A Slap in the Face: Reality Hurts

May 12, 2011
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I was about two, maybe, when it happened. I’d always known there was something different about me, but on this night I knew that it wasn’t something to be proud of.
As usual, Grandma Deloris would tuck us in at night, us being my younger brother Michael and I. Then she would read us a bedtime story, such as, Winnie the Pooh, but tonight she only read to the middle of the story, when my drunken mother barged in yelling and screaming. The noise made Michael and I cry and soon Grandma was yelling too. It was the scariest night ever. (When I reflect upon it now, I don’t know what would have happened if my mother had removed her mom from Grandma’s wheelchair.) Cuss words were flying from left and right. Words I didn’t know coming at me from both sides. Just as my mother was about to hit my grandmother we heard it.
“Wee oooo wee oooo! RING!” “D**!” my mother roared,” your d** neighbors called the f******cops!” “Well stuff the d**children under the bed,” snapped my grandmother. Why the f***should I? We should let the PoPo take them. What good are they? They’ll just get in my way. I don’t need these m***** f****** children. Let them grow up and become b******. I don’t give a f*** about them.” We heard the crack of my grandmother’s old wooden door as the police busted it down with their growing impatience.
“Quickly, stuff them under the bed!” Next thing I knew I was being harshly pulled out of the bed by the waist, along with Michael, by the gentle hands that had tucked me in. I remember the sprung out springs from hours of jumping on the bed, the dust, and the darkness that was a scary as wandering around, alone, on a moonless night. The dust under the bed was sucked up into our mouths due to our heavy breathing and emotional gasping. I heard the police talking to my guardians. I call them both my guardians because I don’t know who was legally taking care of us at the time. I was unsure of what was happening out side of the curtain that substituted for a door. When they came back in, I was scared to the point of peeing myself. I tried calming the hysterical Michael, but nothing was working. I was sure we would be found. Oh no feet just stopped by my head! Knees, hands! No! SCREAM!
What happened next was all a blur. I found myself removed by the cops from under the bed. They walked gruffly out of my room towards the door. Grandma Deloris was saying good-bye, tears swelling in her eyes. I looked about the living room confused. Time froze.
I looked at the walls by drawings of my favorite people, besides my grandmother, Winnie the Pooh, Tigger, and Eyhor. I saw my carefully scribbled drawings next to my grandmother’s master ones. Tear swelled in my big, brown child eyes. By the TV I saw pictures of my grandmother holding Michael and I. She was in more pictures than my actual mother which was symbolic of her dependability. Time unfroze and the police officers were only a few steps away from being out the door. I suddenly understood what was happening. They were trying to take me away from her. I kicked and screamed. My thrashing about did nothing. He held on to me with an iron grip. It was useless. I looked over the officer’s shoulder at my grandma, tears streaming down my face and out of my eyes like gushing rivers. We gave each other a small wave good-bye.
This story time and time again has made me cry. Now I sit here writing this slow tears falling from my eyes, off my face, and into my lap. This is one of the events that still affects me now that I am older. Eleven years later (about) and I can’t seem to shake the memory from my head or separate it from my heart. My constant shifting from foster homes has made me hard. I know that once you get close to someone they’ll leave or you will. I don’t want to have to end another friendship on something like moving. I haven’t shared this with my parents because I don’t they’d understand. It not like they went through the same things so they can’t really relate or sympathize with me. I am very grateful to my parents and siblings, even if I’m not good at showing it. They have taught me this very valuable lesson. A mother gave birth to you but, a mom takes care and supplies for you.





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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

DJ-Defiance said...
Jul. 17, 2013 at 4:22 pm
Brilliant! However, the grammar could use some work and you should be a little more descriptive about the surroundings and the details. I feel that its lacking a bit in those portions, but I love it!
 
Kyraa replied...
Jul. 24, 2013 at 11:21 pm
Thank you for your feedback. I will try to incorprate what you in my future writings.
 
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