Innocence lost
At eight years old, no one could nor would anyone want to imagine what it was like since at that age I was still in what most people would consider the innocence of youth. They would be incorrect to assume so. For me, I had barely even realized what he had been doing wrong. It seemed so normal to me, so common. In fact, it was not until I saw the looks of terror, scarcely visible behind the cool resolve of duty on my teacher's face, that I knew something was wrong.
I thought I had done something wrong. I knew I was not supposed to write bad words, but I just felt compelled to, as if my mind would not stop repeating it until I wrote it. It was simple, three little letters that spiraled my young life into chaos, "sex". I sighed almost audibly when I wrote it; it was as if the screaming in my brain had stopped. This was not the end, as my relief would have led me to believe. I had to throw it away, but we were doing arts and crafts, and my teacher, whose name I have long forgotten, told us not to leave our seats.
There was this kid not far from me, a mixed boy whom I played with often, beaming at me across our tables, and he was by the trashcan. I had made up my mind. I would toss him the paper that I crumpled over the tables between us, and then motion for him to throw it away. That was my plan anyway, I tossed the paper, and before I could direct him to throw it away, he opened it, and took it straight to the teacher. The teacher read it and the boy goes to explain while pointing at me, I can't even remember what he said anymore, it happened too fast, and I was too scared to remember, all I was thinking is "Oh no, I'm going to get in trouble".
My teacher called me up to her desk with a calm but strict demeanor, and as I went up to her desk the boy went to sit down as I glared at him my mind screaming, "I hope you step on a Lego." "Why did you write this Sierra?" my teacher said her voice slightly agitated but with a hidden underlying concern, as though she could almost sense what I was going to say, but it shocked her none the less. Oh, how her face contorted when I told her about what my father was doing. The words I had said have long escaped me but how her look struck me in a way I could never explain with words.
What happened next was quick so quickly that I barely remember the process I went from the classroom to an empty meeting room where I waited what seemed like hours. Then this woman came in she had a gentler demeanor than my teacher who followed, but something felt off about this whole situation. Why was there a woman I had never seen before? Was I in more trouble than just no recess? Both of them sat down with grim expressions that soon turned to a gentle façade.
I was terrified, yet I had a strong feeling they wanted to help me. "Will you tell her what you told me about your father Sierra? " my teacher said in a voice that was no longer a façade just filled with pure concern, which was almost scarier than the grim expressions. My hands gripped the table as I remember what he said, as I remember, his little warning to me that finally dawns in my brain "Don't tell Sierra, you wouldn't want Daddy to get into trouble, would you?" But I shake it off I knew that even if I was trying to deny it to myself something was wrong with what he was doing, these women thought so, my brother thought so, I had to tell them.
Soon the details were just spilling out of my mouth like a river, the places we'd done it, how he touched me, down to even minor details that just stuck out in my brain, the videos, the tips on how to do it right. I said even more than I had told my teacher, and even with all of the details, I was spilling there was still more. It had been happening since I was six, of course, there was a lot to tell about, and as I finally get to the end this lady was telling me that my dad would be arrested. I was appalled I had heard my mom talking about how we almost had the house paid off, I snapped. "Please don't do that, not until we have the house paid off," I begged over and over almost to the point of hysteria, I did not want to cause trouble. My voice pleaded with all the guilt of me telling, I was instantly regretting it. "Okay, we won't Sierra, we will wait." She said with a soothing sweet voice it was pure relief I wiped the tears from my eyes. Soon I was off on the bus home, but my day was not over in the slightest.
Shock, that is all I can describe it as I get off the bus and as I walk to my house suddenly my life is a blur. There's a police cruiser parked out front, the door is wide open, I hear my mom crying. Even the neighbors with their little girl, whom I played with almost every day after school, are standing on their porch their faces a mixture of curiosity and worry.
I dash into the house, my mom is wailing by the door with a police officer talking to her. My brother darts out of the house accidentally shoving my shoulder in the process. The police officer is asking my mother when he will be home, I have gone numb with anger, that woman said they would wait. My feet drift almost out of my control, soon I am sitting almost at the top of the stairs, staring out the screen door as he pulls up and they arrest him, at this point, I am too numb to feel. I am not glad, nor am I upset I cannot feel anything.
I was so numb I do not remember what car we took nor when we went, did we go the next day or the same day. I do not know. If it was the next day, I did not sleep. I just stared lifelessly. I vaguely remember my brother coming back. His presence in the car, the sensation of the car in motion, walking into the building past people who just faded in like background noise, but when I sat down at the little table things slowly became clear again. I was sitting with a little round table in front of me. There were crayons, teddy bears, coloring books all around me, but to me, none of it seemed happy.
I recounted it all to this new woman in front of me as best as I could, her constantly shooting questions back with a soft prodding tone. I told her about the first night, I told her about the frequency, even about how one point he got almost bored of me how I tempted him back to me so that he would not touch anyone else. Nevertheless, when I finally told about the tempting him to save others, I broke, I could not deny that what he was doing was wrong; I had known it was all along.
Since then my life has never been the same. Was it what he did, that scared me? Or was it the resolution? I do not think I will ever really know, and I do not think I want to know.