Heard (conclusion)

And so it went. Without her voice, the little girl retreated inward. She imagined a different reality for herself, where she was seen. Where she was loved. One day, when it all became too much, she left the home that held her captive and rode her rusty bicycle to the end of the street. There, she would stage an accident. She waited in that dirty pile of leaves. Waiting for someone or something to rescue her.

Eventually, a lady stopped and asked the girl lying in the leaves if she was okay.

Fine.

All she could muster was 'Fine.'

She was always fine.

The girl's mother had a bad track record when it came to men. Her second husband was no exception, and he, like the others, wouldn't last long.

And it was like a miracle. Finally the prayer she prayed to her favorite Tears for Fears song was being answered {nothing ever lasts forever}

And for the first time in two years, the girl tried to reassure herself that the nightmares were only in her head, not in the middle of the night or anytime she was left alone with him.

She probably would've remained quiet had he stayed away, but that wasn't her fate. And the girl, who wasn't little anymore,  knew that she would have find the courage. She would have speak the unspeakable in order to protect her little sister. There was never any other option.

So, she took her notebook and wrote a note to her P.E. teacher. Ms. Coats seemed like a good choice since the previous month they all watched a PSA about not keeping secrets and the difference between a 'good touch' and 'bad touch.'

The very next day she called to the office where her mother's guilt-ridden face was waiting, but she was the one who felt ashamed. Then came the subsequent trip back to the scene of the crime so to speak. There, she would be forced to undergo a physical exam and talk to a slew of detectives and psychologists. One of the sessions, she was given a paper and pencils and was asked to draw a picture. Even at 13, she saw right through this request. She obliged by drawing a bouquet of heart-shaped balloons floating up in the sky. She wondered if their analysis would lead them to conclude that she desired love and freedom.

Both sentiments still ring true today.

And nothing ever happened. Some people are good at hiding.

The statute of limitation has long since passed, but not for that little girl, who become a timid teenager, and stumbling adult.

But, when she needed to protect the well-being of another, she ultimately found her voice.

And she continues to do so, learning to speak when it matters, even when it's scary. Learning to stop apologizing for things that are not her fault.

Little by little, she is becoming fearless.

And somehow, by God's unfathomable grace, she knows she is free.

{I am free}

Heard

Forty-three years and some odd months and I am still trying to find my voice. Circumstances have all but forced me to rip this from my heart, or else claw away at my very flesh.

*************

Her youngest memories are like the pictures in an old photo album. The kind with embroidery and ribbons adorning the cover. Delicate and beautiful on the outside. Inside, however, were the yellowing pages and faded faces which appear to be smiling. Just snapshots in time. Christmases. First days of school. Backyard kiddie pools. Pictures of houses that no longer stood, where she would stand on swirling wooden stairs and marvel at the dust in the sunbeams, like it was sent from another realm.

She was a quiet and painfully shy girl. They said she suffered in silence, like it was something brave and not a learned behavior out of desperation. Before she was ten, another upheaval. New city. New stepfather. New siblings. 

Her mother was talking too loudly one day about how the house she rented had been the scene of a murder. It made sense to the little girl, as she would see the evil that resided within its walls. 

The first night he came into her room, she thought she was dreaming. The moment when a dream turns, without warning, to a nightmare. She opened her mouth to scream, to utter anything, but nothing came out. Her voice betrayed her, as it left her, alone. Unsafe. 

Did he know, as most predators would, that he would be able to silence her with just his foreboding presence? Did he know that her voice would betray her the same way he would again and again? Did he know that his actions would repeatedly break the wing of the fledgling bird, keeping her grounded far too long, for her spirit longed to soar? Away from this place of nightmares. High, like the other little birdies. Somewhere safe. Somewhere where her voice would not betray her. Heard. 

To be continued...