Her Final Note - Chapter One: Before the Beginning

I never liked anything about my life. In fact, the students n my class knew I had a fucked up life. They knew about my past and how my father got put into jail. They knew I was bisexual. They knew I had three brothers, two of whom constantly invited me to get drunkwith them, one of whom had an obvious attraction to me. It was what they didn't know that gives me reason to write. And I can't lie, there was a lot that no one knew, not even my mom.1

There were even things that I didn't even know. That I still don't know. But most of the things that I didn't know at the beginning of my freshman year at ZBaywood High School, I finally knew by the end.2

They say a good place to start is at the beginning of a stroy, but see, thee's so much that happened before the story that you'd need to hear before you understand what's going on at the beginning. So I'll start before the beginning.3

Seventh grade. May 10th, 2006. The day myfather found out he was no longer allowed to go home, to the placewhere he lived. The place where his children and his wife thrived day to day. All I could think was, God, I wish I didn't say anything, or I hate myself for what I did to him.4

People who have alreay heard this part of the story say that I shouldn't be the one who's sorry, it should be him. But they don't know what it's like, living with this constant fear and this constant pain of knowing I caused my father's misery by putting him in prison.5

I know you're thinking, "But Iris,what did he do to you?"6

I'll tell you exactly what he did to me.7

He violated me.8

Now, most people take that the wrong way and think that he saw me laying in bed fingering myself and joined in, or that I was laying in bed reading a book and he just walked in and started raping me.9

Real victims know that none of that is true. I didn't even know how to finger myself when it all started. And if your father is going to rape you, he's not going to do it subtly. He's going to start slow, and each night he'll progress into something more.10

"But Iris, how do you know all of this?"11

Well, it's simple, really. I have experience, unfortunately.12

It started with beatings and whippings when I was a little girl, maybe five or six. Those beatings happened for simple reasons too, such as not finishing my six pack of crackers or not wiping my feet when I walked in the house. You'd have thought I would have learned after he said, "You better wipe your feet before you come in, or I'll have to take my belt off." But no, I was a little girl. I ddn't know any better. So, I'd forget to wipe my feet once and he'd come home from work to dirt tracks across the kitchen floor. And as soon as I heard the door open, I remembered.13

I don't want to make this gory and ugly for you, but I have to la out the whole pictre for you to understnd. Yes, it can get ugly at some parts, but it's too addicting to skip. I know, I read book like this all the time.14

First, his face would get all red. How did I know? I could tell, even though I was all the way pstairs in my room. It was plain and simple, his face was bright red and his teeth were clenched. Next, I'd hear his belt buckle jingling against itself, and his leather belt whip out from his belt loops. He'd fod it in half and pull it tight so that each side fo the belt would snap against the other, and it'd make a horrendous sound that I wish I didn't remember. Then he'd finally yell through clenched teeth something along the lines of, "Whose mess is this? And when neither my littl brother Will or I would respond, he'd rush upstairs to greet us at our bedroom doors with his belt in his hands.15

I'm assuming you knowwhat happens next, but I'm going to describe it anyways. He'd tell us both to come out of our rooms an meet him downstairs, and there he'd be waiting. I'm not sure if the crying came before or after I got down there. Once we were both there, he told us to drop our pants and grab our ankles. And reluctantly, we both did. By this point, I'd always be crying. And it wasn't just a few tears, it was a full-on child squealing crying. Finally, he'd put the belt in one of his hands, rear back, and slice his hand through the air so quickly that it was hard to even know his hand moved.16

The pain was excruciating. Anyone who has ever been whipped by a belt, which is a very small percentage of the population, knows my pain. I wouldn't be able to sit for weeks. And the worst of it all was I didn't even know what he was doing was illegal. I thought every child had a father like this, one who beat his child so badly.17

One time it got so bad that when he was giving us a bath, he started crying at the welts and bruises he'd given us. Of course, I didn't blame him.It hurt like hell, and I couldn't even sleep because it hurt tolay down on my back. But to see a grown man cry like that and repeat over and over again, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." was something I could not describe at the time. Now that I'm older, I can say that I knew he was not sorry for punishing us with a belt, but he was sorry for not being like all the other fathers and just telling us to go to our rooms instead. Confused yet? No? Well you'll get there.18

-to be continued, i'll finish this chapter soon!-