Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Parent (11/16/06)
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TITLE: A Silent Cry | Previous Challenge Entry
By Kristie Derksen
11/22/06 -
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Trying to find a place to distract myself from the pain was harder than I expected. Nothing was more intense than the pain shooting through my ribs. The pain was unavoidable. My eye caught sight of an old tattered shoelace in the corner of the darkness. Reaching out as much as was humanly possible, I took hold of the lace and tugged, and like a cat chasing a mouse, the attached shoe came tumbling out after.
The shoe wasn’t anything extravagant, it wasn’t even remotely pleasant, but it was the
memory that caused me to smile.
***
“Mommy! Your home!” I screamed, excitement possessing me, body and soul. I ran into her arms, as she lifted me up, twirling me in the air. Dimples punctured our cheeks, yet another physical trait that gave evidence to us being mother and daughter.
“Yup I am! And I brought you a gift.” She announced picking up a rectangular box from the ground behind her. Eagerly I grabbed it, tearing off the newspaper wrapping. Opening up the dilapidated old box, I found a pair of beat up old shoes. Shoes that looked so wonderful to me.
“Mom, I love them!” I answered appreciatively, shoving my bare feet into my new gift.
***
I remember wearing those shoes everywhere. I wore them to school and the park, even inside our trailer, which I always got into trouble. I even tried wearing them to bed. Tried, but never succeeded. I never did accomplish an entire night with them on.
I loved those shoes. They were everything to me. Just like my mom.
It’s funny how I lost those shoes the same day I lost my mom. The accident took away everything I cared about and everything that cared about me.
They say she fell asleep at the wheel, causing her to veer off the road, driving right off the cliff. Regardless of what happened, it was the most miserable day of my life, the beginning of my living hell. That was the day he started drinking. Suddenly it was no longer cute and endearing that my mother and I looked so much alike, but more a curse.
My dad, if he even deserves that title, is an alcoholic. More like a raging alcoholic, and extremely angry one at that, especially to me. It all started that miserable day my mother died. He meant for the drunkenness to numb the pain in his heart, but it only seemed to enhance it. Nevertheless he continued to try and forget year after year.
As I grew older, it grew were worse. The beatings, that is. In a weird and twisted way it made sense. As I grew older the similarities between my mother and I became more evident. And no one likes to be reminded of their pain, especially when your drunken stupor is trying to erase it.
This brings me back to the present. My agony has to do with another confrontation with my father, a result which leaves me lying crippled with pain. I triggered another unwanted memory of his blissful past.
Another sharp jab of pain darted across my ribs. It hurt so much. I could feel wet, sticky blood seeping through my clothing, I was bleeding badly. Fear rose up in my throat. I was going to die here. Here in this place, clutching a smelly old shoe. All alone. The scariest thought was that no one even knew I was in trouble, because I have kept silent about the abuse all these years. I was too embarrassed for people to know the truth about my life. I didn’t want people’s pity. What I wanted was a happy life without the pain, a genuine place of refuge.
All I want is for someone to truly care. And if I survive this, that is what I will look for.
I just hope I’m not too late.
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