I Hate the Dark

I carry this with me wherever I go. You cannot look at me and tell that I carry this pain inside of me...the memories, the guilt, and the shame. But it is always there and it never leaves me. The following story is oh, so sadly, quite true. 1


She comes slowly into the room. Tis dark and as long as I can remember I do not like the dark. Not really sure why but I think tis because of situations like this. I never know what to expect when she comes in like this. She tis supposed to be on medication so I twas told. Someone told me this...my aunt or granny, someone who really does not come around anymore because they say that they “cannot handle her.” If her own family and those people who are adults at that cannot handle her then what choice do we children have? At any rate I have never seen her take medication and at this point I am old enough to realize that she tis indeed quite mad. Not right in the head by any means.
I lay very still and hope that she will not be wanting me tonight or if she does that it shall be pleasant. Although even when tis pleasant there tis still this feeling of things being wrong. Crazy, out of control, not normal. I know enough about how other families run to know that other mums do not do these things. Or make their children do these things to one another. I have always longed to be in one of those families but for some reason twas not to be.
I hear the floorboards creaking as she walks. I can hear that she tis pulling back the covers from my younger brother who sleeps on a mattress next to my other brother. I try not to let out a sigh of relief that tis not me this time. But...at the same time as I feel that relief I also feel guilty and sad that tis him and not me. I hear her whispering to him. She tis telling him that he has to use what she has brought him. I can hear his stifled sobs and his begging “no Ma...please no...” She snarls that until his “weiner” as she calls it grows more that he has to use this. I assume that she tis referring to the dildo which I have had to use many times although now that I have grown I no longer have to use that. Honestly I did not mind when I twas the one using the instrument on someone else. In fact I took pleasure in the pain I could create by using it roughly and hurting the recipient. I suppose in that respect I am my mother's son. However I do not like having it used on me. It not only hurts but demeans me in ways that I cannot begin to express or understand.
I lay there in the dark being perfectly still and hoping that she passes me by. I would rather not be the one tonight. I have begun to have strong feelings, however for one of my sisters. I am not sure when this began. One time we were performing as mother instructed and our eyes met. Usually when we went through these routines we did not look at one another, kept our eyes down, or even closed, if we could get away with it. But this time we had looked at one another. I felt this surge of something I had never felt before...love. We were not “playing” as Ma called it anymore. We were making love. We had since begun sleeping on the same mattress and whenever we could we would hold one another and kiss. We had whispered discussions about running away someday and how I would work hard to take care of her and she would keep our pretty little house clean and tidy and cook meals for us to share together. I suppose both of us knew that... just as what our mother did to us and made us do to one another twas wrong, that our dreams of a happy so-called normal life were also wrong. But it sure made us happy and gave us something to look forward to in the very dark and unhappy world in which we lived.
So at any rate I do hope that my sister will also not be chosen. I would rather I do whatever I have to in order to spare her the misery. So that when Ma yanks back my covers and whispers urgently for me to pull down my pajama pants and roll over, I feel this overwhelming cavalcade of mixed emotions. Glad that my sister tis not to be the one. Angry that I am. But I take a deep breath...relax as best I can, and take what I have to take. 2