LITMIR.BIZ

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my life.

      I knew I could never tell him the extent of the misery I endured at my Dad’s. And I knew he would never ask.

      It was not until my mid 20's when I finally broke down and told my grandparents of the dreaded details of my father's house. I wished I had done it over the phone. Instead, I told them in their comforting calm of the house while sitting at the table we shared birthdays and family meals. The anguish in their faces was almost unbearable. My grandfather would have given his own life for my safety.

      The Trujillo’s were a completely different story a world apart from the Andrews.

      Grandma Trujillo was seen and not heard. She spent most of her time in the kitchen where many Hispanic women back then were found. Grandpa Trujillo was a riot. Every beat of his heart was for his grandkids…unlike his own offspring.

      My aunts and uncles were not much older than we were, so they came and went quite frequently. The Trujillo’s' consisted of three boys and two girls. The eldest was my father; then Daniel, Lance, and Jane, with the youngest and wildest Jennifer.

      Lance and Jennifer wore the “bad apple” stamp, and they wore it well! Sex, drugs, and Rock N' Roll pretty much summed them up. Lance is currently incarcerated and has been off and on since I could remember. He was the most gentle and protective uncle I had. I respected him the most because he knew how to discipline me without hurting me, physically or mentally.

      Jane and Daniel were the exact opposite of Lance and Jennifer. They had my dad's “too good for everyone” attitude and very unfortunate to see them as an adult, because I remember them laughing as a child.

      Grandpa Trujillo would take my brothers and me to this drive-thru ice cream place and get us banana splits. I was the clumsy one, so by the time we would get home, the car and my clothes would be wearing most of my ice cream.

      He was never violent with any of his grandkids. I wish I could say the same for my aunts and uncles. I had witnessed a few beatings he had dished out to his own.

      I was maybe four or five at the time when I witnessed the worst, I had ever seen him do in the past. Grandpa worked third shift with my dad and uncles at the post office. It was no surprise that he was awake when Jennifer came strollin' in at all hours.

      As a joke, Grandpa would turn the fire alarm on and wake the house. My grandma took it as her hint to head to the kitchen. Not this night though. Jennifer crept as quietly as she could across the creaky floors. I had fallen asleep on the couch that night. It wasn't the sound of the creaky old floors or the front door that initially woke me; it was the sound of my grandpa's heavy footsteps tearing across the living room heading straight for Jennifer.

      Jennifer froze, and so did I. I tried to peak up from under my blanket just in time to see my grandpa wind his arm up like it was a baseball bat and land it to the side of her head. I felt the breeze from her body wiz past me as she hit the floor directly in front of me. The blow to my tiny aunt Jennifer (who stood all of 5'0” and not weigh 100 lbs.) hit the floor so hard and so loud; it could have woken the dead.

      Jennifer did not run. Nor did she fight back. She took blow after blow and kick after kick like a 300 lb. man. I wasn't sure she would survive such a brutal attack.

      I pulled the blanket slowly over my head out of fear that I would be seen. I lay there tiny and helpless. I remember thinking “If I could catch a blow in the crossfire, he would stop.”

      Even after the incident with my aunt and grandpa, I never once feared him. He never laid a hand to me or my brothers. We were allowed to be as loud and uncontrollable as we pleased. Grandpa was always coming up with crazy ideas to give us money, whether it was tickling ourselves, beating up the neighbor kids, or how high we could climb the tree.

      My father feared him. Even as an adult, my dad never challenged him. I did things that I should have had my ass reddened (to say the least) in front of my dad, but as long as grandpa was there, I was free and safe.

      My Grandpa passed away when I was 11. Pancreatic cancer. He was 54 years old. I knew not only was my childhood over, but so was the protection from my father.

      I knew nothing good was going to come out of that year. I heard endless stories of how my grandpa was a Prisoner of War in Korea for 3 years and 3 months. My father's heavy hand only became heavier, and my mom dropped the biggest ball yet. She was moving to South Carolina. This was the beginning of the end of my childhood or what was left of it.

       Blind

      Despite all my rage

      I chose to turn the page

      In hopes of a better me.

      Despite all my pain

      I will still dance in the rain

      My mind needs a better place to be.

      I could wash my hands a thousand times

      but the dirt just gets deeper

      the secrets get louder

      and the mountains get steeper.

      I'm still on my own,

      The motions I’ve been going through have failed.

      I'm drowning in my own blood

      my demons have prevailed.

      CHAPTER 2

       Fallen

      Dad continued to work nights, slept all day, and spent every second he had left in the gym. He had a nice 3-story house, which he shared with his brothers. Dad's room was on the top floor, Daniel's was on the main floor, and Lance's was downstairs. One of the brothers would leave on the weekends so my brothers would have a place to sleep come weekends.

      I hadn't been feeling well and wanted to be next to my dad. It was daylight so I knew he'd be upstairs sleeping. He was positioned on his side, and since I was four or five years old, I fit perfectly curled up in his chest. I rolled over on my side as well and my back was towards him. His arms wrapped tightly around my tiny body.

      Dad gradually slid his right hand past my waist and slowly started removing my pale blue flowered panties. I was horrified. I didn't know what to do considering I had never been ANYWHERE near a man without clothes, especially panties. The fear was so intense I dared not cry.

      I felt him shuffle around behind me for a few minutes. My eyes were wide open and I was praying someone would walk in. I wanted to run and hide somewhere dark and secluded. I slowly shut my eyes thinking, “If he thinks I'm asleep, he'll stop”. He didn't stop. It got much worse.

      He placed his penis between my legs and slid it back and forth between my thighs. This went on and on while he whispered, “Good girl honey, you're daddy's girl.”

      I waited for what seemed like forever for him to fall back to sleep before I made my escape. My heart was pounding in my throat as I slid off the bed. I never even looked back for my pale blue flowered panties. I crept as quickly and quietly as I could to the door. Thank God, it was open. I ran as fast as I could down the stairs to my room for some clean panties. I curled up at the bottom of my yellow canopy bed and cried. All I wanted was a shower and the Andrews.

      After an hour or so of fright and confusion, I strolled down the hallway to my Uncle Lance's room. He was lying on his bed next to a blonde wearing too much make-up and big hair. I couldn't tell if she was pretty or not because she resembled a clown, a clown with bad taste in men.

      The bad taste in men only got worse because she married my dad within a year. Nancy was her name.

      Nancy hated me. I want to believe it was because I reminded her so much of my mother. I was okay with that. I loved my mother and I missed her. I fought back when Nancy would say horrible things about her and we resented each other for it.

      Nancy had giant frosted blonde hair and speckled foundation that would leave a line under her chin. Her face had a constant expression of disgust when she looked at me. Her

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