Predatory Lines

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by VIE_IS_ME

by VIE_IS_ME

Excerpt #2 From: MEMOIRS OF A FORGOTTEN CHILD ebook

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My first self-published book is centered around trauma. I got the inspiration for this book based on my life growing up in a Haitian single mother household, and yearning for an idealistic family that never came to fruition. I existed but didn't live. As a Forgotten Child, I survived a childhood full of hidden sadness, buried pain, and silenced hurt but through my adult journey in my short twenty-three years on this earth I learned that I wasn't alone carrying this secret of extreme trauma that produced negativities in my adolescent years like suicide, depression, recklessness, bipolar, etc. The more vulnerable I was with my story, the more I realized the commonalities between me and many survivors. Our common thread motivated me to share my story in this series so it can help others confront their past and tell THEIR story. Trauma may be the dirty little secret in Pandora's box, but I'm the seeker of PEACE with the KEY OF HEALING.

Predatory Lines

The Philbrick School was an experience that ended too soon. It was a mini-social experiment for me as to where I belonged in the world. You had your popular kids, the smart kids, the popular boys, the bullies, and the socially awkward kids which I happen to be a part of. Ironically, for my abnormal social skills I was able to penetrate each group. I guess I was such an oddball I fit in without fitting in, or they were just curious about who I was. I was tall with sad eyes and terribly introverted little girl, that's the description most people perceived me to be. True I was tall. The sad eyes conclusion was because I lacked significant social skills; therefore, mastering interactions in social settings was extremely awkward for me. I sat alone, spoke to no one, and allowed my memories to roam free around my head. That little voice inside our heads became my companion. I could have been skeptical, but shy was an assumption many made. I wasn't truly shy, more accurately, I was observant. Many years of not being seen or heard made me practice invisibility. A double edge sword because nothing was expected of me and I flew under the radar but I was prime picking for predators because no one was looking out for me, nor protecting me. On the other side of the blade, it was easy for me to be secretive about the smallest dealings I had done. In other words, I would manipulate scenarios for my own gain.

My behavior relied on my personality of being invisible to carry the sneaky successions of my doings. The first person to see me and not through me, the first person to show me I was worth a damn, was my second-grade teacher Miss Isles [Miss I-ill-z]. Miss Isles was a medium height curvaceous mahogany brown, maybe a Jamaican woman with a straight full bob cut. She wore glasses and dressed vibrantly, she always came to class happy and eager to teach. Miss Isles had fostered nurturing elements and self-esteem in me. I had none on my own nor had anyone along including Mommy showed me consistent care. Now don't get me wrong, Miss Isles didn't play favoritism nor was she the pushover teacher. If anything, she'd encourage you to be the best you can be. An example of Miss Isle's dedication is when she sought out a tutor to improve my reading skills. It's not like I couldn't understand the concept of reading. I understood letters, the vowels, and the sounds they make. The problem was when the letters turned into words my brain blanked out. I recognized the letters altogether, the word itself, but the pronunciation of the word stumped me. Miss Isles encourage me to continue putting effort into reading. She didn't get frustrated with me nor let me feel as if I was below the other children. She kept Mommy informed with my reading skills or the lack thereof. Mommy brushed off the importance of me knowing how to read, but she did notify Lyonel about it. I had a new babysitter named Funa [Foo-nah]. Funa babysat me for Mommy during the weekdays and some weekends. She stood about 5'5, a heavyset Haitian woman; light skin with short hair ravaged by years of perms and had a Chatty Cathy mouth, always on the phone located in the kitchen. She had a daughter named Dominic. Dominic spent the majority of her time terrorizing me. She at the very least had a good five or six years over my seven. She stood at about 5'7, fit, and dark skin with long permed hair or weave. Her 'bedroom' consisted of a mattress by a wall on the other side of the living room area/entrance area.

Lyonel went out and bought me a children's book catalog with its premise on aiding children comprehend the basic fundamentals of reading. Of course, it was created with bright colors, relatable characters, and engaging dialogue between the characters and the child reading it. The day Lyonel brought me the children's book collection, I was elated thinking that I could read these books and catch up with the other children in the class. He bought me the same set twice so if I lost a book I had another copy. He came over to Funa's apartment unexpected and dropped them off to me. I thanked him with a bear hug and a kiss on the cheek. He hastily left thereafter, not before handing Funa her babysitting fee. Lyonel took my lack of reading skills serious, as he always said "Education is da mos importin' thin'" in a Haitian accent with a slight lisp. Dominic too was excited about my new books, so much so she helped herself more than half of my collection. I didn't dispute.

When Funa was off in the kitchen talking her head off I was being raped by her daughter Dominic. From the kitchen to the makeshift 'bedroom' had to be less than five yards away and she didn't know the deviance that was forced upon me. Mommy dropped me off in the mornings to Funa's apartment, ahead of her going off to work. Funa would leave me in the living room area with free range on the remote. She would allow me to watch cable cartoons while she tended to other things. Dominic would find me in the living room focused on Warner Brother cartoons on Cartoon Network. Dominic would grab me to her and led me into her 'bedroom.' Dominic disrobed anticipating arousal eagerly; I looked at her aghast. I sat at the edge of the mattress, denying eye contact because I knew something wrong was about to happen, no one was going to save me so I had to obey and disconnect. If I didn't look then it wouldn't be that bad. The first rapes of many occurred in the same format, pulling me away from the television screen and guiding me to the mattress. She snatched her clothes, laid on her back motionless, demanding me to touch her body. I didn't want to do it, my doe-eyes frozen.

- excerpt from MEMOIRS OF A FORGOTTEN CHILD ebook by author Vie Cine

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