1.27 I couldn't stand it [2]

He took another step towards me, and then squeezed my arm. It hurt, but I couldn’t say anything. When he pulled me closer, I silently begged him to make it quick. Tears started streaming down my face, and he, leaning in to kiss me, disgustedly drew back. Then he slapped my face and demanded that I stopped crying. When I couldn’t do what he told me to, he reluctantly let go of me and told me he’d be back the next day. Until then I was supposed to pull myself together, or I would regret it terribly. 

That night, I was so scared that I told my father what had happened. I knew he wasn’t happy about my mother’s lifestyle choices, and thought he would do something to protect me. But I was very wrong. From that day on, I was forced to stay in my room the entire day, except when I was going to school. I was too childish for my age, he said. I had to learn that life wasn’t always about things we wanted, he said.

My mother kept meeting strange men and making out with them in our house. Sometimes I peeked through the keyhole of my door to see who was out there, but I never recognized anybody.

One afternoon, when I secretly sneaked outside my room to run to the bathroom – my bathroom visits for the day were already exhausted -, I ran into one of the men. It was an old one, and he had been around the house for a few days now. He smiled at me and then stared at my cleavage. I could see a bump rising in his pants, and suddenly I felt the same panic that had risen inside of me the last time one of the men wanted to do something with me. But this one wasn’t going to hurt me. I fled into my room, slamming the door and locking it. 

Months passed, maybe even years. I spent the mornings at school, and the afternoons and nights in my room, not leaving it once. Too bad were the memories of running around the house while male visitors were there. My eighteenth birthday arrived without me even noticing. Suddenly I was done with school, and I was done with being a child. Now that I was an adult, I was finally able to move out of this house, to run away from this town. Even though I had no idea how to do this, or when, it felt incredibly good to know that I would be able to escape at some point. It gave me new strength, too, and when the old man came around again and lasciviously smiled at me, I took a step forward and I punched him really hard. This was for all the times I had been hurt. 

My mother, hearing the commotion in the living room, came running and saw us, being in the middle of a fight. Instead of helping me or at least staying out of everything, he helped him get up and told him to wait in the bedroom. Then she slapped my face until I could barely feel my cheeks anymore and demanded an apology. She didn’t get one. Instead, I turned around, walked into my room, took my guitar, put it into a bag big enough, went through the living room and left the house. I knew I would never return to it, but that didn’t make me sad. I was free.

I didn’t make it very far, though. On the bridge that separated the two parts of the town my father found me. He had run after me, and, being an excellent athlete, it hadn’t taken him very long to catch up with me. In all those years of suppression, I had never seen him this angry. He shouted at me the entire time. The strength I had felt at home was gone now, fear had taken its place. 

During the fight we moved a little on the bridge, and suddenly I realized that the deep sea was directly behind me. If he pushed me now, I would fall and no one would be there to save me. My life would end before I had a chance to start it probably. I would never fall in love, I would never hold a baby in my arms, I would never be happy.

All those thoughts were running through my head, while my father proceeded to shout at me aggressively. The hatred in his eyes made him incalculable. He probably would do it. He would push me.

His fists were clenched the entire time, and when he relaxed them for only a few seconds, I made a decision.

I turned around and ran.

Some miles away, an elder woman in car, who was passing by on her way home, slowed down to my speed, rolled down her window and offered me her help. At that point, I was exhausted from the long run, and I accepted her invitation. She brought me to a small motel right outside town, which belonged to her son and his wife. She talked to him for a few minutes, persuading him to let me stay there for some nights. He reluctantly agreed, and I fell into bed, tired and feeling empty. 

***

The next few days seemed to go by so quickly – I slept almost the entire time and barely went outside. When I did, I hurried along the streets, looking around the entire time. They could still find me here, and I had to change something about myself. One day, I went to a hairdresser, asking him to cut my hair and show me some hair styles I could easily do myself. Maybe one week later, I went outside again, and headed for a tattoo salon. There were some things about my life that I wanted to express without any words, and so I decided to have a butterfly on my back, standing for freedom. I also chose a heart on my leg, expressing the love I was hoping to find. Leaving the salon afterwards, I really felt free for a few minutes. But at night, in bed, it hit me. This wasn’t over, I could feel it. And I was right.

 ***

Only a few nights later, I heard a strange noise. It sounded like somebody was trying to open the window from outside, while making as little noise as possible. Thinking that it was probably just a dream, I didn’t do anything, but kept my eyes closed and continued sleeping. The next thing I heard was my door banging. This definitely was no longer a dream. When I opened my eyes, all I could see was a lurid orange wall in front of me. Only then did I realize how hot the room was. Fire. The room was on fire. 

***

Hastily, I jumped out of bed and grabbed my guitar, which was standing right next to me. There was no way to reach the door, it was behind the wall out of fire. My only chance to escape from death was to jump out of the window, which was not completely closed. I pulled it open, already finding it hard to breath, then threw the guitar onto the grass and jumped. 

***

When the fire department arrived, I was already gone. I dragged myself from street to street, not knowing where to go. They had found me once, they most certainly would find me a second time if I stayed around here. I had to leave, and never come back.   

 ***

When I entered Appaloosa Plains for the first time, almost starved and so tired that I could barely walk any more, I saw a few signs that read FOR SALE. Maybe this was where I was supposed to be, I thought. Maybe I was meant to buy one of these little properties with the money I had earned in my childhood, and start a new life in this town.

And so I did. I spent all of the money I had and bought this small property we’re standing on right now. The moment I first stood right over there, where my mailbox is now, I could feel it. This was my life. I only had this one chance, and I’d better not screwed it up. My name was the only thing that remained from my old life, and this was the way it was supposed to be.