July 1996
It was a lovely afternoon, the sky was a pleasant shade of azure. The sun was blinding as it reached its highest point. There were no clouds in sight to provide shade from the ball of fire that raged above. A warm breeze floated through the trees. It went unnoticed by the cars that zipped down Main Street.
I burst into the restaurant holding a brown paper bag. The doors swung back as far as I could force them to. My brunette bob flowed as I scanned the restaurant. There was no line, so I ran up to the young man behind the counter, placing the bag in front of him.
Still panting from the jog over, I composed myself long enough to speak. "I was just here with my Mom. The lettuce in my salad isn't any good," I explained, nudging the bag closer to him.
He pulled it towards himself, opening the bag to inspect the salad. After a few seconds, he gave me a puzzled look. "This isn't a salad."
My facial expression turned from exhaustion to terror. I knew I was going to pay for this mistake. I clamped my hand around the items. Then spun on my heel, sprinting into the parking lot.
Just then, my mother walked around the corner.
Her chestnut-coloured eyes were almost red with rage. Her eyebrows furrowed deeply into the centre of her forehead. Her mid-back-length, mahogany hair flowed behind her as she rigidly approached me. Her lips pursed so tightly it caused the surrounding area of her face to lighten in colour. Her hands balled into fists at her sides.
I knew those fists were meant for me. If I had been a foot closer, she would not have held back. Heart jumping in my chest, I thought it might leap out of my body. My saliva retreated, leaving a barren desert in my mouth. I looked between my mother and the bag that was tucked under my arm. I tossed the paper sack a few feet away from her, in the opposite direction I was planning to run.
I ran a hundred feet to our front door. I continued through to the kitchen at the other end. I positioned myself on the other side of the dining table. My breathing was hard to catch from the run. Every time I tried to regulate it, I would choke. The sweat that dripped down my forehead reached my eyes, making them burn.
She would arrive any second, upset with me, as always. I had learned from experience that asking questions only made things worse. She was mad, which meant I would be the target of her outburst, as always.
My mother stomped into the house like a massive, wild beast. This woman weighed around 140 pounds and was more terrifying than any rabid animal.
"You thought you could run away from me? Did you think I wouldn't notice you took my food back to the store?" she screeched, holding her fists so tightly that her hands were white.
"No, Mom!" I cried as I darted back and forth on the other side of the kitchen table, trying to find an escape. "I swear, I didn't mean to bring yours back." I circled the table to avoid her when she tried to run around to me. "Please, I won't do it again." I was stalling for time, my only option.
"I don't want to hear your excuses! When I get my hands on you, you're going to be sorry." She punched her fist into her open hand. Staring me down, watching for signs that I might run.
"Please, Mom, I didn't-"
"No more!" she screamed. "No more fucking lies! Come here so that we can get this over with," she said, trying to coerce me into her web of explosive anger.
My muscles ached from tensing while she yelled at me. "No."
"What did you just say to me?" She grabbed a wooden spoon, slapping her palm.
My leg shook from the anticipation of her next move. "I said, 'no," my voice quivered.
My defiance was more than she could take. She twitched, throwing her weight onto the kitchen table to get to me.
I took the opportunity. Running to the bathroom, I locked the door, cowering beside the sink with my back to the wall.
"Open the door. Mommy's not mad anymore. I promise, if you come out, I won't hurt you."
I believed every word that escaped her lips. Why would she lie? She was my Mom, and she was there to protect me, wasn't she?
On television shows and in movies, the parents were trustworthy. However, that was not realistic comparison and it was not the case, yet, I still unlocked the door.
***
I opened my eyes and saw blackness, my eyes couldn't stay open long enough to adjust. My arms and legs were similarly unresponsive.
I tried flexing my fingers but felt nothing. I couldn't withstand the agonizing pain of trying to speak. I was immobile and unable to communicate, with little to no memories to account for my battered state.
I faded in and out for a while. Sleep took over my body, trying to turn me on my side, causing agonizing pain that brought me back to a wakeful state. I forced my eyes open as wide as I could. I forced my eyes open as wide as I could. A lamp was glowing in the front room, and I could see the coffee table in front of the couch I was lying on, deducing I was in the living room.
That's when I heard voices in the next room. "You should give her some Tylenol, Jess," a man whispered.
There was silence, then my mother spoke, "Yeah, I guess you're right."
Not long after, she appeared next to me, placing two pills next to a glass of water on the coffee table. "Take these." She sat me up, opening my mouth, tossed the pills in, pouring the water in after it. "You'll feel better in the morning." She brushed my hair back, kissing my forehead before leaving the room.
Twenty-one| Closed doorsJuly 1996, Age 6
My mother was wrong when she said I would feel better the next day. The pain had intensified in the few hours I was able to rest my eyes. But she insisted on waking me up early for a doctor's appointment. When she tried, I groaned.
Every part of my body was pulsing; all I wanted to do was cry. I laid upon my back on my bed. Memories of trying to move during the night returned. Along with a landslide of reminiscences was trying not to focus on.
"Get up. We have to go." She wanted to care, I'm sure, but it was more of a hindrance, constantly toting me to the emergency room and doctor's office.
"I can't." I forced out. "I need help."
My mother paced over to my side, pulling me up by my arms. Her hand swung back, fingertips grazing the tip of my nose, causing my body to convulse. I cried out in agony.
She turned and gave me a look. " We have an appointment. No more messing around. Get dressed." Her breath smelled of cigarettes, and odour that had become comforting to me.
I dressed as well as I could, only daring to ask for assistance once, regretting it when I received a slap for groaning in pain. My mother disappeared into the living room for a few minutes, and I heard the jingle of house keys.
"Come on, baby. It's time to go," my mother's voice was sugared.
I think she knew she was in trouble. There was no denying the evidence that covered my pale skin; the bruises were purple in places and black in others. They were so widespread it was impossible to cover them all - summers in long sleeves and pants are hell, I can assure you.
"Ready." I sat upon the arm of the couch.
She grabbed her purse, checking for her wallet and sunglasses. I think... we have..." she said, shuffling through a bit more, "everything. We have everything." She put on her sunglasses, walking to the door. "Let's go."
I slipped back onto some clothing, and a crunching noise came from them that I needed to investigate.
I picked up a few articles of clothing when the brown paper bag became visible. It was my salad from the day before. I laughed at my stupidity, showing my mother what I had found. We smiled about the silly mistake as we left for the doctor's appointment.
***
The receptionist peeked over the counter to get a look at me. "It'll only be a minute," she said as she sat back in her chair.
The other patient's eyes scanned us as we waited. The conversations that were going on were paused, and the only noise came from the television.
A few minutes later, a nurse stepped out and showed us to the patient room. I pulled myself up on the bed.
"Don't say a word," my mother warned after the nurse was out of sight.
The doctor walked into the small room, shaking her head when she saw me. "What happened? Why is she covered in bruises? Did she fall again? Was it the neighbourhood kids, again? What possible excuse do you have this time, Jessica?"
"She was playing with friends, and it got rough." She ignored the doctor's accusation.
The doctor's eyes widened at the apparent deceit. Cocking her head to the side, she gave my mother a knowing look. "What really happened?"
"I just told you."
"Amaris, what happened? How did you get these marks? Who did this to you?" she asked, placing her hand on my knee.
I looked at the ground. I wanted to relish in the physical contact. I wanted to hug her. I couldn't do any of that. " My Mom. I made her mad, and-"
The doctor put her hand up to stop me.
My eyes stayed on the dark-blue carpet.
"This isn't good, Jess. I have to make a call. I'll be right back."
The doctor was out of earshot when my mother stomped over. Grabbing my shirt collar, she spun, slamming my back into the wall. She held me against the drywall.
"What did you do now? Now they are going to take you away! Is that what you wanted?"
Tears cascaded down my cheeks. Any pain I had felt before was nothing compared to this. "No," I choked through my sobs.
"Well, congratulations, it's going to happen now."
"Jessica! Put her down and step away." The doctor walked in while she still held me against the wall.
My mother eased me to the floor, sitting in the chair across the room. It had never escalated like this in public before - closed doors are an abusive parent's best friend.
The police arrived a few minutes later, followed by my social worker. "Amaris, it's so good to see you."
"Look what my Mommy did to me." I had accepted that I couldn't take that information back, especially since the doctor knew. I had never felt anything safe with my caseworker. I trusted that she wouldn't get upset with me.
"Jessica!" Lana shook her head, pulling me towards her. "You need to stay and speak with the police. " She leaned over to my mother, whispering, "Ama is coming with me, and she will be with Patty for the time being. Trevor will be staying with his father."
There was a moment of consideration that swept over the room, an uncomfortable silence that was broken by Lana's eagerness to leave. "Come with me, Ama. We need to go to the children's aid building."
She parked the car before we walked to her office on the third floor. "This is Officer Leroux. He needs to take a few pictures of you."
"Is it bad?" was all I could get out. I couldn't figure out what was happening.
The officer knelt to my level. "Is what bad? What your mother did to you, or that I'm taking pictures of you?"
I twisted a foot on the rug, staring at my fingers while folding my shirt around them. "Both."
"What your Mommy did was very bad. I am taking pictures of where she hurt you, to make sure she will never be able to do this again."
I wanted to cry as it started to sink in that I might not see my Mom again, but I didn't. I did as Officer Leroux requested, and I showed the bruises that were hidden by my shirt, the ones that lined my legs, turning to give a better view of the bruises on my back.