your punishment you will be cleaning all day today, and if I hear you complain, there will be more chores tomorrow.’  I nodded and began to put my shoes on.  I followed her outside to work in the yard.  We passed my next-door neighbor, Kelly, who was the same age as me.  She was outside splashing in her pool.  I smiled and waved to her.  She began to motion for me to come over to play with her.  I shook my head; not saying a word, knowing my mother would get angry and make me work the next two days.  My mother gave me gloves and told me to pull every weed that surrounded this old tree trunk we had in our backyard.  I began to pull the weeds out, one by one; all the while my mother was peering over my shoulder, making sure I was getting the weeds by the roots.  I hated yard work.  Every once in awhile I would glance over at Kelly splashing in the pool, while her mother stood by her spraying her with the hose.  I wanted to go and play.

My mother walked to the front yard to go pick some more weeds.   I was glad she had stopped peering over my shoulder for the time being.  I stopped pulling weeds, and pulled off my gloves.  I decided after pulling weeds for a half an hour, I deserved a break of some sort.  I looked down at my hands...blisters everywhere.  I lightly pressed my finger on each of them, wincing at the pain that shot through my hand as I touched them.  These are going to hurt worse later.  I sighed and glanced back over at Kelly.  She smiled and motioned once again for me to come over and jump in the pool with her.  I looked down at my clothes, all covered in dirt.  Mother wouldn’t mind if I jumped in the pool to cool off, and maybe even get the clothes I had on a bit cleaner.  Yes, mother wouldn’t mind at all.  I dropped the gloves next to the tree trunk, and trotted over to Kelly, who was splashing around the pool.  Her mother smiled, and motioned for me to jump in with Kelly.  I looked to the front yard, no sign of my mother.  I shrugged and took a plunge into the pool.  It felt so good on my blistered hands, and the water was so cool on my sun burned skin.

Kelly’s mother had tried to stop her, but there was no stopping my angry mother.  She pulled me out of the pool by the collar of my shirt, and drug me across the pavement and to the back steps of the house.  I could not get a word out of my mouth.  It all happened so suddenly.  My mother yelled for my sister.  My sister ran out the back doors...’yes mother.’  My mother, still holding me by my shirt collar, told my sister to go and fetch the belt that was hanging on the back of her bedroom door.  I cringed, please not the belt.  My mother yanked my collar...’your friend Kelly and her mother will see you get the belt, then you will be the talk of the neighborhood on how much of a bad girl you are, and what a baby you have turned out to be.’  I began to pull at the collar that started to tighten around my neck.  It was getting hard to breathe, and I began to gasp for air.  My mother only tugged tighter, until I almost felt as if I was going to pass out.  I tried to let out a shriek showing my discomfort.  I looked up at my mother’s raging eyes, but that is all I can remember.

Ice packs surrounded my ribs, and as I tried to move, I felt the aching pain in my sides.  I opened my eyes, and started to search the room.  At first, I did not realize where I was at, but then I noticed the picture of my mother and father...I was in my mother’s bedroom.  I touched the ice packs and pushed them closer to my body.  The cold felt good on my skin, and I lay there motionless.  I heard my mother telling my brother to stay out of her room tonight, that she wished to be left alone.  I looked to the right of me,  and I saw the belt, lying next to me.  I felt a tingling all throughout my body.  How I hated that belt.  I lifted up my shirt, and saw gashes from where the end of the belt had hit my body and dug itself into my skin.  I touched each gash, and then followed the gash to stray bruises.  I placed one of the ice packs on my chest, and lay there watching the pack go up and down with each breath I took.


Weekends passed and my father would make his monthly business trip, and my mother continually kept up with the torture.  Christmas season had finally rolled around, and my mother was more worried about shopping then about hitting me.  I was relieved when she would leave Saturday morning because I knew she would be gone most of the day shopping for various gifts for the family.  

Late one Saturday night my father returned from one of his many business trips.  My mother had been sick that weekend, and once again hit me until I was bruised all over.  She had nursed me back to health early Saturday afternoon, and explained to my father when he got home, that I had fell down the stairs in a rush to say goodbye to him.  My mother warned me if I ever told my father otherwise, he would surely leave the family and never return.  I did not want my father to ever leave the family.  My father was my shelter.  He had wonderful, wieldy hands.  His hands, although calloused from his hard work, were as gentle as a babies touch.  His hands had the capacity to hold the entire world with one grasp.  I, myself, could lay wrapped up in his arms for days, just playing with his fingers, and dreaming of the future.  Yes, we will have a future together, my daddy and me.  We will have a bright future in our grasp.

I felt someone give me a kiss on my forehead.   I opened my eyes to catch my father shuffling through my bedroom, picking up random toys I had left out on the floor.  He began to talk to me, as if he knew I was awake without even seeing my eyes open.  ‘Melissa, we have to get the traditional family Christmas tree tomorrow morning.  Get some sleep, and I will wake you up early in the morning…and be careful sweetie when you come down those stairs, I heard about your accident this weekend.’  He walked out the door, carrying some of my dirty clothes in his hands.  I squirmed under my covers, trying to cover up my feet.  I loved shopping for the Christmas tree.  I was always in charge of picking just the right type of tree.    I snuggled under the covers, and once again said my prayers to Jesus.  Then I drifted into sleep, getting myself prepared for the eventful day that was to follow.


‘Good morning sunshine.’  I peeked through the slits of my halfway opened eyelids.   My mother was opening my curtains, letting the sun peek into the bedroom.  An illumination filled my bedroom, causing my eyes to close at the sight of the spread of the sunlight.  ‘Wake up sleepy head, today we shop for the Christmas tree.’  I pushed the covers down with my feet, keeping my eyes hidden from the sunlight.  My brother entered my bedroom, dragging his blanket behind him.  ‘Sis, get up.  Hurry.’  I glanced up at my brother through my slightly opened eyelids.  The sun seemed to beam across my brother’s body, and it almost made an illuminating halo present across his face.  I smiled at him, and quickly jumped out of bed.   My mother handed me the clothes I was supposed to wear for the day, and then told me to pick up my bedroom before I went anywhere.  I nodded, and began to get dressed as the others left the room.  

I stumbled down the stairs, still slightly in pain from the weekend’s past events.  I caught a glimpse of my sister with her coat and gloves on, heading out the front door.  I promptly grabbed my coat from the closet and made my way outside to the car.  My father was sitting in the driver’s seat, fumbling through the glove box for his gloves.  I climbed over my sister, who insisted on sitting by the window and making me or my brother climb over her to the middle of the seats.  The car was warm.  My father must have started the car earlier this morning so it would heat up for us.  I leaned forward from the backseat, placing my head next to my father.  I smiled at him, but he didn’t notice, he was too busy searching through the glove box for his gloves.  I leaned back in my seat and pinched my sister’s leg.  ‘Hey stop it you meanie.  Dad, she pinched my leg.’  My dad turned around facing us.  ‘If I hear either of you two fight on our way to find the family Christmas tree, we will turn this car around, and you two will sit in your bedrooms for the rest of the day, do you understand me ladies?’  We both nodded quickly, nudging each other with our elbows.

When we reached the gas station lot that was filled with Christmas trees, we piled out of the car onto the icy pavement.  It had been a cold winter this year.  In early November we were struck with a blizzard following Thanksgiving day.  This was unusual for Indiana, especially that early in the year.  My mother tugged my arm, snapping me out of my daydream and into reality.  I began to hurriedly shuffle my feet, trying to avoid the ice patches, and catch up with my father who was already headed into the Christmas tree lot.  As I got closer to the lot I could smell the fresh pine that disclosed from the trees.  I really enjoyed the tradition of shopping for the Christmas tree.

‘How about this one?’  My father beckoned for me between the rows of trees.  I rushed through the aisles trying to find where I heard my father’s voice coming from.  I found him towards the end of the rows; standing next to the most stunning pine tree I had ever laid eyes on.  I reached over to touch the needles that were on the tree, they were soft in my hand.  ‘I think this is the new family Christmas tree this year,’  my father said, trying to find an employee that worked there.  I nodded in agreement, gently touching the needles once again.  A few of the needles fell from the branches onto the ground.  I watched as every time I tugged lightly at a branch a few needles would fall to the ground.  That is how I felt sometimes, as if my life was tumbling to the ground.  I wasn’t connected to the branch like my family was.  They were all such a close-knit family; I was the straggler, the one left behind.  I was the one who was falling, falling, falling; falling down to the ground.  Just as my thoughts were beginning to swirl into a different direction, I caught sight of my father picking up the needles that were falling off of the branches and placing them into his calloused hands.  He began to play with them individually, passing them back and forth between his two hands.  I went back to my thoughts, yes, my father was my shelter, he was the man who picked me up off of the ground.  I was safe, as long as my father was near.  

We piled back into the car, waiting for the employees at the lot to finish tying the tree onto the top of our car.  I glanced at my sister who was fidgeting with her Barbie dolls that she had brought on this road trip.  I loved Barbie dolls, and I especially loved playing with them when my sister wasn’t around.  This way I could play pretend family, and make it so my brother and sister got yelled at for not having their socks on, and I was treated like a queen by my mother, getting an abundance of chocolate cake just for myself.  I smiled as I watched my sister tie each of the doll’s hair back into a ponytail.  I reached for one of the dolls, but my sister cuffed my hand away.  Oh well, I didn’t want to play with the dolls anyways.  The car began to head home after the lot employees finished tying the tree onto the car.  The ride home was quiet, none of us really said much.  I think we were all pretty tired from our early morning adventure we had taken today.  I dozed in and out of sleep before we had reached home.  

My father shut off the car, and placed the keys into his front coat pocket.  We always waited for my father to exit the car first before any of us made a move.  He tried to open his car door but something seemed to be wrong.  He looked back at mom then back to the car door.  He seemed puzzled.  My mother then attempted to open her car door, but she also failed in being able to get out.  My father threw his shoulder into the side of his car door, trying, once again, to open the car door.  By this time both my sister and brother were giggling profusely.  I watched as my father would hit the door with his shoulder, and my mother would rattle her door handle.  ‘Honey, do you think the doors are frozen shut?’  my father asked, turning to face my mother.  ‘No, dear, they couldn’t have froze in such a short length of time.’  My mother peered out her window searching for the reason that has caused the whole family to be bombarded in the car.  My mother began to giggle, then the giggle turned into a bellowing laugh.  My father looked at my mother curiously, ‘what is it?’  My mother tried to get the words out but she couldn’t speak between the laughs.  My father, now curious at why my mother was laughing, peeked out his window.  ‘I cannot believe those employees did this,’ my father responded, shaking his head.  Now the three of us in the backseat were now curious what had happened.  My mother still laughing from the site out the window, gasped for air trying to speak with my father.  My father looked to my mother, and then he, also, began to laugh hysterically.  By this time, the whole car was laughing, including my sister, my brother, and me.  We didn’t know why were laughing, but just the sight of my mother and father laughing so hard made us laugh even harder.  We sat there laughing for a few minutes before my father was able to catch his breath and explain to us why they were laughing.

My father elucidated to us that the employees at the tree lot today had tied the rope around the tree and around the door handles, hindering us from getting out of the car.  Every time we pushed on the door, we were making a hopeless attempt in trying to get out.  The only way we were going to be able to get out is if someone came to help us, and remove the rope that was attached to the door handles of the car.  All of us peeked out the window, trying to see the rope that was twisted around the door handles.  Sure enough the rope had not only been tied once between each door handle, but twice.  ‘Daddy,’ my sister said, ‘I don’t think those employees knew what they were doing at the lot.’   My dad smiled, ‘No, honey, they sure didn’t.’  

My father began to honk his horn; hoping one of the neighbors would come out to save us from the entrapment of the dreadful Christmas tree rope.  After half an hour of honking, one of the neighbors finally caught on, and came outside to help us.  When he saw our predicament, he also began to laugh.  He called his wife outside, and they began to untie the rope.  After several minutes of untying and twisting, we were freed from our car.  My father shook our neighbor’s hand, and invited him over Christmas eve for our traditional turkey dinner.


After the Christmas tree was completely decorated, my father decided he wanted to take us out for dinner.  I loved going out to eat with my family.  This was the only time that it seemed as if we were a complete family.  We didn’t fight at the dinner table, we didn’t fidget at the dinner table, and we didn’t sing at the dinner table.  We simply spoke about how our days had gone, and about past memories.  My father had taught us how to behave correctly at the dinner table.  When we would go out to eat with a friend of my father’s, we were never to act like their daughter, Heather.   Heather was quite wild.  She would unscrew all the salt and peppershaker’s tops and giggle whenever my father or mother would spill salt all over their meals.  She would get out of her chair and run around the aisles at the restaurant, causing waiters and waitresses to trip, and the older couples to sneer at the young child and her parents.  It didn’t seem like Heather’s parents cared that their child was out of control.  Sometimes they wouldn’t even notice if she had run off and out of the restaurant.  Many times my father would have to draw their attention to their daughter on Westminister street, walking around on the sidewalk.  Sometimes she would sing so loudly at the dinner table, that my father would have to shout to speak with Heather’s parents.  I overheard my mother speaking with my father one night about Heather on our way home from the restaurant.  ‘You know why she acts the way she does, don’t you?  She simply craves the attention of her father and mother.  You know, honey, they do work an awful lot, and barely ever spend time with that child.  Although she is a dreaded girl, I do feel sorry for her.  Her outbursts and out of control behavior are just signs of her crying out for attention.  Maybe we should invite Heather over to spend the night with girls.’  My father agreed with my mother, and insisted that she make arrangements for the sleep over as soon as we got home.  My sister and I glanced at each other.  We did not want to spend a meal with Heather, let alone a whole, entire night with her.  What were we going to do?

My sister and myself laid on my bedroom floor debating over what we were going to do when Heather came over.  We had disputed several times about setting up some type of trap to keep Heather out of our things.  This task, we concluded, was not going to be easy, and we really didn’t have the capability of completing a trap without my parents finding out.  I glanced at the clock, we had exactly one hour and fifteen minutes to come up with some ideas of what we were going to do when Heather arrived.  The idea had surfaced quite a few times that we simply lock her out of my bedroom, but we both knew if we did that, our parents would surely spank us from here to Japan.  ‘Maybe we should just play with her,’  my sister said, tossing one of my dirty socks up into the air and catching it.  I shrugged, not really wanting to play with the little brat, but knowing my only option was going to be to put up with her.  My sister and myself gave up on trying to come up with any new ideas, and instead, we decided to play with the Barbie’s.

Just as I finished dressing all fifteen of my sister’s Barbie’s, the doorbell rang.  My sister and I both exchanged quick glances.  Oh no, here starts the beginning of the horror sleep over.  My mother shouted for us both to come downstairs and give Heather a warm welcome.  I jumped up at my mother’s call and quickly made my way downstairs.  I had learned last weekend that you run and you run quickly when my mother calls.  My sister was still leisurely coming down the stairs as I flew into the living room.  Heather and I both exchanged greetings upon my mother’s request, and I quickly picked up her bag to help carry upstairs.  ‘Put her bags in your room, she will be sleeping with you tonight,’  my mother replied, picking up Heather’s pillow and placing it on top of the bag I was carrying.  I gave a quick wide-eyed glance to my sister; who was probably at that moment thanking Jesus that Heather wasn’t staying with her.  I proceeded up the stairs again, leading Heather into my bedroom.

‘This bedroom smells like dirty socks, and old moth balls,’  Heather said, unpacking her belongings and placing them on my dresser.  I quickly kicked one of the moth balls my mother had placed next to my dresser under my bed.  ‘Look at this messy room, you’d think your mother would have made you clean this mess up before I came over,’  Heather continued with her speech, continually insulting my safe haven, ‘And look at your toys, you don’t even have cool dolls in here.’  My mother, probably ease-dropping on the conversation, pushed open my bedroom door, peering in at us.  ‘My goodness, I told you to clean this bedroom six times today, young lady,’  my mother waved her finger in my face, ‘This place looks like a pig sty.  Your friend here is going to think I have pigs for children.  Heather, I am sorry for this mess, I promise it will be clean by the time you two get ready for bed.  Heather, please run along down stairs while I speak with my dear daughter here for a second.’  As Heather hastily grabbed some of her dolls and made her way downstairs, my hands began to get clammy, and my mouth a bit dry.  I wanted to follow right behind Heather, but knew that wouldn’t be the case.  

I gulped as my mother reached for my cheeks.  ‘Listen here dearie, there will be none of this mess by the time we finish with dinner.  I want you to remain in your bedroom until every single stitch of clothing is picked up.  I want this room vacuumed and dusted without one word of complaint coming from your mouth.  You won’t be able to have dinner tonight because you will be cleaning this pig sty.’  I once again tried to glance downward, but my mother pinched my cheeks harder, causing me to quickly keep my eyes focused on her own.  My mother released her hands from my cheeks and quickly gave me a smack across my face.  ‘You need to start obeying me, young lady, because this only can get worse.  Your father has another business trip this upcoming weekend, and if I don’t see much more improvement coming out of you, it can only get worse.’   My eyes, now filling with tears, gazed down at my feet.  I knew if my mother saw my tears she would be quick to smack me once again, or ridicule me on my stupidity.  I nodded to my mother, showing her that I understood.  My mother swiftly proceeded out my bedroom door and down the stairs where I could hear her explain to Heather and my sister that I would be going without dinner tonight.

I dropped down to my knees, and clasped my hands into my face and let out a wail of grief.  Why did I have to be such a bad girl?  After several minutes of crying, I wiped my tears from my cheeks, and began to clean my bedroom.  I had a very systematic way of cleaning my room.  Everything was arranged in piles, and then put neatly away.  I carefully made a pile for hangers, and another pile for dirty clothes, and another pile for clean clothes, and finally the last pile for toys.  From there I placed them in their correct places.  This took me over an hour to finish, and when I finally got done I was so exhausted from trying to hurry that I fell asleep on my bedroom floor.  

The sound of laughter awakened me from my deep sleep.  I could hear Heather and my sister outside playing hide and go seek.  I peeked out my bedroom window to catch sight of my sister hiding behind some stray bushes in our backyard.  I watched as Heather began to look for my sister next to our swing set.  She screamed ‘Where are you two!?’   Two?  Who else is playing with them?  I began to search my backyard for the other person.  Where could this person be?  All of a sudden I felt the presence of someone else in the room.  I slowly turned around and came face to face with my mother.  ‘They look like they are having a lot of fun, eh?  Maybe next time you’ll clean your room when I ask.  This is not break time for you, though, so continue cleaning.’  I nodded and quickly began to pull the vacuum out of the closet in the hallway.  

Night had fallen quickly that evening.  I finally had finished my room around 9 o’clock.  I was pretty proud of myself for doing such an excellent cleaning job.  My room was spotless.  I had vacuumed it twice, dusted my dressers, and even washed the windows.  As I admired my hard work, my sister peeked into my bedroom door.  ‘Hey sis, Kelly wants you to open your window so we can talk to her.’  Kelly, our neighbor, lived very close to our house.  The only thing that separated the two houses was Kelly’s driveway.  We frequently would open our windows and talk to each other.  I motioned for my sister and Heather to come into my bedroom.  I began to thrust my window upward with all of my might.  My sister could tell I was tired and having a lot of difficulty getting the window to open, so she came over and helped me push it upward.  Finally after several minutes of exasperating work, we were able to get the window half way open.  A gust of cold air filled my bedroom.  I grabbed some snow that was on my windowpane and tossed it at my sister’s face.  My sister laughed, and picked up some more snow and tossed it at me.  By that time we both were caught up in tossing snow at each other that we didn’t even notice that Kelly had opened her window and was calling for us.  Heather stopped us, and motioned to Kelly’s window.  We both stopped and began waving at Kelly.  ‘That looks like fun.  How about you guys try and toss some snow at me?’  Kelly said.  My sister and I both shrugged and picked up a handful of the snow in our hands.  We patted it down and formed it into a shape of a ball.  We smiled at each other, and my sister began to count.  ‘1…2…3!’  We both hurled the snowballs in the direction of Kelly’s window.  My snowball hit Kelly directly on the forehead, and my sister’s snowball flew past Kelly’s head and landed in her bedroom.  We fell to the ground, clenching our stomachs in laughter.  As we laid on the ground laughing, a snowball came plummeting into our bedroom landing on my neatly vacuumed floor.  I looked up through the window, and saw Kelly laughing as she began to make another snowball with the snow left on her windowpane.  I quickly grabbed some snow and made another snowball.  I tossed it at Kelly, once again directly hitting her on the forehead.  Kelly launched another snowball into my bedroom, this time hitting Heather on the arm.  We laughed even harder.  We continued tossing snowballs until the cold became too unbearable for our hands.  We said our goodbyes to Kelly, and slammed the window shut.  My sister took Heather’s hand and they headed back to their bedroom.  I laid down on my bed, extremely tired from today’s hard work.  I began to think about the day’s events, when my eyes shut, and I drifted into a deep sleep.

© Copyright 2003 Melissa Rose - All Rights Reserved
Larry C
Deputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Patricius
since 2001-09-10
Posts 10286
United States
1 posted 2003-04-03 10:25 PM


Melissa,
Welcome to PiPs. It's a great place I hope you like it as much as I do!

Well now...that's an intense, well written and well worth reading write. Certainly reminds me of when I did Child Protective Service work. Very well done.

Just a small piece of advice, IMHO, smaller installments will get more responses. And just be aware there is little traffic in the Prose forum so things move slowly here. I have come to enjoy prose the most and will watch for your work.


If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I'd walk right up to heaven and bring you home again.

[This message has been edited by Larry C (04-03-2003 10:26 PM).]

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