Trauma
It was 1977 and I remember being in the first grade. I had to catch the bus across town from school in order to get home. I must have fallen asleep on the bus because I woke up standing at the bus stop crying. I looked around and nothing looked familiar to me.
Then a man driving a white car pulled up in front of me at the bus stop and asked me if I was okay. I said, “no”, as I continued crying and rubbing my eyes. He asked me what was wrong and I told him I was lost. He then told me to get in the car and he would take me home.
Not having any idea what else I should do, I said, “okay”, and I got in the car with him. He began by asking me where I lived, so I told him my address. Suddenly he saw a police officer in a patrol car nearby and he immediately hailed the officer down in order to assist me. The police office took custody of me and promptly returned me to my home.
Don't Open the Door
At home, I remember holding my baby sister on my hip, who was still in diapers while my mother was getting dressed to leave the house. I shook the baby bottle filled with warmed baby formula while listening to my mother's instructions about what I needed to take care of while she was away.
“When I get home, I want that kitchen cleaned and don't forget to clean the baseboards and wash the ceilings. Don't open the door and don't let anybody in this gotdam house!”
My throat began to tighten up. Not because I had to take care of my sister or clean the house, but because when my mother left the house I never knew when she was coming back. I thought about the last time she was gone for two days and I remembered standing by the window crying, mommy please come home!
As I watched my mother put on her wig and grab her purse, I simply nodded my head and said, okay. She then gave my sister and I a kiss, patted me on the head and said, “I love you Pumpkin, be good and remember what I said, do not open the door”.
I don't know how long it was after my mother left that her girlfriend from down the hall knocked on the door. Why did I answer it? I think it was because she called me through the door and I knew it was her, so I opened it. Little did I know that one act of disobedience would nearly cost me my life.
Girlfriend came inside and invited all her friends to have a party. Our apartment was filled with visitors, playing music, drinking, dancing and eating our food. I can't remember if I was happy or sad, all I remember is watching my sister standing in the hallway wearing a dirty diaper and choking on a cracker when my mother walked in.
At that point it seems like everything began to move in slow motion. My mother quickly kicked everybody out the house and slammed the door. Then she turned directly toward me and stared at me with eyes of pure evil. When my mother was angry she reminded me of a monster. It was as if she became a completely different person.
“Bitch! Didn't I tell you not to let nobody in this mothafuckin' house!” She began to bend down and unbuckle her wooden clog shoes. “Mommy, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do it”, I began to cry. I'm sure by this time, my baby sister was crying and I could begin to hear the neighbor's banging on the door and calling my mother's name.
My mother grabbed me by my hair and began beating me in the head with her shoe. I began screaming as I felt the warm blood pour down my scalp. “Mommy! I'm sorry! Please stop! Mommy!” My mother was screaming also, “Bitch I will kill you! When I tell you to do something, you better fuckin' do it!”
All the neighbor's were pounding on the door so fiercely, they must have all got together and kicked the door in. It was at that point they began pouring into our apartment. It had to be at least seven people present. Everything happened so fast. I saw a man run towards my mother, pick her with both hands and throw her across the room breaking her nose. The next thing I remember is sitting in a bathtub filled with water red from blood as I looked up into the eyes of a police officer.
I have no memories after that point. I don't remember my mother being arrested, nor do I remember being taken to the hospital where I received stitches to my head. I don't even remember being taken into child protective custody. But I do remember being in a foster home.
The Pedophile
It wasn't long before my sister and I were returned to my mother's care. Some time had passed and my little sister was walking pretty good on her own and beginning to eat table food. I was nine years old and the year was 1978.
It was pretty clear to me by this age that my mother was a hard working prostitute and that my estranged father was a pimp, although neither of my parents ever spoke to me about it. My mother had left me to live with extended family members from nearly the time I was born until the time I am speaking of now, and that is when the nightmare began.
Not only was my mother an alcoholic, but she was very friendly with strangers and living in her home made me feel extremely vulnerable and insecure. It seems my sister and I were continuously surrounded by adults, and there was always some lewd man hanging around telling me, “when you grow up, you're going to be a fox!”
At the time, we lived in Oakland and I remember one night my mother was drunk and for some reason, she decided to take me and my sister out for a walk. She began to stick her thumb out towards oncoming traffic in order to get us a ride. I remember getting scared and thinking, mommy please don't. I was afraid of my mother and I don't remember saying anything.
A man pulled up along the road beside us, and my mother ushered us into the car. My sister was in the backseat, my mother in the passenger seat and I sat up front in the middle. The man pulled off and we began to drive down the street. As soon as we began to drive a short distance I looked over at my mother and she had passed out drunk. I looked over at the man driving the car and it became evident that he was interested in her, he was interested in me.
“Do you know how to drive a car”, the man asked me. I answered him saying, “no”. “Would you like to learn?” “Okay”. He then motioned for me to scoot over onto his lap, which I did. I'd like to mention here that what this man abruptly did was get my defenses down. From the moment he asked me this out of the blue question, my mind shifted from fear to intrigue. I was no longer scared. I was completely focused on driving.
I began using the steering wheel as he worked the gas petal and the breaks. All the while my mother and sister were fast asleep as this strange man begin to take us across the Bay Bridge and into San Francisco.
He then asked me if I wanted to go to the Wax Museum and I became excited and happy. The strange man parked the car near the Wax Museum and took my sister and I from the car, leaving my mother passed out inside.
He then proceeded to take us into the museum. Once inside, my little sister and I became occupied looking at all the interesting wax figures and other curiosities. I don't remember what I was wearing, but I remember looking across the room and seeing my sister standing there in a white slip and flip flops. Clearly she looked neglected. I then noticed two men take her by the hand and lead her away from the area.
Instantly my protective instincts kicked in and I ran over to her, grabbed her by the hand and snatched her away from them. The two men said nothing to me, but simply walked away.
I hurried back over to our friendly stranger and stayed close to him. My hope is that he would eventually return us to my mother. When we arrived back at the car, my mother was still knocked out. We then left San Francisco and the man took us back to Oakland where he checked us all into a motel.
The man got a room with two beds in it. He put my mother in a bed by herself and he put my sister and I in the bed with him. This is when an anxiety attack began to strike me. I cannot remember taking off my clothes, but I do remember laying on the bed in my underwear as he laid down next to me.
My heart began to pound with fear and I do not believe it was because I knew what he wanted to do to me. I believe it was because I was sensing his fear, feeling it. The air in the room must have been dank with negative emotion and I felt unsafe, terribly afraid and my reaction turned into panic. I laid there in sheer terror as the man rested his hand on top of my behind.
For some reason, the man got up and went to the restroom and that's when I threw on my clothes and bolted for the door. I ran away from the motel grounds across the street and hid behind the bushes. I noticed it was getting light outside. I sat behind the bushes peering out to see if the man would come out looking for me.
After a few moments, the man did come outside. He looked to the left and then he looked to the right, as I remained perfectly still. He then proceeded to walk swiftly down the street and intuitively I knew he was searching to find me.
As soon as he was out of sight, I rant back to the motel room to find my mother finally awake from her night long drunken stupor. “Mommy, mommy, I want to leave! Please mommy I want to go home!”
After this, we were returned safely home and nothing ever became of this incident. However, I will never forget it. That night taught me so many things about life and about myself. I learned that hitch hiking is a very bad idea, especially for a young mother with children. I also learned that there are bad people in the world, who like to take advantage of little girls. But what I learned most of all is the power I have within myself to trust my instincts and to take personal action for my own life's survival. I gained a sense of self confidence that night that would stick with me for the rest of my life and protect me from a myriad of tragic events.
The Rapist
As the years passed, I began to become desensitived to my mom's abuse. I began to develop friendships with my peers and would stay away from home for weeks at a time, dreading to return. When I was home, I would stay outside and play with my friends on the block until the sun went down. That was the time I was supposed to come into the house. The year was 1981 and I was 12 years old.About this time, I had lost my door key and my mother told me that in order for me to get into our apartment, I would have to use the back entrance. In order to get to the back entrance, I had to go around the side of the building and up the back stairwell. On this particular day it was beginning to get dark.
The side of our building was adjacent to an abandoned building that used to be a church. As I walked along the side of our building, I noticed a man standing in the shadows. I had no reason to be afraid or alarmed and I was used to seeing people hanging around so I didn't think much of it, and thought I would just walk past him.
As I walked past him, he grabbed me in a choke hold around my neck and put a gun to my head. He told me if I made a sound he would kill me. His hand was over my mouth. Instantly I threw my hands up in a praying position and began to pray to God to save me. My abductor then took the gun and used it to knock my hands out of this position. I immediately threw my hands up in a praying position deciding that I would die praying.
At this point, the man began to drag toward the abandoned church. I was extremely afraid and had no idea what would happen next. I never really saw this man because he was in the shadows and when he snatched me, he grabbed me from behind. He then pulled me beneath a space underneath the church stairwell where there was an old dirty mattress.
The first thing he did was pulled my shirt over my head so I could not see. Then he began to take off my shoes and socks. After that, he took one of my socks, rolled it up and stuffed it in my mouth. After that, he raped me, then let me go. I told my mother and we called the police. The police checked the area where the mattress was and then they left. My mother never took me to the hospital, nor did I receive any counseling or therapy.
However, something shifted in me that day. Its as if I wasn't afraid of anything anymore. All my fears dissipated as I stared into the face of death. I was no longer afraid of my mother. I was no longer afraid of dying. I was no longer afraid of life. From the moment I had been raped, I realized my life was a living hell and there had to be something more. From that day on, I became determined to find it.
