Pride After Pain

Walking is okay. Sitting is difficult I learn as I take my place at the breakfast table. I sit at the table to eat breakfast with Dory, Gary, and Davey, and the pain startles me as my legs rest against the seat of the chair. I wonder how difficult it will be to sit at my desk in school all day. We sit eating in silence, my siblings and I. No one dares to speak to me lest they become the object of Dad's anger, and I don't speak to them for fear that they will not respond, thus breaking my heart to match my broken body. I can only handle one broken piece of me at a time.

I realize as I sit through the pain that it numbs with time. I can do this. As if there was any other option...

I walk the several blocks to school alone with my thoughts. Will anyone know? Would anyone care if they did know? I hope Mrs. Gregaydis knows and feels bad. I am still angry with her. Will Dad continue punishing me? Will he call school to see how I've been today? How long will Dad's anger last?

I enter my classroom and I glance at my teacher (who in my 9 year old mind is supposed to be my protector) with disgust. I scan the classroom full of classmates with nice parents and my heart hurts. I'm good, I'm smart, I do what I'm told to do, I love everybody. I'm always nice to everyone. Why is this my life? I deserve the life they have. Of course who really knows what horrors they are living, but at 9 years old, my life revolves around me and my own experiences.

I give only enough attention to Mrs. Gregaydis so as not to warrant another phone call, but I want to be sure she knows how miserable she has made my life. She knew what would happen if she called and she did it anyway. She doesn't care about me. No one does. I have only myself. These thoughts absolutely shaped my adult mindset and helped me survive some situations that would have crumbled the strongest of hearts. If there is a substance that is as tough as granite yet soft as down, that is my adult heart. I've certainly been shaped into a one of a kind.

I slide gingerly into my seat. The desks at my school have the seat and desk attached so there is no pulling the chair out--I must slide sideways into place. I learn quickly to use the desktop as leverage to lift myself into the open space between seat bottom and desk-top, while I slide my body to the side and finally lower my tenderized legs into their resting place. The pain takes my breath away for a split second, but as I said before, time numbs the torment, and I sit through lesson after boring lesson until gym class. I am finally able to stand again. I exit my cubicle of discomfort the same way I entered it, with the lift and slide method. I know she sees my pain and it makes me feel a bit vindicated. Even if she only feels bad momentarily, it helps me to feel better.

I line up with the class to go to gymnasium. I know my gait is a little off because the numbness of sitting is gone. Pain has returned full force and is making even walking difficult. After a few steps I overcome the pain and walk what I believe is normally down the hallway toward the front of the school where our gym is.

I follow the class into the gym and we're instructed to change into our shorts. My heart stops. I forgot about changing. I forgot I would have to get undressed in front of the other kids. What if there are marks? Of course there won't be marks--Dad is a master of punishments that cause intense pain but leave no marks--like the infamous stomach punch, belt to the palm of the hand, and open handed face slaps. I remove my long pants and I hear several of my classmates gasp. There is definitely proof of my domestic misery.

The rocks of the days following are beautiful music-makers in my brook. They are the strong beat that makes up my heart's rhythm. I hope you will enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them..

Jen
:)