Four Letters

by Lisa M. Harley

  This downward spiral started when I was ten years old. Just ten years old. My mother loved me. I knew she did. I mean didn’t she have to? She was my mom.

  That was a mom’s job right?

  To love her children.

  To keep them safe.

  My dad was never in the picture. He was in one picture that I had, but he was never part of our lives. He disappeared from the canvas of my life before I was even born. The picture I had was of him and my mom at the ocean. They looked so happy.

  When I was little I often wondered why he didn’t stick around. Apparently, he didn’t want to be a dad or he didn’t want to be with my mom. Either way he wasn’t around.

  When I was six years old my mom met Paul. He would come over to see us and bring her flowers and he would always bring me a gift too.

  I thought Paul was great and mom did too.

  The night he asked her to marry him was like watching a fairy tale come true. I’ll never forget that night. It had been a bright and sunny Saturday and we’d spent the entire day at the State Fair. Paul had taken me on all the rides that my mom wouldn’t let me go on and on some that all three of us rode together. I’d eaten enough food to feed a small country, and Paul had worked really hard to win a stuffed rainbow striped unicorn for me.

  The feeling of being loved and special was so strong that day for me and my mom. As we walked in front of the giant brightly lit ferris wheel, Paul dropped to one knee and presented my mom with a beautiful engagement ring. I’d never seen a look like that cross my mother’s face - she was so happy, she cried. At that moment my life seemed perfect…things can change so quickly. Sometimes you don’t even realize they’re changing until it’s too late.

  The first year my mom and Paul were married everything was great. They never fought. Paul was happy at his job.

  Working for a local trucking company as a controller, he made good money and enjoyed what he did. Since his job paid so well, Mom didn’t have to work anymore. It was such a relief for her to have someone else to help support us. She wasn’t tired all the time anymore. Every night when Paul got home from work she would have dinner ready for him and we always put on our best clothes for dinner. Life was good until it wasn’t anymore.

  Mom and I were sitting at the dining room table waiting for Paul to get home from work.

  “I don’t understand why he isn’t home yet, ladybug,” Mom said as she started to cover the pot roast she’d made for dinner with aluminum foil. “I guess he had to work late.”

  That was the first night that Paul didn’t come home. The next morning when I went downstairs to eat breakfast before school he was asleep on the couch. I walked over to him and he smelled so bad. I didn’t know what the smell was at the time, now I know that it was a mixture of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and vomit. I walked into the kitchen and mom was standing at the sink with her back to me.

  “Momma?” I asked.

  She turned toward me and I could tell she’d been crying, a lot. “Yeah, baby?”

  I ran into her arms. She picked me up and held me close to her. She started to cry again. I pulled back and looked into her puffy red eyes.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, honey. I’m fine,” she sniffled.

  “What’s wrong with, Paul?”

  “He had to work late. Don’t worry about Paul. He’s fine too.”

  I knew something wasn’t right, but I was just a kid. I didn’t understand until years later what was really going on.

  That morning was the first of many mornings that I woke up to find my mom crying and Paul passed out.

  Finally, mom explained to me that Paul had lost his job and was trying to find something else. She told me all the time that as soon as Paul found a new job everything would be fine. He would stop getting so mad. He would stop drinking so much. And he would never, ever hit her again.

  Yeah, Paul had grown fond of beating the hell out of my mom. Before long, mom was drinking all the time too. It was like that old saying, “if you can’t beat them, join them.”

  I was making my own cereal for breakfast because they were both passed out. I ate a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner too. Those were the good times - the times that mom remembered to pick up groceries for me. It was pretty common for them to just forget about me.

  The fighting escalated. Every day it was a new argument. They argued about money, about drinking, about Paul not being able to find a job, and about the sky being blue. It seemed like they argued just to argue. They didn’t really need a reason anymore.

  I tried to stay away. I know now that this was when I started to turn off my emotions. My mom barely spoke to me anymore and Paul was acting really weird toward me.

  It started with his hand lingering on my arm longer than it should’ve. Some nights he would bring his bottle of booze with him and sit in my room and brush my hair. He would tell me how beautiful I was.

  I’ll never forget the things he used to say to me.

  “You’re so much prettier than your mommy.”

  “The boys won’t be able to keep their hands off you.”

  “You’re such a sweet little girl, Adlee.”

  I thought of Paul as my father, so his behavior didn’t really register until the night he slipped into my room. The night that my emotions turned off for good. I was eight years old and my innocence was taken from me by the man who’d won me the silly rainbow striped unicorn that I still kept on my bed. The man that I thought of as my father. The man who raped me.

  As he laid over me, I cried and begged him to stop. I couldn’t understand where my mom was.

  Why wasn’t she helping me?

  Why didn’t she come to my rescue?

  When I realized that she wasn’t coming to stop him, my eyes found that stupid unicorn on the side of the bed. I stared into its purple eyes and pretended that I wasn’t in my room anymore. The world around me was beautiful and smelled liked flowers, not beer and cigarettes. I stopped crying and let him do what he was going to do anyway. It hurt and I felt sick to my stomach, but as he moaned over me, I found myself escaping to this other world. Staring into the unicorns eyes, I knew I would never be the same little girl again.

  The morning after he raped me for the first time I went downstairs and told my mom exactly what he did to me. I explained it all to her through my tears. I asked her why she didn’t come to help me. To save me. She was drunk or high or both, and she said these words to me, “Adlee, don’t spread lies about your father. Nobody will believe you. You can’t tell anyone the lies you’ve told me. Do you hear me, Adlee? Do you understand? If we don’t talk about it, it never happened.”

  It never happened?

  Then why did mom strip my bed and buy me new sheets? Where did all that blood come from, if it didn’t happen?

  I take it back, that’s the moment I shut my emotions off. The moment that my mom acted like what Paul did to me was okay.

  If she thought it was okay, maybe it was?

  Maybe that’s what daddies did to their little girls.

  My mom told me it didn’t happen, then why did it keep happening? Almost every night.

  Did I imagine that too?

  Why did I have to escape to that pretty world filled with purple eyed unicorns every night?

  A mother’s job is to protect her children - keep them safe and love them. My mom sucked at her job. She was actually so bad at it that she just decided to quit.

  When I was ten years old I came home from school and found my mom passed out on the floor in the kitchen. Beside her was an empty bottle of Vicodin and a half empty bottle of vodka. When my mom did something she didn’t half-ass it. She didn’t want to be my mother anymore, and she found her way out through suicide.

  What my mom apparently didn’t grasp, or didn’t bother to think about, was that when she died that left me to be raised by Paul. Did she hate me that much, or did she just hate herself? I guess I’ll never get the chance to ask her that question.r />
  Life sucked. Yes, I know I use that term a lot. But that’s the best word for my life. I went to school, I came home and made dinner and then spent the night in my dream world. The dream world had evolved from the land of unicorns from my childhood. Now it was filled with the ocean and sounds of the seagulls flying high overhead like I’d heard on television so many times.

  When Paul worked, which wasn’t real often, he would come home after work and take a shower before dinner. We lived life as a married couple. From the outside we probably looked like a happy daughter and father, but the things that happened inside the house were anything but happy.

  He never really beat me. He did…well, sexual things to me. All kinds of weird things. Things that I don’t plan on ever speaking about to anyone. Some things I’ve completely blocked out. It’s like I would disappear into myself while he was doing it. I would travel to my dream world where daddies don’t hurt their little girls and mommies don’t kill themselves. It was like my mind would take a break and then start back the next day like nothing bad had happened.

  “If we don’t talk about it, it didn’t really happen”.

  This continued until I turned fifteen and boys at school started to notice me. I never tried to get noticed, believe me. I wore very little makeup and my wardrobe consisted of t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers. Nothing special - I was nothing special. I kept to myself. I didn’t have any friends. I didn’t want friends. It wasn’t like I could have anyone come over to the house. I told Paul that I would never have anything to do with any of the guys at school, but he said he didn’t like the way they looked at me.

  My hair was long and strawberry blonde. My hair color was one thing I inherited from my mother. Paul told me my hair was too sexy. He would take me to the salon and have my hair dyed a light brown. I was fine with that. I didn’t want to be sexy to anyone. I didn’t think there was anything sexy about me. My short legs and big butt were not sexy. My boobs were always big and I hated them. I always hated them. I used to pray that they would stop growing, because Paul liked them so much. He was obsessed with them and I think that made me hate them even more.

  Paul had finally gotten a full time permanent job with another trucking company. He didn’t drink quite as much, but it didn’t really matter because I realized he was just a sick bastard. Drunk or sober - didn’t make a difference.

  He came home from work early one night. I was in the kitchen putting lasagna in the oven. When I turned away from the oven I found him standing in the doorway staring at me.

  “We’re moving,” he said as he started to walk toward me. He put his arms around me and lifted me onto the counter. He wedged himself between my legs and started rubbing his hands up and down my upper arms. “I asked for a transfer. We can finally be free.”

  “Free?” I asked.

  “Yes, baby. We can live like we’re meant to live. I won’t have to pretend to be your daddy anymore.”

  I had to swallow the bile that had risen into my throat after he made that comment. He was not my ‘daddy’ or anything else. “I don’t understand. What are you saying? How are we going to live?”

  “That’s the beauty of it, baby. I told my boss I was bringing my girlfriend with me. Nobody there knows me. We’ll just lie about your age and then we can live like a real couple. Hell, you look a lot older than fifteen. We’ll just tell everyone you’re eighteen.” He leaned in and kissed me. When he slid his tongue into my mouth I groaned. The sensation made me sick to my stomach. “This is so perfect, Adlee. We can finally stop pretending.”

  His eyes were dark and crazy. He actually thought this would work? He actually thought that I would want this?

  The next week we packed up and moved two states away. Our new life was starting and I knew in my heart that there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

  ***

  I hated my job. It really sucked, there’s my favorite word again, but at least it got me out of the house once in a while. That was the only good part about it, well that, and Lottie, the owner of the café I worked at.

  She had been like a mom, or more like a crazy aunt, to me for the last three years. I started working for her the week we moved to town. It was nice to have some spending money and to get away from Paul for a bit. Lottie would schedule me for a few night shifts a week. I didn’t even have to ask, she just knew I needed away from him.

  He’d told everyone I was his girlfriend and that I was eighteen years old, but I don’t think that Lottie believed either story. She never said the words, but I’m pretty sure she thought them.

  When we moved here, he decided that I couldn’t go to school because he was lying about my age. So I took online classes and worked hard to earn my GED when I was sixteen. He also took me to the gynecologist. He said it was time to quit using condoms and I needed to be on the pill. Since, I’d started my period when I was twelve they had been really erratic. I couldn’t even imagine being pregnant with his baby. The thought was disgusting. The doctor informed me that I had several cysts on my ovaries and that they were causing my erratic periods. He said I needed to have surgery to have the cysts removed and there was a chance that I wouldn’t be able to ever have children. At the time he broke that news to me, I didn’t really care. I was actually kinda glad that I wouldn’t be able to bring any little Paul’s into the world.

  Our relationship was sick, but it was all I had known for so many years that I was beginning to think it was just the life I was destined to live. I would never be loved. Who could love something like me? After everything I’d done? After everything that had been done to me?

  Coming to work for Lottie had been great. It gave me something to look forward to. My job made me feel like a real person.

  The diner only seated about fifty. It was decorated in an old fifties theme with lots of Elvis, James Dean, and Marilyn Monroe memorabilia placed throughout. The floor was a black and white checked tile and the counter was covered in chrome. The counter had about ten stools at it. They were each covered in red vinyl and had just about seen their better days. Each seat had a little rip or tear in it. Just added some character to the place. The tables were old-style chrome and the vinyl covering the booths was the same as the stools at the counter.

  Everyone in town believed that Paul was my boyfriend and we lived together. They also thought I was twenty-two, instead of nineteen. Paul had always looked younger, so even though he was almost forty, he could easily pass for thirty. I guess the age difference didn’t seem so strange anymore. I mean when I was fifteen it was hard to explain away…but Paul always told everyone I was about three years older than I really was, so it worked.

  He didn’t like to have me out of his sight, so he spent most of his time when he wasn’t working in town sitting in the café gawking at me. Or touching me. I was so numb to it all by then. It was like I didn’t even feel him when he kissed me, or touched my butt when I walked by him.

  This day was different though. He was sitting at his regular table with some of his buddies. The same buddies that had watched him rape me. The same buddies who he’d invited to join us on more than one occasion. I was numb to all of it now. I had to be.

  They were all smirking and laughing when I walked by, then Paul reached over and pulled me onto his lap. He rammed his tongue down my throat and grabbed my breast. On the inside, I wanted to vomit, but on the outside I pretended. I pretended that he was my boyfriend and I loved him. That’s when I noticed him.

  He’d come into the diner everyday this week. We hadn’t really talked or anything, he was really quiet. I’d caught him staring at me a couple of times. Especially when Paul was here. Paul did not feel the need to hide his affection toward me. He touched me constantly. Paul wanted to make sure everyone knew I was his.

  The stranger was still staring at me and it was like his blue eyes were looking into my soul. I can’t describe it. I could feel him looking at me. I felt what he was thinking. It was like he knew. He knew the hell I was living in. He unders
tood me. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from his. And he didn’t break our eye contact either.

  Paul finally let me up and swatted my ass as I walked past the table. Walking toward the stranger with the deep soul searching eyes, I noticed something - he was really pissed. His eyes were blazing.

  What the hell had I done?

  We hadn’t even had a conversation yet. I couldn’t figure out what I did to upset him so much just by looking at him.

  “Can I get you something, sir?” I asked sheepishly.

  “Why do you let him touch you like that?” His fists clenched on the table in front of him.

  “Uh, he’s my, uh…” I couldn’t hardly even spit the words out. “Boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend.”

  “No he isn’t. He repulses you.”

  How did he know how I felt about Paul? Did he know me? Was he from my hometown?

  “That’s not true. He’s my boyfriend. I love him.”

  He grabbed my hand with his. “He hurts you. Don’t lie to me.”

  I was staring into his eyes trying to figure out how he knew. “Can I get you something to drink, sir? You know I do have other customers I need to wait on,” I said as I pulled my hand from his.

  “A beer,” he responded.

  I went back to the kitchen and grabbed him a beer out of the cooler. I popped the cap off and tried to catch my breath. He knew. How the hell did he know?

  “Here ya go, sir,” I choked out, placing the beer in front of him on the table.

  “Call me, Tanner. My name is Tanner.” He took a big gulp of the beer and I watched as he swallowed hard. His gaze never left mine.

  Why was he looking at me like that and the better question was why couldn’t I look away?

  “Okay, Tanner. Is there anything else I can get for you?” I asked, trying to summon up a smile. I turned and saw that Paul was staring at me and I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t happy about the conversation we were having.