The Many Colors of Papa

May 29, 2010
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Look me directly in the eyes, I hope these ocean blue eyes are satisfying your need for anger. All questions can’t be answered with this scar that is deeper than you think. You are certain that this is your new thing, your new deal, but I can only pray that it isn’t. It’s my only hope now.

I left. I left this house, this neighborhood, this town. So don’t come looking for me, you won’t find me. I was done being the victim, done being the abused, done with everything. I am done.

I don’t know where I am going to, and I can’t say I know where I am coming from, I am leaving all of that past behind, and this is where it will begin.

So my journey will start here, my path of new beginnings. Out of the few things I have learned, I know that 1. I will not let myself experience that ever again. 2. I will not treat anyone that way. 3. I will not forgive or forget.

I only wanted a new life, a new identity. Anyone but my old self. So I am starting over.

Before Then
Running down that beaten dusty road I felt an ache that didn’t come from the scar. The only safe haven I knew of was the stone wishing well behind The Johnson’s Country Store. I picked up the pace so my Papa couldn’t see where I was headed to. My Papa was very muscular, built from workin’ on that railroad all day. But for all I knew he had a dead brain, filled with cobwebs and pebbles. Mama says he skipped out on school for his last couple of years of grade school, but she is kind. He skipped his entire life.
The well looked like it had aged, the bucket had lost its handle and the string had unraveled. “Sorry, its been to long,” I said in a guilty tone. He was the only friend I knew of. I can’t blame the other kids, I mean who would want to be friends with a girl with patches of hair gone and deep slashes in her arm.
I opened the Coke Cola I had stole from my Papa’s basment fridge. He says its off limits but I say my body is off limits when he goes on his rage of anger. It was refreshing, like an oasis in the Sahara. My throat was cracked and raspy from running and screaming trying to protect myself.
For a second I was content with my life for this moment in time. It abruptly came to a halting stop.
“Ingrid, you child of a b***h, get er’ a** here now.”

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This article has 3 comments. Post your own now!

EllieK. said...
Jun. 14, 2010 at 8:13 am
This is very good. I like the range of emotions shown in the  piece. Will there be more about this girl because I'd read a second part.
hulagirl replied...
Jun. 14, 2010 at 10:04 pm
ya thanks, if you guys want to read more then i certainly will continue with Ingrid and her awfull life
hulagirl replied...
Dec. 31, 2010 at 11:27 pm
i also want to say that there is no way this is a true story of my life, me and my parents love each other but that doesn't mean that this isn't the life for all people
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