I’m growing up very confused, with mixed emotions swimming inside my body. I carry them with me daily and think that if I got on a scale and weighed myself, I’d be heavier for them.
The list of emotions I feel often (all mixed together like Smarties in a box, only not as much fun):
Guilt.
Insecurity.
Anger.
Neediness.
Vulnerability.
Confusion.
I am thirteen. I need lots of attention and find myself becoming louder than I need to be and naughtier than I want. I’m scared to be invisible and scared to be seen. My schoolwork is so bad and I wonder how I’m ever going to leave school. It’s awful to fail at every subject and carry on pretending you’re fine with all of it, laugh your way out of it or just act like you don’t care. If you struggle at school, the number one rule is to pretend school is beneath you and you have better things to do. Of course, being thirteen and having better things to do doesn’t convince my teachers, so my tactics are not so good after all. But who cares, I’m thirteen and I’ve got people to meet and things to do.
still thirteen
“Your body is looking so sexy.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re going to have great boobs, my bet is they’re going to be a big and firm C, perhaps even a D.”
I hate my breasts. Dad kisses my nipples; he has put on weight and his bloated body is on top of me. A whale of a man, I hate him. My vagina widens and gets wet; she lets him in so easily now, how quickly she betrays me. Dad turns me over. He is looking at my ass, which is also growing. I hate that, I don’t want a big ass. I hate my body, I hate my curves.
“What a peach.” He sucks my bum.
Dad’s taking his time today, he’s not going to come quickly. He’s enjoying the back of his thirteen-year-old daughter’s body. I’m facing the bed and I’m looking at the wrinkled white sheet, the same sheet my mom sleeps on. I see the mattress, the mattress made of sponge. I look deeper, I see bed mites, I wish they’d bite me, eat me alive.
Dad explodes.
I’m back, turned over, I’m screaming in my head, I’m silent, I face my devil.
Mom and Dad aren’t seeing eye to eye at the moment. There is so much fighting and so much anger. Their fights are about money, business, their relationship and my attitude. Mommy’s upset most of the time. Sometimes she tries to grab Dad’s gun to kill herself, which is followed by Gran speaking in tongues, praying that the Lord Jesus will stop my mom from blowing her brains out.
Mom, of course, never commits suicide. Jesus obviously helps.
When Dad’s away, things settle and I go to school and act normal. My normal, naughty, nice, attention-deficient, energetic, loud and cheeky self, which calls for daily reports. Teachers write about my behaviour so they can keep me in check and to ensure that I don’t deteriorate into an evil teenager.
“Candice, what’s going on with you?”
“Nothing Mom, I’m fine.”
“Well it doesn’t seem like it. I know you are smart, so buckle down and work hard. It will make your life so much easier.”
“I’ll try Mom.”
“That’s all I’m asking. Make your dad and me proud.”
I try to change the subject. “Can I please go to Dale on Saturday?”
“Only if you do your homework and behave in class.”
“I promise.”
“Fine, I’ll drop you off in the morning before my hairdresser appointment.”
“Thanks Mom, I won’t let you down.”
I spend a lot of my time doing what I don’t want to do. I eat vegetables when I really want dessert, do phys ed when I really want to watch a movie, and have sex with Dad when I really want to be cuddling Dale. The only time I feel I’m doing what I want is when I’m with Dale.
Dale fills my heart and life. His love helps me with my balancing act between sanity and insanity. His large hands cup my face and he tells me he loves me. I believe him, his olive green eyes let me know. They speak of kindness and I feel so safe with him. I almost forget that I’m the girl with the dark secret. He’s experienced a lot in his teenage life and knows how to love. He’s smoked dagga, had sex with girls older than him, and can drive a car.
Dale is so cool, it’s almost a crime.
But when he’s with me it’s as if I’m all that matters to him. He looks at me, Candice Derman, and wants to know me. What can I tell him?
I’m thirteen going on thirty, abused, used and tired. Or should I tell him about the Candice Derman who’s with him now? The thirteen-year-old girl whose heart is beating with love. Should I tell him that I love him and don’t want to leave him, that I never want to go home, want to stay with him forever, run away together?
“Dale, can I tell you something?”
“Of course Candice, you can tell me anything.”
“When the time is right I want you to be my first.”
Dale kisses me, “Yes, when the time is right.”
I take his hand and slip it under my shirt and onto my breast. My heart is beating so fast, I am excited, he touches me so softly, my nipples go hard, my body loves Dale’s touch, I am in heaven, nothing is bad. We kiss, we are caressing, we don’t need to go any further, this is enough for now. I feel his hard bit in his pants but I am not afraid of him. I love Dale and I am allowing him to touch me in this way.
“Dale, do you really love me?”
“Why are you always asking me, Candice, can’t you see? You need to believe me.”
I do believe him deep down, but I want to hear him tell me again. I want to believe it not only in the deepest parts of me but in the places I can go to quickly. I want to believe him in my skin, at the nape of my neck, in the shallow bits of me, so when Dad takes what he shouldn’t I feel Dale whispering, I love you.
Mom, sexy Mom, drops me off at school in her drop-dead-gorgeous Porsche. The other kids are drooling. They can’t believe their eyes. My beautiful mom with her beautiful aqua eyes, aqua Porsche, tight ass and big boobs. I’m the envy of them all, they look and they want. Boys have wet dreams about my mom, girls want my mom as their best friend and everyone wants my life. How sad for them that I can’t offer it to them. How sad for them that they can’t be me, lucky, lucky me.
When Dad comes back from Mozambique he showers Mom with love and she’s happy to see him. She makes his favourite meal and is on her best behaviour. This lasts for a few days and then the fear seeps back in. Dad becomes the wolf and we are all his sheep in beautiful clothing. I am still glowing with my love for Dale and this makes Dad furious.
So here we go …
“Candice, stop being rude. I’ll kick you out of this house and take you to your real father,” says Dad.
“Whatever.”
“I’m warning you.”
“What do you want from me, Dad?”
“Get in the car now.”
In the car we go, windows closed and doors locked.
“Scream, Candice, scream like your life depends on it.”
“Why?”
“Do it. If you don’t scream, you’re going to live with your father.”
The thought of being dropped off at my father scares me. I don’t know him anymore and my early memories of him don’t want me to knock on his door.
“But Dad, I can’t …”
“Scream!”
“Aaahhh ….” I whisper.
“Louder.”
“Aaaahhh …”
“Scream your anger out.”
“I can’t, I can’t scream.”
“Ahh …”
“… Dad, please …”
“Again, scream …”
“Dad! …. AAAHHHHH!”
“Good, let’s go home and don’t ever behave like a hooligan again.”
I’m silent, exhausted, hot and sweaty. I’ve run a marathon and crossed the finishing line. I need fluid and half-time oranges.
“I love you, Candice.”
O
h good, my fucking medal.
“Let’s go home. No more nonsense, no more attitude.”
So home we go, to my big home, filled with books, furniture, paintings, love, clothes, abuse, pots, food, hate, beds and sisters.
I can’t tell Dale, I can’t tell Mom and I can’t tell my sisters. When it comes to talking about my dad, my tongue feels cut out of my mouth, my throat closes and I have no words to tell the truth. There is no way out of my situation, I’m stuck for now. Dad has me in his grip and there is nothing I can do. Talking hurts people; the truth breaks people. If chaos were to come pouring out of my mouth, what would happen afterwards?
Thirteen comes with changes. Unwelcome blood flows between my legs and I am given a tampon by my mom. She teaches me to put it inside my never-before-touched vagina.
I’m thirteen and this is the first “woman day” of the rest of my life.
I get a heavy flow for someone so small and also get heavy moods. My hips are taking on a new shape and they dance even when I’m not moving.
I’m not sure about this body change; it’s sexy, but I’m not ready to grow into a woman and have extra-large boobs and curves. Curves plus men equals sex, and I don’t want that. I still like the simple things in life: kittens, strawberries and ice cream; of course, now that my hips have a swing, I’ll only have one scoopful.
I’m hoping that my coming into womanhood will stop Dad from all his doings, in case I fall pregnant and have his child. Unfortunately, I fear that nothing stops a man with a cause.
Acting is still a big part of my life. I love performing and the freedom of being someone else, leaving my body, leaving Candice Derman, becoming a strong girl, a girl who loves without fear.
Dale sees that girl inside of me. He thinks I’m special, with something to offer the world. I like the girl that Dale sees and I’ll act her until I become her. When we are together, I pretend it’s a lifetime and this helps me during the times when I am not with Dale.
My short list of what I love at thirteen:
Dale.
Dale.
Dale.
Dale.
fourteen
Dale is dead.
Silence. I’ve just got out the bath.
“Candice, Dale’s dead. He died in a car accident.”
I stand there dripping, with a towel around me to hide my grown-up bits. I’m staring into Gran’s face, all fat, pink and wrinkled. Her mouth is moving but I hear nothing. I’m dead to what she is saying.
I walk away and go back into the bathroom. I feel my heart fall. It falls to my feet. I lose my balance and sit on the edge of the bath. I can’t hear myself breathing. I feel nothing. I wait. I sit. Nothing. My heart has fallen from me and I am numb.
Death has entered my own body.
Dale’s dead. He’s never coming to visit me, never going to look at me, never coming back. Dale, my Dale. Dead. Gone.
Everyone is in Mozambique. I’m at home with Gran and a friend who is sleeping over. We were going to watch videos all night, but now I have to tell her to leave, to go home and leave me to my nothingness. Part of me wants her to stay with me, watch videos, eat popcorn and pretend nothing has changed.
“You need to go home.”
“Why?”
“Dale’s dead.”
“What? When? Oh, my G-d, are you okay?”
“I need to be alone.”
“Are you sure, can’t I stay?”
My boyfriend is dead. Dale, my Dale. The Dale who wiped away my dirt and made me clean.
“No really, thanks, I need to be alone.”
She leaves with tears in her eyes and mouths, “I’m sorry”.
I’m alone now and I take out all the letters that Dale and I wrote to each other; our letters of love, explanation, apology. Please, please let this not be true. I cry, but my tears are short and sharp. Different thoughts move past each other so quickly in my head. I can’t make sense of the suddenness of his death, of never seeing Dale again.
I want to vomit, I want to scream, I want to die. My heart is beating so fast, so hard.
I’m in my bed in my pink pyjamas, in my fucking pink bedroom, and my boyfriend is dead. I try to cry but nothing comes. My body starts doing what it does best, alienating me, cutting me off from reality. Thoughts leave me, I become empty and sleep summons me.
The days that follow are a blur: the memorial service, the sleepovers at his mom’s, and the cries out loud in pain.
I’m confused, I can’t think straight, I don’t feel grounded or part of this earth.
I’ve got to get out of here, away from school, away from my memories and away from my family. My family returns from Mozambique, except for Dad. I am happy to see them but their love doesn’t feel enough, it doesn’t stitch up my gaping wound, so I pack my bags and leave for Mozambique.
I love Mozambique: the sea air, the people, the freedom and the long sunny days that turn my skin from sad olive into a beautiful brown. I feel happy in this post-war country, broken and penniless, and I embrace every pothole.
I arrive hoping to receive love from my dad. I need him to look after me, take away my pain, make me feel safe. I’m praying he holds me and doesn’t have sex with me. I’m praying he will let me cry in his arms and not touch my privates. I’m praying, praying hard. I’m praying because right now I need him to be my dad.
“I’m so sorry about Dale.”
“Thanks Dad.”
“We will have a special few days, I will look after you.”
I take my bags to the spare room with the single bed. I am happy to be away from everyone in Johannesburg and I feel better.
Dad comes up the stairs.
“Don’t be silly, sleep with me. We’ll be a regular husband and wife.”
Regular? I am fourteen. Dad’s forty-two or something, so what’s so regular?
Abused teenagers can be so stupid; what did I expect? Why do I forget so quickly? Why do I want love from my devil? Do I need to feel pain because I’ve stopped feeling?
“Dad, please can I sleep in this room?”
“Candice, you came to see me because you wanted to be with me.”
“But Dad …”
“No buts.”
Oh my G-d, Candice, what have you done? You’ve walked into this, you dirty slut. This is what you wanted. Your boyfriend is dead and your father is going to fuck you. Oh my G-d, Candice, who are you?
I can’t answer my questions. They are all too overwhelming and I’m too tired to fight the bitch that lives within me.
Dad and I go out for dinner with some of his colleagues. He’s proud of me and shows me off. We go home, he’s still proud of me, still shows me off. He drinks more wine and I go to bed early, hoping he’ll let me sleep. What’s the chance?
I go upstairs and change into my summer pyjamas: shorts and a T-shirt with hearts on it. I laugh at them, at the fact that I have no heart myself but so many hearts on my pyjamas. I hope to fall asleep quickly. If I do, Dad will find his daughter in a foetal position and leave her to her dark dreams. But I know I can’t fall asleep; my head is filled with murky thoughts, thoughts of death and thoughts of loss. My thoughts open the door to fear and I lie in bed, finding no solace in sleep.
I ask many “why” questions. Why me? Why Dale? I’m restless and fear creeps deep into my body. I recognise fear. It is small with curly dark hair and blue eyes; it burns your stomach and causes aches and pains; it takes all the light away and brings in the darkness. I am no longer Candice Derman, I am fear.
I can hear Dad walking up the stairs. I pretend I’m asleep and quiet my breathing. He walks into the bedroom and I smell cigarettes, wine, and I smell desire coming out of him.
Dad strips down to his pubic bone. I’m not facing him but I know his thing is hard as stone. It’s not going to go down until his blood pressure is released and since I’m the only nurse available, I’m the one who will have to relieve the pressure.
He lies next to me.
“Are you
sleeping?”
I don’t respond, he comes closer.
“Are you sleeping?”
I groan to let him know I’m in deep sleep. His smoky hands begin touching my hearts, then they move under the hearts and visit my soon-to-be hairy fanny. He opens my legs, I try to be stiff but I am as flexible as a cat, as loose as a rag doll. He turns me over with so much ease.
“Now you’re awake.”
I guess I am.
“I love you, I love you so much.”
Hard and horny Daddy loves me.
“Don’t worry, Candice, G-d understands.”
Dale, come and get me, take me away with you, you can leave a note: “She deserved more”, or “Love is not about hurting”, or maybe best of all, “Candice has left the building, so fuck off!”
Dale doesn’t arrive, the ceiling doesn’t open up and show me the stars, so the next best thing is my imagination.
Dad enters me, moaning. He’s moving up and down, licking my neck, touching my breasts. I close my eyes and I leave Dad and me alone and go to visit Dale, or at least I try. I’m floating above us; I see my moaning father and my lifeless body, I watch myself. I turn around and face the ceiling and go through it. I see the night, the stars and the perfectly clear dark sky. I float and look and wonder what it must be like to be an angel. I hear birds calling and dogs barking.
I keep getting pulled back into the room. I am holding on or trying to, I don’t want to go back, I want to leave him but I am falling, falling fast.
I hear Dad groaning, I hear my silence. No, please, please I’m not ready to go back. I haven’t seen Dale yet, please, but I arrive back in my lifeless body with a crash.
Damn, I hate it here.
Dad’s about to come. He doesn’t come inside me anymore now that I have my periods. He wouldn’t risk me falling pregnant. Quickly he leaves my internal body and explodes on my external one. He’s left my hearts pyjama top on so his cum is soaked into the hearts and not on me, lucky me.
Indescribable Page 6
