Lee was back to his normal self the following week. Mostly. Funny and smiling. But there was an edge of something else, too. She didn't know the word for what it was or how to explain it, but she knew something was different. There was a quietness surrounding him. A sense of protection - but at arms length. He didn't talk about that afternoon. But it was heavy on his mind. She could feel a difference in the way he held her on the lifts. He was more careful and purposeful. He also began asking if she was ok. A lot. She lied. A lot.

The day of the recital, Lee brought her flowers. So did Lee’s Dad, even though she had never met him. So did Miss Rose Marie and Suzanne. The ballet was beautiful. All their hard work created an incredible moving performance. Miss Liz cried. Delia swooped her up and spun her around. Kissing the top of her head repeatedly and showering her with praises. As she took the stage for the encore with the older girls, she thought her face would break from smiling so big. She looked into the audience and...he was there. Standing next to her mother. Not clapping. A greasy lecherous smirk on his face. She couldn’t swallow and felt immediately cold and weak in the knees. He never came to her performances. Never. It took everything in her power not to collapse. She risked a glance up at Lee and saw his eyes looking out in the crowd. Pointedly in one specific direction. Sheer hatred on his face. It frightened her just a little.

She saw several closed door office discussions between Lee and Miss Liz in the days after the recital. One included Lee’s Dad who was visiting for the weekend. She discovered he was a police officer in his hometown. His uniform made that very clear. That meeting made her nervous. So much so that her stomach hurt. She didn’t need to hear the conversation to know they were talking about her. Their quick glances through the office window were proof enough. During that meeting, Lee and Miss Liz shouted at one another, then Lee slammed the door as he walked out. Lee’s Dad and Miss Liz sat quietly for a long time afterwards. She felt horrible. She had caused this. These problems that weren't there before. Miss Liz had one more discussion with her alone a few days later. She asked her a lot of uncomfortable questions from a folded paper booklet. The questions made her feel awkward. Almost everything she asked about was happening in her life. But she couldn’t admit it. it had gone on so long it almost seemed normal now. Like how plants and vines will grow around a dead and twisted tree. Engulfing it and disguising it as something beautiful and living and vibrant. Not something rotten and dead. That’s how she felt inside. Rotten and dead. She lied straight to Miss Liz’ face that day. Then she promptly vomited in her office waste basket. She was living a lie and she was well aware of it. But it was too far gone to stop now. She had gotten comfortable and had made mistakes. She had tried being a normal kid and it hadn’t turned out well. She had caused people she cared about a great deal of pain. She made mental notes of those mistakes and learned from them. She couldn’t allow herself that luxury again. Her life, and the life of her little sister, depended on her “acting” normal- not being normal. She was 14.

O
Dance recitals always took place in the spring. The little kids went first. They were followed by the elementary aged kids, then middle school, then high school and adults. This was her first performance with the older class. The high school and adults. The older girls had been so supportive of her over the past few months. They taught her how to breathe without making her rib cage move and how to look through the audience instead of at them. They helped her find her center on her turns and how to spot to keep her balance. Most importantly they helped prepare her for dancing with the boys. They weren't boys, really - but MEN sounded so scary. That's what they were, though. Men. 6 feet tall with strong backs, arms and legs. Easily twice her size. She got nervous each time she stood next to any of them. All red in the cheeks and ears on fire. Completely flustered. So much so that one of them commented on it once. "Hey...you ok? You look really red and uncomfortable.” She couldn't form words, so she just stared bug-eyed at him and nodded her head. Luckily he was kind and didn't laugh. Too hard. He just patted her head and chuckled.

His name was Lee. He was in his mid 20's. He did NOT look like a dancer. He played football for a small high school and took dance classes for balance and agility. After he graduated and moved off for college, he found he missed dancing. So he joined their studio. All the older girls thought he was "soooo cute"; all she saw was huge muscles and a brushy mustache. But she grew quite fond of him over time.

Because she was the smallest of the "women” in the class, she was almost always the one involved in the lifts. Her size made it easy for the men to learn the right balance and timing. Once they perfected the men's part, sometimes Miss Liz would switch the women’s part to one of the older girls. Depending on how intricate the dance was and the level of skill required. But not always. It became the class joke to call her "The Doll." "Pick up The Doll and lets run it again," Miss Liz would say. And they would all laugh. Someone would pick her up and throw her over their shoulder. They would all laugh more. She didn't mind. They didn't mean it in a hurtful way. Not at all. They all treated her just like a little sister.

She had been paired with Lee for the entire upcoming performance. There was a ton of work involved which lead to a lot of extra practices. Saturdays and even a few Sundays. This class was serious business. It was rumored a talent scout from the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater would be in the recital audience, so all the dancers were putting in every spare hour they had. She was too young to understand exactly what this meant, but she knew it was extremely important to her older friends. She was not about to let them down. She showed up to each and every practice and gave her best effort. She took whatever critiques they gave her and corrected each and every misstep. Miss Liz and Delia praised her a lot for her work. Lee did too. She and Lee became close after a short time. Like an older brother and younger sister. It was nice. It made her feel comfortable. Settled.  Normal.

She was sitting during a break, peeling off her toe shoes. She had lost two toenails that week. She had to keep the bandages clean and readjust the wool buffer in the toe boxes. Her feet were a bloody mess. Blisters had popped and goo was dried and crusted between her toes. Lee was plopped next to her, razzing her on how gross her feet were. "You know, you have nasty old lady feet on kid legs. I don't know how you do it. Let me look at that..." He grabbed one of her ankles, twisted her leg over, and began examining her toes. She laughed and squirmed. Lee stuck her head and shoulder behind his back and pinned her with his arm. It was then he noticed the large, dark purple bruise on her rib cage. She was always extra careful to dress appropriately. It was important to cover anything that might raise concern. But all the extra wriggling and moving had caused her top to ride up a bit. She wasn’t even aware of what happened. She only heard Lee gasp loudly and say a cuss word. One of the badder ones. She wormed her way around and yelped. "WHAT? What was THAT for?! You said a bad word!"

"What is THIS?” He shouted. “What's this bruise? This is HUGE. Did I do that to you?! Come ON! You have to TELL me when I hurt you. You're so quiet I never know, but THIS...this is BAD!" He yanked up the side of her shirt and pointed at the area. It was then he saw the rest of them. He started talking to her loudly. Almost shouting. AT her. Loudly. Very loudly.

Heat flew through her ears and cheeks. An ice cold ball formed in the pit of her stomach. She struggled to pull her shirt tail out of his grip, but he wasn't letting go. Her breathing became ragged and she started panicking. Her eyes were wild and her blood was rushing in her ears. She wasn't scared of Lee in the least. Not at all. But she could NOT afford to have him, or anyone, find out about her issues. She lost her composure. "No NO NOO!!! Let go of me LET GO! STOP STOP!” She hurled herself around and started scrambling away from Lee. Her words tumbled out in an uncontrolled jumble.. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered “I’m SORRY, I just need you to stop...STOP...please please please noo....I"m sorry, I'm sorry." She felt the tears roll. Down the side of her nose to her upper lip. She tried to sniff them up. She kicked and rolled and writhed to move as far away from Lee as fast as possible. She didn't notice he had gone silent. They didn’t notice the rest of the class had turned in their direction. She was crab-walking backwards across the floor. Lee was crawling fast towards her. He chased her back into a wall, then sat down hard right in front her. His face was inches from hers. He leaned in and took her small face in his big hands. His expression had changed from surprised anger to extreme concern. And a little fear. He whispered "What...is going on here? Somethings not right. Something is very wrong. Talk to me. Please talk to me."

“Yes ma’am. I promise. Thank you. I’m sorry.”

She walked out of the studio office with her head down. To say she was embarrassed was an understatement. Miss Liz asked her in for a talk after practice was over. She had been peppered with questions for almost 30 minutes. She was beyond exhausted. She finally convinced her teacher that the bruises were the result of a clumsy skating accident. She felt awful lying. She wasn’t even sure Miss Liz believed her. But she had no other choice. She was equal parts ashamed and relieved. Ashamed because she’d allowed herself to get too comfortable. Ashamed because she’d almost put people she cared about in danger. Ashamed because she was weak and had let her guard down. Relieved because someone else actually cared. Just a little.

Lee was waiting outside the studio for her. After Saturday practices he sometimes drove her home as a favor to her mother. He was quiet. The silence was a little uncomfortable. She stepped up into his truck and closed the door with a thunk. As she clicked the seatbelt into place, he switched on the radio. Ronnie Milsap sang about Smoky Mountain Rain. It keeps on falling. I keep on calling. Her name. It made her sad. The ride home was tense. There was no conversation. Both looked straight ahead. Lee pulled into her driveway. And as her right hand reached for the door, he grabbed her left wrist.

“Listen. I’m not sure what to say because I’m not sure what to think. Something is wrong. Very wrong. I know that much. I can feel it. We’re really close- but you won’t talk to me. I have my suspicions, but I can’t make you talk..” His voice cracked with emotion. Tears streamed down her face, but she refused to look at him. Her breath hitched and her chest heaved. He cleared his throat and continued. “I want you to know I care about you a lot. I think you know that already. You’re the little sister I never had. The one I never knew I wanted. And if I find out someone is hurting you...” he sniffed suddenly, “well, let’s just say I won't have that.” He reached out and turned her chin towards him.

”Liz told me to drop it. Said it’s between you and her. For now. And I’ll respect that. For now. But the next time I see a bruise, or any sign of this again, I’m getting involved. Understood? This scares me. You’re a strong girl, but you’ve been hiding some secrets. I think this may be something much bigger than you. I will help you. I’m here for you. Whenever you need me, but you have to talk to me.”

She bolted out the truck. Leaving the door open and her bag strewn on the floorboard. This was why she didn’t allow others in. It hurt too badly when they found out. When their disappointment became obvious. She couldn’t take the pity, the concern, the worry and hurt she saw in their eyes. Their pain only made her feel worse. She cried herself to sleep that night. As she had so many other nights before. But for a completely different reason, this time.

     She peeled the sheet back slowly.  So slowly one may not even catch the movement unless watching closely.  She was trying not to wake him.  If she could just get it folded back far enough to get her foot out, she might be able to slip out without him knowing.  

     She had stopped rubbing him several minutes ago.  That's what he called it.  Rubbing.  He would force her to sit with him in bed and trail her hand up and down the length of his body.  Slowly and lightly.  Not really touching the skin, but skimming over the top of it. Caressing it. "Rub.  Now,"  he would say.  She would make a point to divert her hands from the private parts. But he would just shove her hand where he wanted it. No area was off-limits. Most of the time he would lay face down.  Sometimes he would lay face up. Sometimes he made her take her clothes off. Every time he was naked.  All the time she hated it. 

     Her left foot was finally uncovered.   She slowly edged it off the bed.  Moving in increments so small that her muscles cramped.  Her right foot had been easier to untangle and was now planted on the floor..  His breathing was deep and even.  She felt certain he was asleep.  Shifting her weight towards her right side, she began twisting her body around.  She kept her breathing slow and steady and tried to match his.  Breathe in...breathe out.  Breathe in...breathe out.  Inch by inch.  Almost there..  After what seemed like hours, she felt carpet beneath both feet. She waited a few seconds and continued to breathe.  She began lifting herself up.

     "Did I give you permission to stop?'  It was a low growl coming from behind her.  Mean and hard and seething with evil.  She swallowed hard.  Her intestines turn to ice.  She froze from the inside out.

     "No."
     "No what?"
     "No sir."
     "No WHAT?"
     "No sir, I didn't have permission to stop."

     Fast as lightning and just as painful, he yanked her backwards by her hair.  The back of her head connected with his knee and pain shot through her eyes.  He wrapped her long hair tighter around his hand as he pulled himself up onto his knees.  Her body flailed as she struggled to right herself.  She found nothing to hold on to except the bed sheets.

     She could hear his voice, but couldn't make out any words.  the room was spinning some and things were wild and out of focus. But she could feel the power, the rage, the anger in the air.  It was so thick it was hard to breathe. He was pulling and scratching and clawing at her, trying to gather her closer to him. He was beyond angry.  She had to get out.  She had to find a way out.

    She heard an incredible roar and felt herself flying.  she was disoriented.  The bed sheets tangled in her fingers did little to slow her trajectory.  No sooner had she felt air beneath her when she slammed into the wall.  Her entire body just stopped as she hit.  She felt the air catch in her chest as she slid to the floor.  Just as she hit the ground she felt small taps and pings on her body from above.  The mirror.  The sliding mirror doors of the closets.  They had broken.  That's what she'd hit. They had shattered and were now falling in pieces around her.  Her brain was fuzzy and her eyesight dim.  She heard tinny sounds in her head.  It was unnerving, but also nice as it drowned out the rest of the yelling and madness. 

     She began to hear wild screaming and cursing.  It became louder as her vision cleared.  He was on a tirade. "LOOK WHAT YOU DID YOU LITTLE WHORE! THIS IS GOING TO COME OUT OF YOUR HIDE! AND I'M GOING TO GET OFF ON TAKING IT, TOO!"  He charged at her with eyes blazing.  Hot red and on fire.  Sweat was pouring from him in rivers and spit strings were dripping from his mouth.  His penis was erect and bobbing as he stormed towards her. She should have been more scared than she was.  She should have been terrified.  But she felt disconnected somehow. She could almost count the seconds it took for her body to comply with her thoughts. If this was the end, and he was going to kill her, at least she was at peace.  She took a deep breath and tried to brace for the impending pain.

     He lunged at her.  Hard.  As if to jump on her. But just as quickly he jumped back awkwardly on one foot and howled.  "SON OF A BITCH!"  More obscenities flew as he hopped.  Like a fat, white, deranged flamingo. Glass.  He must have stepped on a piece of glass.  She knew she should use this opportunity to run, but she was stunned.  She felt like she'd been swimming in Ginger Ale. Get UP! Getup getup get up! She shook her head to pull herself out of the haze.  He was sitting on the edge of the bed shouting and inspecting his foot.  He seemed not to notice her for the moment.  In fact, he turned his back to her as he positioned himself for a better look.  That was the only invitation she needed.  She ran.

     As she flew through the living room towards the front door, she grabbed the blanket off the sofa.  She felt sharp pricks and pokes on the bottom of her feet.  She probably stepped in glass, too.  She should check it out, but there was no time. Only stopping to ball up the blanket, she turned the door knob.  Ever so quietly, she slipped out.  Even though her mind was racing on overdrive, she instinctively moved with almost no sound.  If she was lucky, he may not have noticed her yet and wouldn't for a few minutes more  

     She leapt off the porch of the apartment, wincing as she landed on her feet.  She walked at a quick clip through the grass.  She didn't run.  Move too fast and someone might notice her. She stayed off the sidewalk.  Any blood from the cuts to her soles would only lead him, or someone else, straight to her.  She hurried around behind the apartment.  Theirs was at the end of the row.  Her parents bedroom was on the back corner.  She was right outside their window.  There was banging and slamming inside.  It was a good sign that he was pre-occupied, so she kept going.  Knowing this day may come, she had planned ahead and created a hiding space between the A/C units in back of the apartment row.  there were 12 of them in a cluster. The units were tall enough she wouldn't be seen and loud enough she wouldn't be heard. 

     The blanket fit perfectly on the concrete between two of the units.  Shortly after they moved in, she had stashed some snacks and a jacket behind one of the units.  She had found a large popcorn tin with a lid in the dumpster and taken it, knowing it would be of use some day.  It was just what she needed to hold the food and keep bugs and animals out.  She settled in and took a few deep breaths.  "It's ok.  I'm ok," she told herself.  Over and over until her heartbeat eventually steadied.  She began inspecting her feet for glass as she waiting for nightfall.

She sat on the end of the bench and looked at the ground.  As she swung her leg, a small rock rolled around underneath the toe of her sneaker.  It made little marks in the dirt that looked like hieroglyphics. Maybe she hadn't thought this through as well as she should have.  As it turned out, leaving was the easy part.  It was what to do once she left that now had her puzzled. 

She had locked the front door behind her and walked down her street.  The  plan was to head towards the elementary school and take a break there.  It was a little over a mile away.  She made it there shortly after 4pm.  She started to sit on the steps for a minute, but then a teacher walked out to leave for the day.  They smiled at one another, but it worried her.  What if someone decided she looked lost or out of place and asked what she was doing?  How would she answer?  What if they called the police or her mother?  Better to keep moving.  There was a park a couple of blocks away.  She would go there.  Kids should be playing and soccer teams practicing.  Maybe it would be easy to get lost in the mix of everyone else.

It only took a few minutes to get to the park.  As expected, there were two teams of little kids playing soccer and a handful of other kids on the playground..  She saw coaches and parents, too.  They stood in small groups and laughed and clapped for the kids.  They all seemed happy.    She didn't feel the same.  There was a small, heavy stone in the middle of her stomach. She knew she couldn't stay at the park long without calling attention to herself.  And she didn't need that. So she sat at a picnic table and tried to think. Suzanne's house wasn't too far away.  She knew because they had walked home a few times back in elementary school.  She could go there.  It would be ok. But it would also lead to a phone call to her mother and a heated discussion and trouble for her and she didn't want any of that.  Best not to involve them any more than she already had.

What about school?  Her middle school was farther away.  Too far to walk home after school each day, but close enough that she could still walk there today.  It was across a pretty busy road, too.  But it might be far enough away that no one would look for her there.  That seemed like a logical plan, so she adjusted her pack and left the park.  The trip took longer than she expected.  A lot longer. And crossing the busy road was a little scary.  But it was also exciting.  She felt a small thrill in monitoring the traffic and watching the lights to ensure a safe passage across the street.  When she crossed, she ran as fast as she cold and held her pack tight.  She jumped up on the curb and moved away from the street.  Her fist pumped in the air as she jogged down the sidewalk.

​Eventually she found herself walking up the bus circle of her school.  On the way, she determined there would most likely be practice of some sort in the gym.  So at least one door should be open.  She could hang around outside until the practice was over.  Thankfully, she had remembered to pack a couple of books in her bag and some paper, too, so she could find something to pass the time. Then, as the last people left, she could sneak in as they came out  Once she was inside, she could stay there over night and not have to worry about being late for school in the morning.  That was it.  She finally had a foolproof plan.  She felt a small flutter in her stomach.  It felt like happiness.  She made her way around to the front of the school to wait.

​Now she was sitting on a concrete bench watching the sun set.  The temperature had dropped a little, so she had put on her jacket.  She ha eaten an apple, some crackers and had juice box.  She stared as the last slivers of color in the sky slipped away.  It was a little too dark to read.  Plus, when she sat directly under the lights the crickets jumped all over her and got stuck in her hair.  They were gross. She checked her watch.  The practice would be over soon because she noticed some parents parked in front of the school.  Some waited with their lights on, while others left theirs off. They were waiting for their kids to come out.  She heard the doors clack open behind her and turned around.  Out walked her English teacher, Ms. Madden.  Panic struck and she almost vomited on her own feet.

​"Well hi there, Sweetheart!  You're here awfully late aren't you?"

​"I, uhh, I'm just waiting for my ride."

​"Have you been here since school let out?  Its almost 9.  That's a pretty long time. Do you have someone coming for you?"

​She stammered and searched for an answer that wasn't a complete lie. "Yes ma'am. I, uh, I think so. I mean, I'm not sure, I guess."

​"Well," Ms. Madden eyed her curiously, "Why don't you just come with me.  I'll give you a ride home, ok?  I'm sure there was just a mix up somehow.  We'll get you home before you know it.  Come on, honey."

​She couldn't say no.  If she did, Ms. Madden would probably wait there with her.  Then she would have to answer more questions. She had no other choice.

​"Um, thank you.  I mean, yes, ok. Um thank you."  She grabbed her back pack and followed  Ms. Madden to her car.


She thanked her teacher for the ride and closed the car door slowly.  Fishing her house key out of her bag, she stepped on to the porch.  She waved then opened the door.  There were lights on down the hallway  She paid no attention to them.  She went straight to her room.  Leaving the lights off, she dropped the backpack in her closet and took off her shoes.  She fell onto her bed and began to cry.  He would be home soon.

It was now or never.  She knew she wouldn't have another opportunity like this for a long time.  Although she had planned ahead, and had checked and double and triple checked her plan, she was still nervous.  It was a big step.  Big enough to cause some real problems.  But she had to do it.  She had to get out.

She normally had dance class every week night.  Except Fridays.  But this week, on Thursday, it had been cancelled because Miss Liz was going to a conference.  The older girls were still going to practice, but since she wasn't allowed to stay in that class the full period yet, she didn't need to be there.  Her mother was unaware of this change.  On school days, she normally walked home with her friend Suzanne.  They had taken dance together for a long time.  Most of their classes were either together, or the times were right after one another, so Suzanne's Mom, Ms. Rose Marie, just took them both at the same time.. She loved Ms. Rose Marie very much.  And Suzanne, too.  She felt horrible when she thought of how worried they would be. She hated sneaking. She hated lying, So she told herself it wasn't lying if she never said anything to begin with.  She read about the cancellation on the board at the dance studio.  She told Ms. Rose Marie she would just walk home after school that day.  Then nothing more was said.  So maybe it technically wasn't lying.

She rummaged through the bottom of her closet.  Over the past several months, she had been stashing away food and drinks and other things she thought she might need.  She knew the day would come...she just didn't know when.  There were individual plastic zip bags hidden all arond the floor..  Some with crackers, others with raisins, more with dried fruit and apples.  She read that Granny Smith apples stay good the longest, so she had asked Ms. Rose Marie specifically for those during snack time.  She felt bad stealing them, but there was no way around it..  She had some chocolate, too.  She knew the sugar would help give her some energy if she needed to run.  Lastly she had juice boxes and some water in the Thermos from her lunchbox.  It took a while to organize everything into her lunchbox, but it finally fit when she took out the Thermos.

She ran to the bathroom and grabbed the backback she had hidden under the cabinet.  She foud it in the lost and found box at school.  It was pretty new, and big enough for what she needed, so she took it.  She hoped whomever lost it would forgive her.  In it she had already packed a roll of toilet paper, deoderant, sunscreen, some wet-naps she took from the Italian restaraunt, a toothbrush and toothpaste.  There was also a small calendar and some girl-pads.  She had marked the days of her period, and didn't think she would need the pads for a while yet, but she felt more comfortable having them.  She took the bag to her room and added 2 tshirts, some socks, underwear and a small pillow.  She wanted to take more.  But she couldn't.  Her bag was already almost too heavy.  And she couldn't take anything that would be noticed as missing. 

It was 3:40.  No one would be expecting her home until after 9. She checked her reflection in the mirror.  Jeans, tshirt, jacket, sneakers.  She had an extra hair band on her wrist.  She mentally checked through her list and compared it to what was in her bag.  She felt confident she had everything.  She took a quick look in her room and felt sick.  This was scary.  She felt sticky and clammy.  Hot and cold at the same time.  "Get moving," she said out loud.  And she did.

Its coming. .I can feel it.  The steam roller that flattens my spirit and runs me over every once in a while.  I've been running from it for a couple of months now.  But I'm getting too tired to keep it up much longer.  Way too tired.  Its like I've run out of quasi-hardened mud that I can skip across leaving only footprints.  I've moved into a much wetter mess and am trying to slog my way through it at the same speed.  The type of mess that sucks your boots off when you step in it.  The type that feels like it has hands that grab you.  That hold on to your ankles and just reach up higher and higher with each step.  Hands that leave bruises because they're grabbing so hard.  Pulling you down and weighing on you so that eventually you just can't move anymore.  You just lose the will to fight.

I'm usually not myself during the holidays.  I take that back, I AM myself, but I'm not like everyone esle is/thinks I SHOULD be ... .ergo NOT myself.  I'm moody, emotional, blue, grumpy, sad, etc.  The frantic chaotic feeling of the entire season drains me so fast.  There is so much about to happen that trying to plan for it physically hurts. Knowing there are so many people who want/expect great things from me, and knowing that I just cannot produce those great things, breaks my heart off little by little.  With each new request I can feel it bleeding out inside my chest cavity.  Slowly pooling into itself drip by drip so that soon there will be no room for breath.

I've been tricking myself lately.  Telling my psyche that I can do this one more day.  (My psyche is ignorant that way, thankfully- I don't think it knows when a day begins and ends). I can fake being happy and excited and merry one more day.  What's one more day, right?  Its nothing.  Easy. Simple.  But its not.  Not really.  Each day gets a little harder.  Sometimes  lot harder. Each day I feel a little more ragged and undone.  Like a pair of yoga pants that have lost all the stretch, but just won't give up the fight yet.  That pair that makes the ugly ssshhccrrrrr sound when you pull on the waistband. 

Be happy!  What are you doing for Thanksgiving?  Are you seeing your families?  Can you come here?  Then can you come here? Are you cooking all day? Can you make this?  Then can you make this?  Be happy! Are you having people over?  Can you you invite her?  Then can we invite them? Are you going anywhere?  Be happy! Can you come here?  Then can we go there?  And can you stop by here on the way? What about Christmas?  How much of these/ many of those do you have? Can you have one here? Can you move those there?  Be happy! Then another one there? Are you seeing your families? Can you come here?  Then can you go there?  Be happy! Are you cooking all day? Can you make this?  Then can you make 2 of these?  Be happy!  Are you having people over?  Are you going anywhere?  Have you finished your shopping?  Can he come?  And can they come?  Be happy! Are you busy at work?  Can you do this for me?  And you finish this before you start that?  And what about this? Be happy! Are you this?  Are you that?  Can you?  Can you?1  CAN YOU?! BE HAPPY!!

After a while all I hear is "YOU should be happy because YOU are needed - YOU need to do THIS for me/us/them and YOU need to be happy about it.  There just isn't enough time in the day for YOUR needs so, you should be happy catering to mine/ours/theirs instead."  I know this is selfish.  i realize everyone, LITERALLY EVERYONE else deals with this, too.  Its not just me. But it still hurts.  Each demand adds to that ever-increasing list of expectations that I just cannot produce.  There's not enough of me to go around.  Never has been.  Not even when I was younger. So I usually screw something up.  Which usually leads to shame/disappointment/whatever from whomever held the initial expectation.  And creates an error.  An ERROR.  Followed by some sort of "Ohh, that's wrong.  You screwed up.  You'll need to correct that since YOU messed it up."  Which only adds to the ever increasing list of shit that's still expected of me.  And once the first mistake is made its all downhill from there. 

IThe holidays shou;d be about warmth and love and peace and understanding.  And I see that all around me.  But what i FEEL is none of those. What I FEEL is that others are, and always have been, more important than me.  And, oddly enough, I agree with a portion of that sentiment.  I truly DO  think of others more often than myself.  I"m not just saying that to pat myself on the back. i do.  And I give to other so much more than I ever give to myself.  Again, truth speaking here. But on the flip side, I sometimes selfishly wonder if there is anyone out there giving to me?  Anyone at all?  And II don't mean giving in a material way.  Not at all.  God knows there is absolutely NOTHING material I need at all.  It often feels as though I've mistakenly surrounded myself with so many TAKERS that I don't find the GIVERS anymore.  (Another ERROR.) Not because I dont want to, but because the takers use so much of my energy, time and self-worth that I have nothing left. Nothing.  I'm left just a dull grey shell with no life or sparkle or worth at all.  An empty thing stuck in the mud, going no where.

Sigh.  And now i feel like a selfish ass.  Making it abouit me, me, me when it should be about making other's lives more pleasant.  Lord, please forgive me for being selfish.  Be happy.  You can give it one more day.  There is always one more day.
 

She was physically, mentally and emotionally drained.  Every molecule in her little body was exhausted.  Depleted.  Wiped out.  She was also elated, oddly enough.  She had spent the past two days on top of the world.  She had taken part in something so much larger than her.  Something unbelievable.  Something fantastic. Something that would shape her life in so many ways.  Rules had been bent for her because of her talent.  Her dedication.  Her ability to share her soul through her movement. Her young, pure and wonderful soul.  She had never experienced anything so visceral before.  And it would be a long time before she did again.

She dozed on the car ride home.  Her head resting on the window.  Bouncing lightly through the bumps in the road. It was late, 9pm or so.   Sunset had occurred almost an hour before.  She could hear the older girls chattering excitedly.  Reliving he past two days and babbling their amazement at the past two days.  At one point she thought they asked her a question, but she didn't have he strength to respond.  She allowed the chatter to become background noise and floated in and out of consciousness.

The car pulled into her driveway.  Delia reached over and tapped her shoulder to wake her. "Hey, Sleepyhead, you're home. You awake?"  She blinked her eyes a bit then gathered her things and stepped out of the car.  She thanked the girls and stumbled up to the front door.  She wasn't sure if her Mother and sister were still awake, so she fumbled her key out of her dance bag.  Just as the lock clicked, her Mother opened the door.

The exchanged a few words, but she could barely string 3 words together. Her Mom wanted to hear all about the ballet camp, but It was evident she was beyond tired.  She dropped all her things just inside her bedroom door and fell on her bed.  She didn't even remember closing her eyes.

...

"What have I told you about leaving your shit in the doorway?!"  She heard a loud teeth-clenching whisper near her ear.  It was seething with hate and anger.  It was followed by a hot tongue being rammed down into her ear. "I  TOLD you what would happen if I tripped over your crap.  Hope it was worth it..."

A large hand grabbed her thigh and roughly her legs apart.  Hard enough for her to know it would bruise quickly.  That hand was joined by another one that ripped away  her pajamas and underwear.  "Now you're going to pay for your mistake."  He leaned into her face, breathed his wet, putrid breath on her. Then forced himself into her.  The pain exploded.  White, hot and vile.  She cried out. He folded a corner of the pillow over her mouth to muffle the sound.

She was so exhausted.  She felt like she was being ripped in half from her insides out, but didn't have the strength to even fight this time.  Mentally or physically. She knew from experience that resistance only caused more pain. She went limp, tried to close her mind, and prayed it would be over quickly.  She began her countdown...10...9...8...7...

She was giddy with excitement!  A little sick to her stomach, too, but mostly excited.  She had never skipped school before.  Was it really skipping, though, if your teachers knew about it?  Regardless.  She had never done something like this before and could barely contain herself.  She was going to meet him,.  HIM!  The master of ballet himself.  Mikhail Baryshnikov. 

She stood at the end of the school hallway near the bus circle entrance.  Her English teacher poked her head out of her classroom and winked at her.  "Good Luck Sweetheart." Her little heart beat a staccato in her chest.  Somehow, someone had gotten permission from all of her teachers for her to miss 2 days of school to attend a ballet workshop.  Not just ANY ballet workshop - but a BIG one.  In Dallas!  With some of the older students at her dance studio.  She was floored when Ms Liz first mentioned it to her last month. She was just a little middle-school kid!  Why should SHE go when there were others who were older and probably much better? She finally worked up the courage to ask.  And was so glad she did.  It was nice to hear good things about yourself sometimes.

She looked down at her things and took a mental inventory for the 15th time.  Just as she raised her head she saw Ms. Liz' car swing into the circle.  She skipped out the door and caught Ms Liz smiling at her.  There were 3 other girls in the car, too.  She smiled back. The smile came from every pore in her body. She had never been this happy in her life.

...

The group checked into the convention center.  The older girls giggled and were kind to her when she asked questions.  "What's a convention?"  "Why is this place called a convention center?"  "Why are all these people with cameras here?"  "Is he really THAT famous?!"  She had met some of them before in class, but never spoken to them.  They were really good dancers - she looked up to them. 

Today she would be in a class with Delia.  Delia was a great dancer and was her favorite of the big girls in the studio.  She was in her mid twenties. She was funny, and nice, and pretty. Really pretty. Her hair looked JUST LIKE Farrah Fawcet's. She was in awe of her and stared while Delia tied up her toe shoes. Delia looked up, then stood up and asked "You ready?  Let's go!"  They walked into a huge room.  So large she could only see the upper part of the far wall.  There were large squares of wood laid out on top of the carpet.  They were attached together to make a big, seamless dance floor.  There were people everywhere.  EVERYWHERE.  Women in muted leotards stood talking  in small clumps.  They were willowy and graceful - even when standing still. Others took up floor space stretching and bending.  Preparing for the class.  She saw a few boys, too, but they were all as old as the big girls she came with.  No one else was her age or size. She felt small and a little scared.  It was more than obvious she was just a kid in a room full of grown-ups.  She moved towards a back corner and started to drop her bag, when Delia grabbed her elbow.  "Oh no you don't.  You're not hiding in the back.  We've all worked really hard to get you here, so you show them WHY you're here.  You deserve this."  She pulled her towards the center of the room by her elbow. 

Soon enough, soft music started and a trio of instructors came out.  They were the warm-up coaches.  They began separating the room into smaller groups for combination work.  Delia pulled her in close so they wouldn't be split up.  One of the coaches came over and asked her age. "14, ma'am."  The woman turned to Delia.  The two whispered for a few minutes, then the coach took a step back and leaned down close to her face.  "We're so glad you're here...work hard, but remember to have fun, ok?" She almost fainted on the spot.

Suddenly a hush came over the crowd.  The lighting changed a bit as well as the music.  People began turning to face the front of the room.  Everyone began clapping and, although she could see a thing, she knew this day would be one to remember.

"Yes ma'am...no, its ok...no ma'am...yes, ok." 

She hung up the phone.  She had called her Mother as soon as he left.  She needed to make sure she called the school to have her sister ride the day care bus that day.  It was too long for her to walk home alone, Plus there was a chance of rain.

He left for work at 2, taking the dirty towels with him.  The ones with her blood on them.  She sat silently on her floor for a few minutes more.  She wasn't sure what to do first. She had about 3 hours to compose herself before her Mother and sister came home.  She gathered some clothes and a few other items, and walked to the bathroom.

She placed her things on the floor and turned on the faucet.  She twisted the HOT tap twice as much as the COLD.  As the steam began to rise, she slid into the water.  It took several minutes, but she was finally submerged up to her neck.  She barely felt the tears falling down her cheeks.  She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the tub.

"Why? she thought. Why?  Why was this happening?  What had she done to deserve this?  She was a good girl.  She made straight A's.  She never got into trouble.  Ever.  She was good in her dance classes.  She was polite. She was smart.  She said please and thank you. She helped with her sister.  She did everything she was told to.  Everything. So why...WHY?!  Many times he would tell her she was "asking for it." That she "wanted it." She couldn't figure how or she would definitely stop what ever it was doing. She did not want this to happen any more than she knew what IT was.  Her whole body began to shake. 

She felt dirty.  Inside and out. Not just dirty, Filthy.  Rotten.  Ruined.   Revolting and disgusting.  Like fruit that had gone bad on the inside, but still looked normal on the outside.  It was more than skin deep.  It was down in her guts.  In her soul.  She felt like she was a part of something so awful, so horrendous, but she didn't know how to make it stop.  How to get out.  How to escape. 

She reached into the manicure kit she brought with her clothes.  She selected a few items and placed them on the side of the tub.  She picked up the small scrubber brush and the soap.  She began to scrub.  Every inch of her body.  From her face to her feet.  Soap, scrub scrub scrub.  Soap, scrub scrub scrub.. She scrubbed his saliva off her tiny, juvenile, breasts,  She scrubbed his sweat off her stomach.  She scrubbed his stuff off her inner thighs.  His stuff that had mixed with her blood today.  Her blood that had gone everywhere - looking like someone had been hurt badly. Or even killed.  She scrubbed until her skin was pink and shiny.  It should have been painful,, but she was on auto-pilot now..  As if her mind had created a barrier to the pain.  She dropped the scrubber and picked up the next tool.  Her Exacto knife.

Maybe she could scrape off the outer layer of skin  The part that still had his scent.  Even the hard scrubbing hadn't removed that smell.  Wet copper pennies.  That's what it reminded her of.  She hated it.  She had to get rid of it before anyone found out.  She held the knife in her right hand and turned her left wrist upwards.  Carefully she scraped the blade across her skin, trying to remove just the very outer cells.  If she was careful, she could do it.  Not too deep. - just the top layer. The knife slipped in her wet fingers and cut into her flesh. 

It wasn't a bad cut at all, but there was some blood.   She was a little surprised she had any blood left in her body.  He had been exceptionally rough with her - she had bled a lot.  Enough to soil 2 bath towels. She held her arm up and watched as the drops hit the bath water.  Plink....plink...plink.  It was turning pink where they landed.  Making beautiful pink and red ripples.  She couldn't tear her eyes away. Was this her answer?

She took the point of the knife and cut the wound a bit longer. Just a little on either side.  Right on top of the blue vein. It didn't hurt much after the first pull.  The blood dripped a little faster now.  Fatter drops plopped in the water and made still a different pattern.  It was so dark when it left her body - but the water washed it clear. Was the evil in her coming out with each drop?  Could it be that easy?

She would start with a clean canvas and count the drops until she felt the majority of the evil was out.  She dropped her hand into the tub...OOOWWW!! The pain was unbelievable!  The hot bathwater seeping into the open wound brought her out of her trance.  She screamed and  flung her arm up.  Water and blood flew across the bathroom.  It splattered the tile and toilet seat. "What am I doing?!  Oh NO!" She snatched a clean towel off the bar and jumped out of the tub.  She took toilet paper and wrapped it around her wrist to stop the bleeding.  She covered that with a dry washcloth to provide pressure.  Oh no oh no oh no...what had she done?  How long had she been in here?  Doing nothing but whining and being a cry-baby? Oh woe is me, wah wah wah - ..that never worked for her. No one cared enough about her anyway to step in.  Why should they?  She was obviously damaged beyond repair.  It was up to her to find her way out and keep everyone else safe at the same time.  She had wasted too much time feeling sorry for herself.  She had to clean the bathroom up, run the vacuum and get dinner started before her Mother got home.  She was 12.