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In the Beginning, There is Darkness
-Elizabeth's Story-
“Greg, get over here right now!” Mike yelled as Greg quickly slipped out the back door. "This will cost you several demerits," Mike continued to call but Greg never heard as he was already out the door.
I stayed silent and continued to wash the centre's supper dishes. Mike stood at the end of the kitchen muttering to himself. I knew better than to get involved. Last time I defended a resident, it cost me 20 demerits and my weekend privileges. Ouch! Damn, I broke a glass! I look over at Mike still pacing at the top of the stairs. If I can get the broken pieces into the bag before he turns around, I know I can get it out to the garbage unnoticed. I pick up the broken shreds and quickly shift them into the bag.
"What do you think you're doing?" Mike thundered, startling me into dropping the glass, "Elizabeth, let me look at your hand. What have you done?"
"Nothing," I stammer as I pull my hand out of his.
Quickly I turn and flee down the stairs. My feet crush the glass, grinding slivers into my skin but my mind doesn't register the pain. All I know is that I need to run. To get away and find safety. I run out the back door, slamming it hard against Mike's words. I flee into the dark night, clad only in my jeans and light T-shirt. I don't even register the coldness as it embraces me. All I am aware of is to run. Breathless and exhausted, I find myself unable to run any further. A tree offers me refuge, far from the glare of the street lights and I slump against its' rough bark. As if from a distance, I look upon my bleeding hands and begin to feel the throbbing of my feet. Only then does my mind register the pain from all the tiny glass shreds embedded into the skin. I pull each one out, gritting my teeth. I cry, softly at first then hard, racking sobs. How have I ended up this way?
"Elizabeth Jennifer Jones, get your ass out of bed right now!" my mom yells, " You're going to be late for school!"
"Yeah mom, I'm coming, I'm coming!" I yell back only to crawl deeper under the warm blankets.
Suddenly, the blankets are torn off me and I'm dragged off my bed. As my mom pushes me to the bathroom, I stumble, trying to open my eyes from sleep. I hear the shower and awoke as my wet nightgown was ripped off my body and shampoo was flowing over my head.
"Mom, leave me alone! I'll do it!" I shout as I push her away.
"You have five minutes to finish the shower, brush your teeth, get dressed and get downstairs. Do you understand?" Mom didn't wait for answer. She just turns and stomps out of the bathroom.
Eventually I get washed, dressed and down to the front door where Mom is waiting with my lunch bag. You'd think I was 6 years old instead of 13, the way she treats me.
"Elizabeth Jennifer, what are you wearing?"
As I look down at my oversized jeans and belly shirt, I shrug. It was what all the cool kids wore. Or at least the ones I hung with.
"And what is that thing on your belly button?" Mom shrieks in that piercing voice which goes through my soul.
Oh, damn, I forgot- I was supposed to wear my long shirt today. Yesterday my buddy and I got our buttons pierced. I knew Mom would have a fit.
"Damn it Elizabeth, I don't have time for this. I’m already late for my job interview as it is." exasperated Mom continues, " Your bus is here, so get!"
As I turn to leave, she states with an edge of anger still in her voice, "Bill is coming for dinner so be home by 5 PM or else." With those parting words, she pushs me out the door, slamming it hard as I trip down the stairs.
"Hey John, beautiful day isn't it!" I sing out to the bus driver, as I climb onto the city bus.
There they are - the gang - Rich, Stomp, Cee and my best buddy, Jake. Jake and I have been friends since play school. My dream is to be just like Jake - beautiful, tough as nails, and a mystery to all. Me, I'm plain, boring and far too sensitive for this world.
"Guess who's coming for dinner tonight. The king himself!"
"God Bet, do you want to escape at my house?" Jake asks, "Dad is in Toronto and Tia is at a spa."
Jake is totally cool. She always has an escape plan. Her parents divorced when she was 2 years old, as did mine. That's how we met actually. Her Dad and my Mom attended the same divorce support group and fell in lust. They lived together for a year when we were 5 but it didn't last. Jake and I did though.
"No, I better go home tonight Jake," I turn and look out the dusty windows to the steady traffic on the freeway, "Mom was on a rampage this morning, she saw my pierced button, so I better not push my luck."
"Well, if you change your mind, you know where I live."
School went by fast considering I had two tests. Mom is going to kill me when she finds out I failed again. She keeps threatening to send my to Dad but we can't find him. Last time I heard from him was 3 years ago on my birthday. He phoned, promised me a card with money and hung up before I could tell him I missed him. I never did get the card.
"Elizabeth Jennifer Jones, what the heck did you do to your hair!" Mom's shrieking echoed in my sleepy brain.
I only planned to sleep for five minutes when I got home. The way Mom was carrying on you'd think she had never seen purple hair before.
"Mom, everyone does it. Jake coloured my hair at lunch. Isn't it cool?"
I still can't get over the way my head feels with the buzz cut. I was certainly noticed by everyone at school after lunch. I guess I caught my Mom's attention too.
"Elizabeth, I swear, I'm going to find that no-good father and ship you off!"
"Maybe I'll just leave and you won't have to worry about me embarrassing you in front of your precious boyfriend!"
I turn and storm up the stairs to my room when I feel my feet leave the ground. Slap! The sting of her hand felt more in my heart than on my face. I attempt to shield myself from the blow. My shirt tears as she continues to reign slaps along my body, angry red welts begin to form wherever she brought down her hand. I become numb, my mind a million miles away. I learned not to fight back because things only got worse when I did. I simply tune out from reality, ignoring the pain and slip away from my own self.
"Get upstairs right now! Take a shower and put on a dress," breathless Mom continued to scream, "and scrub off that make-up. You look like a sewer rat!"
I look into the bathroom mirror without recognizing the face before me. I scrub clean but inside, I bare silent, dirty scars. My hands turn white, clutching the sink while I look deeper into the mirror reflection. My thoughts turned to Bill. I hate him. My Mom was never great but we usually managed. Then Bill arrived into her life. Everything changed. What did she see in him? He's 25 years older than her for crying out loud! Mom is young, she had me when she was only 15. He's ancient! A divorced loser with two distant adult children, a half-dead goldfish and an ugly toupee. Mom met him while she was a temporary secretary in his office. The big shot vice-president who is going to save us all from poverty. Well I think he's selfish, mean and ugly, not a knight in shining armour as Mom sees him. I hear his car door slam and take that as my cue to go downstairs. Be calm, I tell myself. Smile, I repeat silently.
"Michelle," Bill bellows to my Mom, "What the heck has your daughter done now?"
"I already spoke to her Bill, but I just don't know what to do with her," my Mom replied back meekly.
I glare at Bill as he walks towards me. I will him to look upwards, away from my chest. I was cursed with a C-cup bra size which Bill constantly takes advantage of. This time he won't get the best of me. I stand up straighter and cross my arms. He reaches over and runs his hand over my buzz cut. I pull back. Before my brain registers, I'm down. Shocked, I pull my hand away from my face and realize he's punched me! That son of a bitch! I look up and see him walking away from me, calm, into the waiting arms of my Mom. My anger simmers quickly into a boil. I have had enough!
My breaths deepen as I pull myself off the floor. Blood continues to fall but I don't even notice. I shake, standing there, alone. I watch her leave. My mother, the woman who gave me birth. She doesn't even try to stop him. She comforts him - him! I feel my hands turn into tight fists as my feet begin to run. I don't even remember grabbing the butcher knife. Funny how your mind plays tricks on you when the stress is high. I watched as my bruised, bleeding body plunged the knife into Bill's back. I remember how far away my mother's screams were. I watch, detached, as my hands rips the knife out of Bill only to turn and stab my Mom. In the distance I hear screaming but I can't tell who's voices they are - mine or my mother's. I watch as Mom grabs the knife, cutting us both before she throws it across the room. Then, with one sharp snap of reality, I fall back into my body and disappear into the abyss of darkness.
I wake up in the hospital. Immediately, I recognize the room. I spend many nights here sleeping off the pain of Mom and Bill's anger. My face hurts and my arm stings from the pain. I can't remember if I killed Bill. Wouldn't a person remember if they killed someone? Marianne, my favourite nurse, walks into my room with tears forming in her eyes. I let her down. Last time I was here I promised myself that I wouldn't put tears in her eyes again. I failed.
"My precious Bet," Marianne cooed as she fussed over me. She was the only adult I told my nickname to, "What have they done to you, Bet?"
I begin to cry. I couldn't stop the tears even if I had wanted to. The pain and fear are too great.
"Bill hit me. Mom hit me. All I did was colour and cut my hair!" I sobbed unable to stop the words, "I killed him! I really killed him!" I try to get out of bed and run. All I want to do is run away from the one person who cared too much. All I wanted to do was stop the pain.
"My precious, precious Bet," Marianne cooed, holding me tight against her chest, "Bill isn't dead and neither is your mom."
I feel her tense, "He deserves to die though, for all he's put you through.”
I keep crying. Why can't I stop? If I was Jake, I'd have no tears. I'd be strong. Soon I find myself slipping back into sleep as Marianne gives me a needle. This time, I stay in the hospital for 3 weeks and drive the nurses crazy. Usually I'm only in overnight but the doctors felt I needed longer to recover this time. I don't care, I'm safe for the first time in months. The gang visited every day and we played endless jokes on the nurses. Everyone that is except Jake. Jake simply sat in my room, solid like a statue, never speaking. Everyone, including the nurses, tried to engage her into conversation but she never spoke. When I tried, she would only look straight at me, never uttering a sound. I began to wonder if I really wanted to be like Jake, strong and silent. I began to question the silence in both of us. I never told anyone about the other abuse, the kind that only happened after bedtime. As I watched Jake over those 3 weeks, I realized silence only created more pain. Finally, I gave up my secrets and told my story to Marianne. That choice forever changed my life.
Upon release from the hospital, I became a ward of the court. A teenager with no home. Foster parents didn't want me. Every home I was sent to, I was kicked out of within weeks. Once I decided to speak out my pain, I couldn't stop. I screamed into the night as my nightmares terrorized my sleep. I yelled obscenities to unjust treatment, whether the accusations were warranted or not. I skipped school. I roamed the streets. I finally fulfilled my mother's beliefs that I was a slut. I never saw Bill again. My mom saw me once, at court, but left before we could speak. I guess she was ashamed of me. My social worker decided to put me into a youth group home. There were no other options left. That's how I ended up in residence, feeling like a criminal and unjustly sentenced.
So, here I am. Elizabeth Jennifer Jones, age 13 years, plain and boring, with a pierced belly button, purple crew cut hair, a C-cup and seven earrings. Here I am, curled up under a tree, cold, dizzy and bleeding. Not a winner but a loser. As numbness begins to fill the emptiness, I close my eyes and curl tighter into myself.
"She's over here!" "Get a stretcher over here now!" "Elizabeth, wake up! Help is on its' way. It's going to be okay. Just hang in there."
Through a haze of fog, I look and see Mike. He's my favourite worker and now I made him cry. Confusion fills me as I look down to my cut hands. When did I cut myself? Why was I here? It got harder to see Mike through the fog. Why was Bill here? Mom, no, don't hit me! I promise to be good! I have to fight, to run. I feel Bill push me down or was that Mom? I continue to struggle, hitting out as I try to escape. I hear voices. So much confusion. The fog overpowers me, creating darkness all around.
I'm 14 years old today! Mike baked me a triple layer chocolate cake. We are having a party just for me! All the kids are here even the new one - Jake. Quiet, stoic Jake. Over the past year I learned that my memories got mixed into actual events, which is called post traumatic stress syndrome. My counsellor told me this is normal for the crap that I lived through - it's my mind's way of protecting me from danger. She's cool, my counsellor- I draw, write poems and even play with dolls when I see her (she doesn't think I'm a baby when I do that either). I learned that Mike was never mad at me for breaking the glass, he was concerned about my cut hands. I learned I had mixed Mike up with Bill. I kept in touch with Jake. As I grew stronger within myself, I realized the pain Jake was carrying inside and how it felt to keep secrets. By my courage, I was able to lead Jake to safety.
Now I sit with Jake, through the night, to chase away her demons. It's me who is giving Jake the courage to speak out the pain. Me, Elizabeth Jennifer Jones, 14 years old, pretty and fun, with short black hair, a healing belly button, and four earrings. I have a future filled with hopes, dreams and promise. When the demons rise to pull me down, I know I have the strength to ward them off. One day, so will Jake. For we are safe, we are free and we are strong. Who'd ever think that I would become the strong one. Look out world, here I come!
(c) 2000, Beverley McInnis
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