My fourteen year old self was cringing in the shower. No matter what I do I can't scrub away the shame and my father's fingerprints from my body.
My father is a missionary in South Korea. Yes, he's religious, but he still has his moments. He goes from being a man of God to a tortured soul with demons of his own frequently. I suppose being raped and beaten by his step father on a regular basis did that to him. I just can't understand why he carries on the tradition of molestation on occasion. Then, represents in tears and depression, begging forgiveness.
I get out of the shower, and dress myself. I cover up head to toe. Pretending that I'm cold is a great excuse to make sure he doesn't see my body. He just got home from a meeting with fellow missionaries. I say a silent prayer of thanks that he's in a religious mood. He'll feel to high and mighty to make comments or touch me today.
I hear a knock on the door, "Grace, dinner is ready!"
Mom, I told her about all this. Twice. When she did nothing I stopped telling.
"Coming."
I finished brushing my long dark hair. Looking in the mirror I realize my family is right. I look so much like my father. I'm the female embodiment of that man. I guess I can't even escape in the mirror.
My only real escape is music. When I hear a song that touches my soul, nobody else can touch me then. Coming to South Korea, I've opened my horizons up musically. I listen to anything and everything now. Music transcends language to me, and although my Korean is getting better, I still don't know all the words. I can't find it in me to care when I hear the amazing voices coming through my headphones.
I pop my headphones on and walk to the kitchen table. As we bow our heads in prayer over our meal I say a prayer of my own...
God, I can't take much more. Either take him out of this world, or take me. One of us has to go.
It's the last prayer I'm ever going to say. If he doesn't help me this time. He must not be there.