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“It plays in my mind all the time, Mom. So don’t tell me that it was a long time ago. Time doesn’t erase what happened.”
So, I set the memory aside—like all the photos people my parents’ age have stored in Rubbermaid bins for future scrapbooks. Fact was, I was never alone with Papa again. At least, not for more than a minute or two. One of those times, when I was a year or so older, he said something that I wanted to believe. “I’m sorry about what happened.” “Really?” “It was a mistake,” he said. “An accident. Papa had too much to drink, honey.” I couldn’t fathom how putting his penis in my mouth had been an accident. When it never happened again, I figured that he’d meant it. Even though I didn’t trust him, he
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She told me that if I ever lied about that again, she’d put me in foster care. I believed her.
“I don’t know how you could have made this day any worse, but hitting me because you can’t deal with the truth certainly qualifies.”
“You don’t know that a mother’s number-one job is to protect her children.”
My family should have opened a mini-storage. Compartmentalizing things has always been our superpower.
I look up and notice my sister looking at me.
she poisoned him lol
The young men emerging from the shop are all smiles. The older women, not so much. Hospitals are the bookends of all of our lives.
