The first time He came

 

I remember seeing my own hand in another world far away. Frozen, and at the same time, so aware. I remember every little detail as if I was looking through a microscope. It's kind of crazy; I wonder if others remember things like this as well. I can see the whicker shelf and the cris cross pattern on the bottom.  It was a shelf that I had in my room when I was younger.  The same shelf that I used to sit in front of when I was in elementary school, talking to my stuffed animals, telling them that the things that were happening were ok, would be over soon, and I would be ok.  I can remember a teddy bear that my grandmother got me, and when I was exceptionally anxious, he was my go-to friend. I kept him on the bottom shelf, almost eye level, like somehow he understood all that I was feeling. 

But back to that cold entryway floor at 13.  I never imagined he would show up, and even more shocking was just how cruel that he was. My little hand was almost lifeless. I was looking to my left, taking everything in, and at the same time having no thoughts at all other than how I was clean up and pretend that I was fine.  I was so focused on my hand, trying to ignore what was happening to my body and yet being so aware. There was an awareness that I didn't want to have.  I knew what he was doing;  I was there and in another place somewhere safe and very far away, all at the same time. I was frozen in the details, the cold floor, my hands tiny, the pattern of the shelf. I wondered where the dog was and if she was scared.  But I don't remember the dog or their name.

Yet, my hand.  I can see my hand.  This is one of those times that I more than wish that I was able to draw the things I see in my mind. The brown geometric pattern of the linoleum floor.  my eyes tracing the shape, wanting to be anywhere other than where I was. I just wanted him to be done with me so I could breathe again and come back to life.  I was nothing; I meant nothing.  I was just used goods lying on the floor, that little hand lifeless.  I tried to fight in the beginning, thinking that I was going to make some heroic move and make him stop.  I don't think it took long for me to realize that no amount of pleading or fighting was going to make a difference.  That was one of the last times that I ever wore a skirt.  Somewhere in my little head, I began to believe that the skirt made me easy to get to, and I was never going to let that happen again.  If only a skirt could make a difference or not, he didn't care.  He came to take what wasn't his and wasn't going to leave until he got what he wanted. A girl of 13 used goods lying there on the cold floor.  Aware in more ways than I would ever want to be and lifeless all at the same time.  To be that focused on what I was seeing while being so hurt, how does a mind even begin to comprehend that. 

Tori Amos Silent All These Years 

I heart your heart.