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"Ghost"


Prologue
Prologue

By Lea Tonin1

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I approach the writing of this story on tiptoes, and if I were a ballerina, I would step lighter still. But life is not like that. We must push ahead to forge those two steps forward and accept the one step back.
This is not a story for the tender of heart, nor is it for those who can't handle blood.
It is a story of what was and, sadly, is still trying to be. But, my purpose in writing it down is so that it will prevent it from being a story of what will always be.
A tale of three young, anonymous girls-sisters who were amoung the masses of children who slipped under the radar again and again. 
It's a story of survival and of three who grew up and one who lives to tell it all.
 
"I listened to the loud silence crash all around enveloping the great and huge relief within me. I'm pouring shudders out in gratitude that I do not have to go back there"
 
Author Lea Tonin
 
Step lightly onto the scathing, dark road of pain and head with me foward into cleansing light....
 

Author Notes This is a revealing of truths which I hope this book conveys. This the only place that's safe to do so...I think.


Chapter 1
Chrysalis

By Lea Tonin1

 
 
 
 
 
 
I thought long and hard about how much to say and how much to withhold.  My memory harbours blood, fear, confusion and the unexplainable.  It can be disturbing for those who wish to know. 
 
I've been intuitive all my life, knowing things that others had no concept of knowing.  I thought it was a normal thing.  I never talked about it, and i rarely thought about. but when I did, I thought it was normal.  Normal...If that's what you call it. 
 
There are those, however, who think I should say hello to those nice young men in the clean white coats or trust what is being shown to me.  It's a fine line between what is believable and what is not, but that line is different for everyone.
 
Part of me wonders if I should worry so much about that aspect - the 'believability factor' of it all.  Instead, I should just forge ahead and for me, tell the story best as I know it. 
It does not require 'belief' so much as an open heart and an interested mind.
 
I'm hoping that sharing this story will be like peeling an onion. Each layer I take away will remove some of their power, the antagonists who raised me.
 
So here I sit in front of my PC, running my hands through my hair and wondering how I'm going to sift through the memories in a cohesive way and comply with a deadline. 
 
Memories...memories...of pain I've spent a lifetime desperately trying to forget.
 
Even to me, as I think back to the beginning, I still find it so hard to believe.  But I remind myself that this one of the aftershocks of abuse.
 
I shake off the trepidation and sat down in front of my computer, finally ready to write....
 
*****************************
Age Three
 
The sunlight came streaming through a leaded glass window, refracting light around the room. Little rainbows showed their faceted faces on the ceiling and walls.  I shivered a bit as the water began to cool in this large, claw-foot bathtub.
 
Earlier, while I waited for my Mom, I entertained myself playing with what I called "the boat." It appears as a result of not being able to get out of the bathtub in time for the toilet. Too small to lift myself over the side, the "plop" became inevitable.
Eventually, I got tired of playing with "the boat" while the water got colder and my "boat" got mushier, not turning as easily as when I first acquired it.
 
I started crying, hoping my mom would hear me and rescue me from a cool tub.
Eventually, the door opened, and my mom's head popped out from around the corner and then looked out at what she had to clean up.  Angry words swarmed out of her mouth, "Oh gawd, what have you done?" 
 
Shaking in the water, I gave her a guilty look.  Then I stood up and held out my arms. Then out-with-the-old-water-and-in-with-the-new, but this time, there were no more "boats."
 
There was no bedtime stories like other children had, just her annoyance at not getting me to bed quick enough for her liking.  She was always in a hurry, but I was used to that.  I didn't know that there was something different or that there were mommies different from my own.
 
I woke up in the morning with a new mission in mind, convinced my Mom would listen to it and like my idea this time.  I wanted to hear what Mom thought about it as well. How fun it would be to go to the playground! Mom could sit on the blanket and read her book and I could play!
 
I bounced out into the living room and I saw Mom lying on the couch, fast asleep. I shook her a couple of times, but all she did was groan.  I wandered over to the refrigerator and tried the handle, but no matter how hard I pulled, my three-year-old body could not get the door open. I realized I was too small to make such a feat happen.  I shrugged and grabbed a box of cereal from the Lazy Susan, proud that I could, at last, have a moment of satisfaction. 
 
I turned the TV on but had no clue how to tune to the cartoons channel.  Mom will do that for me...maybe...if she's in a good mood.  Reluctantly, I settled for what was showing on the channel I did have.
 
After a while, though, I got bored, Mom just wasn't waking up.  I shuffled down the hallway into the bathroom and pulled open a drawer. Inside, I found a pair of scissors.  "I'll give my Mom a hairdo while she sleeps," I thought.  "She'll like that."
 
I clipped sections of her hair in the areas I could reach, but I couldn't get her to turn her head over so I could do the other side.
 
"I'll just tell Mom why when she wakes up," I thought to myself,, "and then she'll understand."
 
When she awoke, she went down the hall into the bathroom.  The next thing I heard was Mom hollering.  "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!?!?" 
 
"Uh oh".  I thouht and quickly stuffed Mom's hair clippings in between the cushion and the back of the couch.  She marched into the room, her face more than just a little bit pink. 
 
"What?"  I thought. "I did a great job."
 
That's why I can't understand why she's so mad. She gave me a stern lecture, most of which was lost on me, as my three-year-old attention span was not so great. Off to my room, she sent me, and she went to her bed to sleep more. 
 
All I wanted was my mom's approval and for her to spend some time with me.  Instead, I was always having to go to my room or was alone, just wandering around the house, not being able to find her.  I also couldn't  understand why Mom didn't like my hugs.  She kept me always at arm's length. I felt so lonely and when I would cry, that annoyed even more. 
 
Life carried on like that for us for a while. Being alone and lonely became my new normal.  Mother's face (no longer Mom) became fuzzy in my mind, and in my loneliness, I cried myself to sleep almost every night.
 
Then one day, Mother made a new friend.  They would sit back in the kitchen, drinking coffee and giggling.  It stopped only if they saw me.  At that point, their expressions tunred to impatience.
 
Mother's new friend hated me.  It was so thick in the air between us, it felt like trying to push through molasses.  She never expressed her hatred through words; it was the passive-aggressive non-verbal cues that I picked up on easily.  Because, eve at that very young age, my intuitions were keen without saying a word. I knew stuff.
 
Within a few weeks, I learned we were going to be moving in with Mother's new friend.  My sense of foreboding grew daily, and my heartbeat raced from morning 'til night. The feeling was palpable and gripped me like a vice, but no one was ever around to comfort me.  I had no way to know, but it was time to count the days, to count the hours of peace, because soon I would have much more to worry about than loneliness.  
 
When we finally moved in, I was relegated to the basement. For the next several months the light of day became a stranger. 
Finally, one day (or night), after months of little to no contact and more meanness than I could ever have imagined, my mother came into the basement, holding a very blonde small girl a bit younger than me. 
 
"This is your sister," she said, "Play with her."
 
For the next few months, the door stayed shut behind her.  The rule was we were only allowed to knock on the door if it was "very important" and an adults 'important', not a childs.   The basement held very little: only a mattress on the floor and a crib, and the smell was like no other:  stagnant, stale and with the slight stench of rotting food because our meals were brought down to us.  Never once, were we permitted to eat with Mother and her friend.  I remember being able to smell eggs for breakfast and wishing we were allowed some.
 
I didn't know it then, but from the moment my sister came down into the basement, she and I began a journey only hell could provide. The restrictions and regulations were constant, and I don't recall any bathing or washing of any kind or being allowed out for any reason whatsoever.  If there were any happy feelings within me, they were quickly extinguished as being foreign and unknown.  any smiles --and they were few and far between-- always sat uncomfortably on my face as if my muscles didn't know quite exactly what to do.
 
Then, Mother met someone new.  One day she came down to the basement to announce we were going to meet our new father and that we should wash and get changed into our cleanest clothes.  
 
I don't remember a lot about meeting mother's new man, but I do remember thinking that, at last, we could get out of the basement and move away from that horrible, nasty woman who lived upstairs.
 
It wasn't long, once we were all under the same roof, that my mother's belly began to swell.  She was making another baby, but for some reason, it filled me with fear instead of joy.  I saw that basement again in my minds eye and imagoned that this time, instead of just two of us in there, there would be three. Once again, my intuition was strong.  My fear had a big-time basis in truth.
 
It was actually a premonition, though obviously, I had no way of articulating that.  My vocabulary didn't have that word yet. But my instincts knew it for sure. I knew I was afraid.
 
At first, It was okay.  Occasionally, Mothers knew man would give us change to buy an ice cream off the ice cream truck that came through our neighborhood.  It was a real and rare treat for us. It wasn't to last, though and neither was his patience.
 
When I was four, I took my first beating from him.  It was delivered in the shower with a metal spoon.  For some reason, this man insisted on getting into the shower with us and beating us with that spoon as a punishment for some unknown infraction on our part. 
 
Black and blue: the regular colour of the day for my back, my legs and my butt.  Visions of that large metal spoon coming down on me just wouldn't leave my mind. Worst of all,  I couldn't remember what it was that I'd done wrong. and after awhile, it became  pointless to try.  The marks just kept appearing.
 
Every day my fear circle went round and round.  I knew my sister, too, was being hurt in the same way.  We both took the brunt of whatever the punishment was being doled out that day. In no time, it became the pattern of the day for the next few years.  There were times of play, times of ridicule and times of beating.  My instincts always told me which one way it was going to be that day.  I remember once, showing my mother the roses on my backside.  She wanted to know who I was wrestling with to get all bruised up and when I told her it was her husband, she scoffed and said I probably just fell. 
 
What is it to a child when we first know that the one we call mother will never be the one to protect us?  The realization that we were utterly and truly alone.  Hope and faith were alien entities in our lives for a very long time.  The bone-shaking fear of whatever was to come was to be the standard of the times.
 
There was a day when I was in kindergarten --by then and five years old_when I understood that I was fed up with the fear and fed up with being hit.  With mother at the center of my anger, I wondered why no one wanted me.  Why kindness was so foreign.  No smiles, no hugs, no sweet memories.  
 
Was I so unlovable, and did I deserve the almost daily pain I was receiving?  These questions I asked myself regularly had no answers.  When you're five there are no answers, there is an emptiness that can't be given away.   
 
One day, I saw a bike racing down the hill toward me.  It was coming extremely fast with an older kid on top.  I could've moved out of the way but I didn't.  Instead, I just stood there, knowing the bike was going to hit me, and I just let it.  The force of the hit sent the bike up between my legs with the handle jammed up against my chest, the front end rising.  I don't know how long I hung there, suspended on the fender and tire, pant leg wound around the spokes, but when dropped I finally dropped from the front fender, I straightened up and saw that I was covered in blood.  From head to toe, with more running down.
But I just didn't care. I was five years old, and I didn't care. 
 
I only knew I was not loved....
 
*****************************
 
I leaned back from my PC looking at what I'd written and the old anger bubbles and flows through me. I didn't realize that writing all of this down would be so hard.
 
But I know what needs to be done for myself, if for no one at all.
 
I must let it pour....
 

Author Notes The story is the first chapter in an auto bio called "Ghost." It can be found in my portfolio should you wish to read. Please note: some chapters are difficult reader discretion is advised.

***Picture Google search***


Chapter 2
The Attempt

By Lea Tonin1

I pace back and forth in front of my PC as I've done for weeks now since I wrote the first chapter.  I've written only one and some smaller pieces, but I underestimated the toll and the power of the old pain.  The whips of anger, once so familiar to me, have returned with a roar as if never having left, to begin with.
 
Once again, I find myself riding that old sway-back horse of fear, ever present when I need a ride. I begin to repeat the old mantra in my mind, as I did as a young girl, telling myself time and again, "This will pass one day, I'll be grown."  
 
Not realizing I am holding my breath, let it out now with a woosh.
 
What will come out of my proverbial pen today?
 
Struggling, even though I know it must be recounted, the details of all that I've seen, felt and heard is difficult.  But to do any less is an injustice to my reader.
 
I brace myself.
  
The truth, as I know it to be, must be given voice, and yet trepidation grips me.
Memories gather at the surface of my mind like little knives stabbing here and there, waiting for my pen to lift.
 
If anything, it's a cautionary tale that points the way to recognizing the signposts as they come up:  Little clues and reactions out of the norm, body language, and patterns of speech. If one person benefits, then the trickle-down effect begins, and I have accomplished what I set out to do.
 
I attempt to keep that in mind as I prepare myself for the next onslaught of memories.  And with a deep, shaky sigh, I sit down and brace myself for the coming deluge that is the floodgate of my mind.  I finally began putting words to paper once more.
 
*****************************
"I was five years old, and I didn't care. I only knew That I was not loved."
 
How many years I lived with that feeling! And I was always asking why.
 
What no one knew at the time, except for me, is that a teenage boy on a bicycle -a different one than the one whose bike had hot me now-- gave me dimes and was trying to molest me.  I was also being molested by an older man a few doors down.  His nasty ugly penis still lingers in my memory to this day.
 
At the time, I was undisturbed by their actions.  I simply didn't know any better.  I didn't know there was a different world beyond mine.
 
I stood there covered in blood, the bike tire and fender jammed between my legs. The handlebars up against my chest hurt which set me crying.  But the pain told me I was still alive.  How my 5-year-old mind knew the difference between life and death is another matter. 
 
In those moments after the accident, I wondered about my mother's husband and realized I still had to deal with him. I still had to wonder: "Is today the day another shower and metal spoon?"
 
I wondered too about the old guy up the hill who would give me cookies if I put that ugly thing in my mouth, and I wondered about the teenager on the bike who would give me shiny coins if I let him take me out to the field behind the fence.  If I let him do stuff. 
Finally, I wondered why my mother never asked me how I got the money for candy.  I was only five, after all.
 
And my five-year-old mind simply did not understand the right or the wrong of any of it or that there was a different way to live. I only knew that none of it felt good. All of those thoughts and knowing I must face them again made quick flash-tracks through my mind as I stood there pinned on the bike, bleeding.
 
I recalled that the oddest sensation came over me as I'd watched that bike come racing down the hill.  I'd had a revelation that this could be the answer! For the first time, my insides had relaxed and they relaxed even more so the closer and faster the bike appeared.  it was like a beast disguised as an angel, to take me away from the pain that was my life.
 
A short few seconds after impact, a woman came to me, picked me up by my armpits and took me home.  Mother, rather than being concerned when she saw me, gave me an exaspertated stare.  At that moment, I wished that the bike had been a car and that I weren't around any more.
 
My mother didn't take me to a hospital or doctor until a day later, when my Aunt came to visit and heard me crying.  Only then, and after my aunt said she should, was I brought to a hospital.  I suffered and cried for a day-and-half before any relief came.
 
I'd suffered a fractured wrist, multiple cuts, scrapes and bruises. These were my battle scars for the choice I made that day as a five-year-old girl suffering from deep sadness and fear and never knowing the why behind any of it. I made this choice knowing that even then, at a mere five-year-old, not living would be preferable than the existence I had. 
 
Time heals the body but the memory of that day remains with me. Even now, I recognize it as a profound moment. I knew there were choices and that ,with that choice, I felt a small measure of control over my own life and the direction in which it turned.
 
Inevitably, things never remain the same.  A change came one day when I went into the house and saw a young Japanese boy approximately my age, standing in front of our old jukebox. 
 
Mother did up the buttons of his coat, "take him outside to the sandbox." Mother said, "and don't come back in until you're called."
 
I was glad for the new face and as interested in him as he was with me. To find out about each other was much preferable than being by myself.  We played in the sandbox for several hours, giggling, piling sand and getting to know one another.
 
This occurrence happened almost daily.  Half an hour after my mother's husband went to work, the young Japanese boy would show up with his father, and off to the sandbox we would go, with the same instructions. Even in the rain, we stayed until we were called. 
 
In my five-year-old mind, it occurred to me that something was wrong. I couldn't understand what it was;  I just knew that there was something not right about it..
 
The answer came clear one day when my mothers husband blasted out the front door in an all too blunt fashion, smashed the screen door and never to returned again.
 
He was replaced by the Japanese man and his son who had visited almost every day. 
 
The next nine years of my life were marked by the path my mother and her new husband carved for me.  I did not know at the time that I would need every ounce of strength, mental power and fight I could draw upon to survive what was coming....
 
*****************************
 
I lean back in my chair, tears rolling down my face. My shirt is damp, and my hands shaking, knowing the hardest and scariest times of my life are yet to come.
 
How fleet of foot my feet became carrying me away from the fist in my face....

Author Notes This chapter is part of an auto bio called Ghost. It can be found in my portfolio if you wish to read. Please note, some chapters are hard to digest. Reader discretion is advised.

Picture by Google search


Chapter 3
No Change Without Change

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
What is it about my computer that causes my heart to pound? I know that what I write could be and should be beneficial to another. Maybe it could salvage the childhood of even one small child. I know this logically, and yet, when I think about writing this next set of events in my life, the ground-shaking fear returns. The quake and dance of my nervous hands as my heart pounds and my eyes fill with water.
 
All the pain and the old powerlessness rear their ugly heads.  At any moment, those old, hard memories can push through a doorway. The door is simply tolerated by my memory...for now.

However, on the other side of writing, the small girl I used to be comes clambering for an audience, pressing me to continue, asking for release...for freedom from my memory. She points at my PC with a flustered expression. So I shall pull the chair out from under my table and turn on my computer again...for her.
 
*****************************

I watched shockingly as my mother's second husband angrily left without a backwards glance.  As I saw him drive away, I must admit, even now, the heart of my five-year-old self was relieved to see him go. There did remain some fear, though, about who this other man was, the one who had come almost every day. I barely spoke to him and yet I played with his son all the time. 
 
During the time my mom was with her second husband, we moved four or five times that I can recall.  One of our homes smoked us out rather than catching on fire.   We spent some weeks in a motel...incredibly boring when you're small, but not anything I dared to mention. 
 
Now, in minutes the other man was moving in. 
 
My mother had decided that we -she and I and my sister-- were going over to her new mans apartment to help him clean and pack up to move into our house. 
 
I did the best a five-year-old could do. I stood in the kitchen with him while he washed dishes and I dried them.  He picked up the bowl and decided that he did not consider it dry enough.  He then extended the third knuckle on his hand and formed a fist.
 
That fist, which could cover half of my skull, flew out and connected to my small head. These were the first set of stars I had ever seen, but there were many, many to follow. Shock did not prepare me for this.  He told me to get off the floor and quit faking it.
 
And so, from the pan to the fire we went, and I knew it, lying on the floor, my head pounding as I cried.   My mother asked what was going on. This new man in her life told her that I made a smart-ass comment.  My mother's indifference showed its ugly's face again.  Never once do I have a memory of her siding with her children, not once. We were her afterthought.
 
Beyond the betrayal of a parent, I also learned that there was no such thing as hope.  That I shouldn't hope, because there was no way out.  That it would go on and on and on without end.
 
Even then in my small girl's mind I knew things that no child should ever know. But once again, the ever-present "why" was never answered.
 
 Fear, I was used to.  I recognized and knew what it was. I'd been there before; it was familiar. 
 
So, a power struggle began between him and me.
 
My soul would not allow me to let go of the spine I didn't know I was developing. That one little thing that saved my life.  That one little piece of stubborn something that would not let me let go.
 
We moved to a small World War Two Army housing community for the next six years.  It was isolated on a small island in a small community. Cut off from the world around us, my world and my sisters world shrank down to the end of a large fist.  I didn't know it then, but that became the key to anonymity for both my parents. It enabled them to carry on their torture for years, unchecked.
 
There were endless nights of being torn from our beds made to clean everything in the kitchen.  He would pull all the plates, cups, bowls and glasses put from the cupboards because he'd found a single dirty dish in the cupboard decided they all must be done. So, in the middle of ther night, there we would stand, cleaning dishes. This happened time and time again.
 
But these were mild nights compared to others.  During those nights, we would be taken out of bed for an infraction --one we may or may not have committed-- and were not allowed to stop standing in the kitchen until one of us admitted wrongdoing.
 
In our house, we were punched for lying and we were also punched when we were telling the truth. Either way, we were punched, so we took our chances at lying and trying to get away with things. Very rarely succeeded.
 
Suddenly, out of nowhere, he would growl out his favorite stupid, menacing question: "Who did this?"  No one wants to say anything, of course.  We didn't need another lineup of physical pain or the last of my head to be caved in!  But it was inevitable, so it gor to the point where I just stopped postponing the punishment.  I would look at my so-called parents and say. "OK, I did it. Now you have someone to punish." Then I would look at my sisters and say, "You guys can go to bed now."
 
Once, my mother actually piped up and said something scholarly like, "Now, now that's not fair, you can't do that."  It was all I could do to not burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of that statement.  By then being eight years old, and I thought to myself, "What's fair? What in the world has ever been fair?" It was still stuff I didn't need to know. 
 
As is the nature of the abuser, first, they try to make you believe that it's your fault that you're being hurt.  It's your fault that you got him so angry that he had to raise his fists. Better not to make him angry.  Just do what we're told to do. Also, the nature of the abuser is that it gets worse over time.
 
Blood, starvation, false promises, abandonment and lies were our repast for breakfast lunch and dinner...
 
****************************
 
I hung my head to cry one more time for the girl who never experienced childhood. From memory, no peaceful night ever came.  But thankfully, my hypervigilance and super sensitivity were coming to full-fledged fruition by then.  A creak on a stair, the turn of a knob, pressure changes in the air.  Understanding the nuances has never left me. 
 
With a weary push of my hands on the desk, I backed off from my PC.
 
This is the way for me.  Preparation of my mind to remember and write.   Then de-pressure once again for another kick at the can.  The unbelievable number of events strikes me every time as my memories jostle for position.   A lineup for recollections on a partially open valve...push, push. 
 

Author Notes Picture by "Instagram"


Chapter 4
Enough

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.

Time is the enemy when, month after anguished month, it ticked by, and the regularity of the abuse continued until chunks of ourselves were slowly chipped away.
 
Ever since my mother let that man come to live with us, our lives become one physical and emotional pain after another.
 
In the isolation of our World War II island community, much could be said and done without a whisper for many years.
 
I had reached the age of ten.  My sister's eight and five.  We were hiding in the closet, the three of us, trying to decide our next move. But how many moves can you make when you're ten, eight and five?
 
There are only two options: stay or go. And I knew that staying meant years more of fear, isolation and pain.  Our world had narrowed to the end of a fist, broken sporadically with visits from the mans son.
 
The first event that precipitated our closet meeting was an incident with my youngest sister.  He was mad about some infraction she had committed, so her took her by the back of the head and swung her by her hair, effectively removing a large patch at the back of her head. 
 
Something that spoke to me, within me, at that moment, that not even he could silence, knew this was wrong despite all the guilt and the mind games my parents played. I still knew something was wrong. They tried to convince us that what was happening to us was our fault.  They tried to tell us that if it weren't for our actions, these things would not happen. But I knew somewhere in the horror, the wrongness of it all. 
it rang out like a large and dusty bell in my mind.
 
So I told my friends, I told everyone at school, and told my teachers. I told anyone who would listen.  I showed them the large scab on the back of my sister's head. I showed them what he did.  And then, I waited.  But nothing happened, no one came.  No one asked questions.  Things carried on, and the nightmare of our lives carried on too.
 
In the second incident, shortly after, my middle sister made some error that he was angry about, he decided he wouldn't let her eat. He wouldn't for some time. When he finally did, she made herself eggs and toast but promptly threw it up. He immediately picked her up and chucked her so hard into the cupboards that the wood split in two.  Then he made her clean it up, sent her to our room, and, again, she wasn't allowed to eat. At times like that, we would sneak each other food at times like that.
 
Such a desperate and fear-filled existence it was in those days.
 
The third incident occurred that evening while my two sisters were in bed, I asked the man who became my stepfather, if we could watch my favourite show, Man from Atlantis.  He was in a strangely smiling mood, which made me nervous, but he said, "Yes." So, I went into the TV room and sat down to watch the show.  He asked me to sit beside him, which I did, then he put his arm around me. 
 
 He began to ask me questions about how I was feeling emotionally and physically. I dared not move or not answer his questions because the repercussions could be far worse.
 
I told him I felt like I always did.  He bent and kissed me like a man kisses a woman and then he asked me if I liked it. I responded "No," which made him laughed and squeeze me closer to him.
 
 For the first time, I couldn't wait for my show to be over so I could escape him and go to my room. No other move was possible.
 
I've never felt the same ever since that day. A feeling of shame and of being dirty never left me.
 
So, in our closet meeting, the three of us in the dark, whispering amongst ourselves. "There was only one thing to do." I said to them, "We must leave. We must put all our pennies together, get a sleeping bag each and leave." 
 
The idea for the three of us to go seemed like a shining beacon of light, a possibility that maybe there was something better than what we were experiencing.  Anything was better. 
 
Spurred on by fear, adrenaline and hope for something else, we quickly did our chores as if it was expected whether we were leaving or not. We had $1.31 between us, so we walked to the corner store and bought a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread.  No adults thought it strange or asked why three young children, each carrying a sleeping bag, a loaf of bread, and a jar of peanut butter, were walking over the bridge to leave the island community we were in. 
 
Three young children, all ten and under, leaving one island and onto another.  The total amount of our walk before exhaustion took hold, brought us to the freeway and the exit out. Underneath a highway ramp, we made up our beds. One sister was on the lookout the other two prepared peanut butter sandwiches. We swapped throughout the night watching for police or parents.
 
We saw niether, and no one noticed us underneath that highway ramp. By the time the morning light came, we were done.  We had to go back, there was nowhere for us to go but back. We would die out there.  Even as young and small as I was.
 
I also knew that no one would help us.
 
Not even her.  Acually, least of all her.
 
The sense of trepidation and the unknown hovered over my head and the heads of my sisters as I did what I swore not to do.  Lead them back...to him.
 
The sun's rise saw us knocking on the front door, which my mother opened.  The thought occurred to me, even at age ten, that her look of tiredness was all part of the same facade she always had:  "How could you do this to me? How could you behave this way?" She played the victim very well.
 
*********************************************************
 
The question comes, "Where was your mother in all this?" Nowhere.  Out with her friends. Bowling. Playing cards.  Nowhere.  We had long ago given up trying to get her to protect us.  We were wolf fodder. 
 
The shame that I could not protect my sisters or keep walking the morning after put our escape, stayed with me for a long time. That I couldn't do what I knew needed to be done, hung on my heart like clothes on a line.
 
Back to the fire with the best armour, I could come up with:  Anger.  The years rolled out with so much more to tell.   An assault on the reader of what must be told...the story of all like me. 

Author Notes The story is part of an auto bio called Ghost. It can be found in my portfolio. If you wish to read, please note some chapters are difficult to absorb reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 5
Navigation

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

I looked across my living area, and in my periphery, I could see my computer.  It entreats me, once again to sit down and write, even though I just finished a chapter.  It was a hard  chapter for me. 
I'm discovering that sifting through my memories is a dangerous.  To do justice to my story and the reader, I must access these memories and feel the feelings of the time, yet protect my psyche. It's a difficult, delicate balance.

Each chapter I write takes its toll, but it also takes away some of the sting.
Writing about the time we tried to run away left mew feeling a but simultaneously victorious.

It is an odd mix of feelings.

I wander back and forth in my living area, always with the computer in the corner of my eye, beckoning me to continue, to not set aside the proverbial pen simply to mull over painful memories. 
A very wise person said to me,
 
"Some people sit in their situations because it's known and familiar but, after a while, it gets old and rotten and you gotta get out!" No truer words have been spoken, and none have come closer to home than that. With a mixture of emotions, I set my trembling hand on the power button for another spin of the wheel...

Mother decided that the silent treatment was appropriate for the grievous sin of running away.  Never once did she ask why we did it.  but then, why would she? It's not like she didn't know the answer.  She just preferred to play the victim and feign ignorance.
 
I thought that if we ran away, maybe they might care about us, or send the police to look for us, maybe they might look for themselves to show us that they do care about us.  But none of those things happened.
 
In hindsight, I know the reason why.  My stepfather did not want anyone to enter our bubble, because he knew what he was doing was wrong.
 
When adults keep their secrets, children suffer.
 
It was a summer day, I was standing on the front lawn picking grass up after we had cut and raked the lawn. Even the dazzling sun on lush green could not lift the gloom from my heart and soul.  I stood there crying, on the front lawn when my mother burst open the front door and yelled loudly,
 
"if you think your father's going to come riding in on a white horse, you can forget it!"
 
Hopelessness, fear and pain.  That was all I felt. 
 
Then it occurred to me, "Who was my father?"
I never thought of it before, until she mentioned him. "Who was he and where was he?" I thought.
I didn't dare ask.
 
I didn't know what to do with these feelings, so I sat in the closet behind closed doors, tearing at my shirt in frustration and the powerlessness and constant betrayals from those who were supposed to protect us.  But that wasn't the only reason to be in the closet.
 
When the man started to rampage, I could hear my sisters' screaming. I could feel their pain.  How I wanted to go down and beat the snot out of him!
But I couldn't.  I was too small and too weak.  More guilt to add to my ever heaping plate.
 
School provided no solace, either.  Life there was equally difficult. We were different, and everyone knew it. Our stepfather was of a different ethnicity --the only person that was true of on the entire island.
 
Our clothes were not what the other kids were wearing either.  Even our lunches set us apart from everyone else.  We were permitted one sandwich of peanut butter and jam and one apple.  Every other child in school brought nutricious and wore decent clothing. 
 
We also didn't participate in very many school functions. When Valentine's and Easter came about, it was hit and miss if our parents would allow us to join the festivities.  They attended zero school events and zero parent/teacher meetings either. 
 
For thtese reasons --and countless others-- the kids looked upon us like we were a disease or a blight upon the school.  Almost daily, I had to run home as quickly as I could and use different routes to avoid getting beaten up by schoolmates, only to face the same kind of fire at home. "Fight your own battles." my parents would say when I told them what was happening.  
 
At five years old, I wanted to die so I took a bike in the face to try and do so. At ten years old, the feeling returned. When the hard reality hits with the knowledge that nobody loved me, that nobody loved us, we acted accordingly.  We chose to leave.
 
Our parents pitted against each other. My middle sister thought that if she reported what her siblings were doing, she could become more accepted by our mother and stepfather.  My youngest sister remained silent, seemingly oblivious. 
Emphasis on "seemingly". This was one of the many manipulations of our stepfather for his amusement.  Another particularly cruel act was pretending to punch so that he could watch us cower while then laugh about it.
 
My ten-year-old body was beginning to grow, and a new torture arose.  When I was near my stepfather, he would poke me in my tender, growing chest, which caused me pain and embarrassment.  Another source of amusement for him.  
 
In the darkness, I could hear the click of the door handle, the grasp of a hand gripping my arm, pushing me down the stairs to the kitchen, along with my sisters to answer for some great crime.  At two A.M., half asleep, jolted into awareness by a punch to my head.  I saw starsbursts and fell to the floor.   This only made him madder. 
Meanwhile, my mother sat at the table, watching it all happen lifting not one finger to do anything about it.  
 
My frustration, my rage, and my sense of justice, all came bubbling to the surface at once.  It took all of my courage to yell out, at the top of my lungs, as I stared directly at him, "FUCK YOU!!"
 
Immediately realizing the danger of what I had just done, I turned and bolted out the door. I ran as fast as my feet could carry me, because I knew if I went back there, I was to suffer greatly.  I waited until I was sure he had gone to work before I went back to the house, shivering in my underwear. 
 
This was how our days, and weeks, and months and enfolded.  I thank the powers that be for giving me whatever that something was in my head that kept me from going completely crazy in the face of it all.  I was given an innate knowledge that it was wrong.  It's not from any example that I'd ever seen to the contrary or by anything anyone had told me, but simply by the voice in my head.  So, I followed it, even when the blood flew.
 
And oh how it flew.

Author Notes A chapter in the book "Ghost".
An auto bio. A story of becoming...a mold made to set the stage of who and why.

***Picture by Pinterest***


Chapter 6
Small Mercys

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

There was a knock on the door.
 
Nobody ever knocks on my door. The man just barges right in whenever he feels like it. As if he has the right to invade every part of my life. 
 
Curious about who acted polite enough to knock on my door, I opened it and there stood my aunt.  In her arms was a boatload of clothes, a bag of shoes, and other accessories.  She had emptied her closet and brought me clean, nice clothing to look through. 
I was delighted given the latest hurt my parents had inflicted upon me. A smile...almost as if it didn't belong there broke across my face. 
 
I had learned very quickly that my parents would not provide for the things we wished or needed so I decided to earn my own money.  I took up the task of selling chocolate-coated almonds. At 10 years old, I hit the pavement for weeks selling these chocolates.
I wanted to win the 10-speed bike you see by selling the most and so I did...by hundreds of boxes. I was proud of my work.
Proud that I had earned it myself.
I happily rode my bike to and from different places as my schedule permitted.  It was the one thing that gave me joy.
 
My parents stole it. Sold it without me knowing.  I asked where my bike was.  My mother said "We sold it, we needed the money." They had money for cigarettes, pop, junk food, bowling, entertainment and all the things they wanted for themselves, but they stole my bike.  My heart broke.
All the things I was told about hard work and earning my way blew up in my face as one big fat lie.
 
My protest earned me a knuckle on my head. My anger was uncontrollable at the injustice of the thing.  I ran out the door and left the house for the day. I didn't go back. I knew what had been waiting for me.  I didn't go back until the day was over.
 
There stood my aunt with a smile on her face, A boatload of things only girls could love.  My delight at seeing her with such wonderful things quickly crumbled as the tears rolled down my face and I sobbed.  
 
My aunt decided to spend the night and share my room with me. That night, hours of conversation unfolded before us.  I unloaded it all.  I unloaded so much so that I felt light afterwards.  The amount of stress on my small self was taking its toll.  She told me some things that both shocked me and surprised me at the same time.
 
Her words were, "Your parents use you girls as slaves and as little punching bags." 
The thought didn't occur to me until years later. "If you knew what was happening, why didn't you do anything? Why didn't any of you help? Why didn't anyone say anything?"
 
At the time I was just happy to have someone believe me. Someone hearing what I had to say. An acknowledgment if you will, was greater to me than the question of why.
 
They all had fine reasons for not interfering. My grandmother, the old-fashioned reason, and the rest of the family things like "not our place" and "We knew you were okay when we saw you. You're grown up now. You don't need it now." All kinds of excuses people give that only conclude in the same result.  What's the definition of insanity?
 
The pendulum swung back and forth daily. Time and events slowly chip away almost down to the core where there is nothing left to give. 
 
My Aunt then began to tell me about God.  My family except for my mother, my stepfather and us, was quite religious. Such was our isolation.  When the conversation was over, I gained a new hope that perhaps, even if not in this life, the next life would be better. 
 
*****************************
They lied...they always lied. 
 
The one lie they liked the best. The one that stopped working very quickly was, "If you tell the truth, you won't be punished so badly but, if you lie, you'll be punished very badly."
BULLSHIT!! 
 
Those knuckles and those legs came around corners before the rest of him did.  They usually met with my face or some other portion of my head.
Sometimes connecting, sometimes pretending to connect.  It was torture.
There was no justice telling the truth and no such thing as "not punished so badly."
 
Time went on as it inevitably does.  My extreme hypervigilance and extra sensitivity were my defences against my stepfather.
I could measure the pressure in the air. Feelings of foreboding before the door would open.
A knowing of pressure and release.  Just by a feeling, these gifts became something more.
That I was able to know things. I thought everyone did that. I gave it no further thought.
 
I was standing with a group of kids. One was talking about presents they got for their birthday and we were trying to guess each other's birthdays.  I knew none of these children...we were having a sports day.
When suddenly a date flashed behind my eyes. I turned to the young boy beside me and gave him his birthday. He burst out yelling. "Who told you that? Did you guys tell her that? I don't know her! How do you know my birthday?!"
I just shrugged and said, "It was just a guess."
Sometimes I would get a feeling of anxiety or sadness from one of the kids and maybe I might guess why.
Usually, an event that has already taken place. 
 
Didn't everybody do that. I waived it aside quickly.
 
I had bigger fish to fry so I just carried on with my hypervigilance, my sensitivity and my very real need to know where my stepfather was at any given time.
 
So I paid attention to all the cues around me and without really knowing, took up the lesson of understanding human nature.
 
In this way, I had some measure of protection...not always...but some.
 
Sitting back from my PC, I feel drained but, the feeling is not a negative one. It is an understanding that a cork has been pulled...a stopper removed.  The words flow and will continue to flow until there are no words left to be said.
 
This is the vehicle to heal.

Author Notes The story is part of an autobio in a book called "Ghost".

***Picture by Lea Tonin***


Chapter 7
A Deeper Look

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Creak, whisper, slide and shuffle.  All the sounds I listened to in the night before I could sleep.  To make sure that he, the man, had gone to his rest.  Even that wasn't a guarantee so even while I slept, I listened for those sounds. I waited for the feeling of foreboding, the indicator that more was coming. 

The question of "why" constantly popped up throughout the years of my childhood and throughout my adult years. The question has never really been answered but, as I look back, I think the "why" doesn't matter now. It's only the "who, what, where and when" that I should be thinking of. The"why" keeps us in the past.  But the "who, what, where and when" are present and future-driven as well as solution-bound.  

 
Mother - Post WW2 European immigrant, strict Christian family.
Pregnant at 17 a mother at eighteen, followed by a second child at 20. Married three times in the first five years of my life and one other relationship in between.  The second marriage produced a third child all girls.  Currently with husband number five.
 
Stepfather - Post WW2 Asian immigrant strict Buddhist family. Married early 20s produced my stepbrother and followed a daughter who died of SIDS.  Father held him back from a career in professional hockey to work the mines in the interior with his family.
 
Father -  Not a lot of information was known to me at that time.
 
The relationship between my mother and "the man" my stepfather was mostly good for my mother in many ways. 
 
He was very affectionate towards her and treated her mostly well. He allowed her to come and go as she pleased and do all the things she wanted to do.
 
All her entertainment, bowling, cigarettes fun with friends. He gave her that and for her, that was the leash being removed. She ran with it.  As long as someone paid the bills and looked after her children she was good to go. 
 
Essentially she left behind her children and did the things she couldn't do under her mother's thumb.  
 

Various details about my parents came to me over the years but at the age of ten, I knew maybe five percent. 

Sitting in the dark, listening to the sounds of the house was a by-product of the set stage we were living in.

Divide and conquer was the flavour of the day as my parents pitted my middle sister and myself against each other.  She was the house monitor believing that if she reported the daily activity of the house she would be accepted. That she would hear the words I know she was longing to hear.

That she was loved and wanted.  This is understandable and yet detrimental to our situation so a vicious cycle began....

*****************************

FINALLY, we were taken from our home.  We found ourselves in a group home with other children our age.

It was heaven! I didn't have to watch for the fist coming around the corner. I didn't have to worry if I was going to get to eat, and I didn't have to worry about kids chasing me down the street.

Three weeks of food and safety, nothing in the world felt as good as that did!  But all good things come to an end.  This one was no different. 

A bright sunny day, a clean hallway with shiny floors. Offices to the left and the right.

Ordered and cleaned like a new penny. We watched people walking the hallways in their suits and skirts, armloads of paperwork in tow.  We watched in the hope that we three girls could see the nightmare end. 

While we waited to be seen my mother turned and looked at us and said, " If you tell them what he does then who will pay the bills?"

My world collapsed. I knew we were going back and I knew in that one question that it was over. So we lied. 

A few days later myself and my sisters were out in the front yard picking up grass after we had cut and raked the lawn. 

A car pulled up. I wasn't sure who it was at first until he stepped out. It was my mother's second husband and the father of my youngest sister.  I watched him go into the house and a few minutes later a bag and my young sister came out.

I watched him put her bag in the trunk, then they got in the car and drove away. 

Not even the beautiful, warm day could take the gloom from my heart and mind as I watched them leave. 

I stood on the lawn wishing with all of me that I could have gone with them, that I could have grabbed my bag hopped in the car and left with them. I stood there weeping as the one dark thought crossed my mind.  "One sister gone, two remain... preceded by fewer children to blame, it meant more pain would follow."

As I cried, the front door slammed and my mother came out and yelled. "If you think your father is gonna come riding in on a white horse, you can forget it!"

I had a father. I just never thought about it until she said what she said.

Who is my father? Where is my father? Why is he not here?  Questions and pain, pain and questions. The miasma of my mind just wouldn't let up so I retreated to the closet not knowing what to do with all these feelings.  As I sat there I tore at my shirt again.

Frustration, pain and fear. These were my constant companions. My coping skills were tested to the limit every day all day.

Only one more thought could I hang on to. One more hope if I could make it, would come the day I could emancipate myself.

Tick Tock, tick tock, the days, the weeks, the years.  We experienced time like the slow drip of molasses. Slower than a caterpillar on the sidewalk...

 

much, much too slow for me...

Author Notes This story is part of an auto-bio called "Ghost" currently being worked on. Thanks for stopping by to read!

***Picture is myself aged 7***


Chapter 8
Resignation

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Gingerly she walked down the stairs. Slightly weaving as she went down the hall towards the bathroom. She reached for the door knob, but hadn't the strength to turn the handle or hold her urine. So she peed in her pyjamas.
 

Slam! Out came the fist destined to reshape her skull causing her head to bounce off the bathroom door.

 
 

I'm tearing at my shirt watching this unfold powerless to do anything about it.
 

I was screaming in my head "STOP!!!" Followed by "I hate you. I hate you I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."

 

It never stopped. It just went on and on and on. It seemed like the bleak years ahead of us would go on forever.

 

Since that day in the social service office, all three of us looked at one another knowing without saying, that we were going back... it was inevitable. There was no choice. There was no recourse.
 

We had resigned ourselves to our fate since that day as there was no other choice open to us. So we tiptoed through the hours hoping for the best and preparing for the worst.

 

My stepfather was not a stupid man; it was difficult to get away with anything.

 

What most would consider a small minor infraction, he would consider a grievous sin. We tried, though, because, in the end, the punishment was always the same. Truth or lie, his fist came anyway.

 

My middle sister, crying and in pain, slowly climbed the stairs back to our room. Later that evening, I brought her some food without them knowing. We did that for each other depending on who was in trouble that day.
 

By this time, we girls were put up in the partially insulated attic with three cots (my youngest sister returned every second weekend) and a small dresser, nothing more. A four-bedroom house, three girls in an attic room. Stepbrother with his room, TV room and office aside from living room and large kitchen with dining area. no room for girls, it seemed.
 

I loved my stepbrother. He was six months younger than me and the closest thing to an ally I could ever get at that time.

 

Whenever he visited, it was a joyous time for me for two reasons, one I got to see my friend and stepbrother and two, he wouldn't hit us when my stepbrother was around.

 

I often thought over the years that perhaps that was a selfish reason for wanting him around simply for protection.
 

I did truly love him and we got along very well. Our particular brand of humour kept us smiling at times when we could.

 

But there was a marked difference between my stepbrother and us girls.

 

In the eyes of my stepfather and even my mother, we were considered lower class in the household hierarchy. The treatment of us and the treatment of my stepbrother were polar opposites. He could do no wrong.

 

Whenever there was a mistake made on his part, it was a minor setback, and punishment was minimal. Preferential treatment, his room and showing love when there was none for us.
 

I made a weak attempt once to talk to my stepbrother about what his father was doing but, from the expression on his face, I knew I couldn't utter another word.
 

Who wants to hear bad things about their father? So why should he feel shitty too? I chose not to burden him anymore with what was happening to us.
 

That was part of my anger. My rage at my stepfather and my anger at my mother. Sometimes more so for her for her failure to protect us and her unwillingness to deal with the truth as it was.
 

It finally dawned on me that it didn't matter how hard we tried, how much truth we gave or how much we catered to our parents. The fist would fly regardless.
 

Then came a new nasty engineered and designed for his amusement.

 

The new regime was:

 

Be naked,

 

Be bent over the bed

 

Wait for the steel buckle to connect with our bodies.
 

After that first time, walking was difficult. My back, my butt and the tops of my thighs were aching from being hit. When asked I would ignore the question or I would lie. But not always.
 

My rage was so great that there were times I just couldn't help opening my mouth. I opened it to the family...again. I opened it to the kids around me. Inevitably, I would go back to my shell again and lie. Now here was the stupid thing about telling others what was going on.

 

The moment the words came out of my mouth I felt like I was lying. Such was the control over my psyche that the man had. Truly made us believe that what we were telling others was made up in our heads but I knew better.
 

I never stopped knowing better, not for one second.

 

My stepfather continued to poke and pinch my growing chest All the while, pretending to hit me and pull away his fist at the last second, laughing the entire time.
 

Now he was doing it to my middle sister. There was no end to the humiliation.

 

My parents were gone more often than not by then. Almost every night they were out to one social event after another.

 

In some ways, it was better they were gone. A reprieve of a few hours. But then we were alone and what if we did something wrong? What if something went wrong?
 

Anything that happened they instantly looked to us as the perpetrator. Judge and Jury, no defence.

 

If they stayed home, they usually had company. They would play cards have drinks laugh at each other and play loud music. One night I dared to ask them to please turn the music down. A screaming tirade was the result. The only reason I did not get hit was because they had company.

 

Every few days we would be awakened in the night because of something he had found that was dirty. Usually, it was dishes.

 

He would find a dirty dish in the cupboard and then empty every cupboard in the kitchen and have us wash everything again before we went to bed.

 

But here's the catch and a little fun he'd like to have, we were only allowed to put three drops of dish soap in the water. God help you if you have a greasy dish.

 

He used to come up behind us and test the dishwater temperature with his finger. If it wasn't hot enough, we would each get a knuckle in the head and everything pulled out of the cupboards again.

 

One time he punched me so hard right in the nose, that I thought the blood would never stop falling. I remember staring at my shoes and seeing the blood pour. Red droplets redecorating them in what used to be a tan color.
 

I started to wonder again like I did at the age of five. I thought maybe death was better .

 

We were rail thin and had shadows around our eyes. We were overworked and exhausted. But, all through the years, this mantra played in my mind...

 


 

This will end... This will end... This will...end.

Author Notes This story will be part of an autobio I'm writing called "Ghost". This can be found in my portfolio. Feel free to read. Thank you to everyone who's read and supported me so far. I am more than greatful and more than anyone knows.

***Picture by Pinterest***


Chapter 9
Time

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Someone brought a bottle of champagne. That same someone popped the cork on that bottle and the deluge of my life came bursting through.
 
Like a wheel that turns, with each revolution, the turns get faster. I know that pen to paper has caused the specters of the past to linger looking for a crack in my shield.
But there is no help for it now, there is only my PC and it's calling...
 
*****************************

One thing about living in a small island community is that in early fall thick blankets of fog would roll in. So thick you couldn't see your hand in front of your face! I wanted a few things about living and isolated community that gave me peace.

I loved it.  It was my place to disappear.

In the fog, I always knew my way to the plum trees.  Sweet purple plums ripe on the branch. I could eat as many as I wanted in complete anonymity. 

I would pretend I was the invisible woman who stealthed around looking for bad guys. Such was my imagination. 

Of course, the fog would dissipate.  Much too soon for my liking, reality always came barreling back. 

Despair and the beginnings of severe depression had encroached upon me took and over my emotions. 

Feelings, when unexpressed, have to go somewhere and often times it's to the mood center which creates what is worse than sadness. Worse than the normal feeling you would have if a loved one had past away. 

It has no rhyme or reason. It is a deep, dark hole that I couldn't climb out of.  I was hanging on by a fingernail for dear life.  What I faced was myself.

I saw no happy ending, I saw no resolution. I saw no retribution or a way out.

For a couple of years, I lived without caring what happened to me. I took reckless chances and in those chances, any one of them should have killed me.

A man in a dirty car rolled up beside me and my friend. He asked us if we wanted some pop bottles.

I had no thought at that time and walked right towards him when my friend yelled out, "Run!", just as he was attempting to grab me. 

My friend was horrified.  Even more horrified by my lack of response, my lack of emotion and my lack of reaction. But I ran along beside her as if to say "What? What's going on?"

The man squealed off very fast in his car. Finally, it clicked and dawned on me that this man could very well have done bad things and ended our lives.

There was no need for me to puzzle out why I reacted this way. I knew the why of it. We went to my house and explained the incident to my parents. Unsurprisingly enough, they did nothing. My friend went home to her parents who made every move right to protect their child.

 

I remember I used to walk to this other man's place simply at an invitation. 

Underneath the overpass of the bridge, there was was an old cement building which had dilapidated apartments and in there were piles and piles of trash.

Hanging by a rope in the middle of the room was a pair of pink underwear.

It didn't occur to me to think that it was weird or rung  any warning bells in my head.  Instead, I offered to help him clean up.

I was aware of other children in the room.  2 or 3 of them if I remember correctly, poking through boxes just as I was.

Eventually, I stopped going there. Not because of anything that made me feel weird. I stopped because I just didn't care.

I have other memories...one in particular of a man who pulled me into a hedge and kept me there for I don't know how long.

He kept kissing me and I was grossed out by the amount of saliva on my face.  I found a way to sneak away from this person.

Again, I left because it was gross and not because of any fear I might have had or any instinct for self-preservation.

Reckless...except for fear, anger and sadness and I was emotionally dead...as well as very reckless.

I dragged myself through every day. Trudging along as if each step meant nothing as if each movement was only a tumbleweedin the wind.

No one took notice of the girl with the lost look on her face. Causing premature wrinkles around her young haunted eyes.

From the slowly moving pavement going past my shuffling feet I realized the sadness and desperation had abated and turned into something else.

Something familiar.

Something that made me stronger...anger. Once again my mind and heart filled with rage. The hurt, frustration and fury propped me up free of obstructruction. 

That stubbornness. that certain something that kept saying, "Fuck you!!" made me care about myself once again. 

Made me want to know who's in my life and who's leaving it! I push pulled and dragged myself back on my feet to fight once more.   Be damned the consequences!

*****************************
I looked up from my PC and realized my face was wet.  Not sad tears really, but tears of relief. The cork screw loose so I might breath.....at last.
 
 

Author Notes The story is part of a book an auto bio called "Ghost" . It is a work in progress not yet complete. But can my portfolio feel free to read if you wish, thank you for stopping in!

***Picture by Instagram***


Chapter 10
Hard Truths

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Today my face is covered in tears of sadness, trepidation, expectation and joy.
But I must be careful to remind myself not to have expectations.  They usually lead to disappointment.
That way anything good that happens can only be a bonus...
 
I ready myself for another trip down the hall of horrors....off we go... 
 
*****************************
Finally and at last I made it to junior high. All the way to grade 8.
I was able to go from one island to the other. To another school and maybe another chance.
The walk to school was almost five miles. At the time, it didn't occur to me to think about the differences between one school and the other either. I did, however, think of my stolen bike often during my walk.
I did not realize the true isolation of where we lived until I walked into that school. Kids of all ethnicities were there!
The only different people where we lived were my stepfather and my stepbrother. I gave no thought to that fact.
I was already suffering from culture shock. With the fact my mother was a European immigrant and my stepfather was an Asian immigrant in a small town in a Caucasian community in Canada.
It was there in that school I discovered a deep love for history. The older the better. I also found a deep love for reading. I would plough through books like a tractor through a muddy road.
These were places I could disappear to and imagine a world different than my own.
I'd dream up scenarios that would bring me there. An escape from what was around me.
At the end of grade eight, we finally moved off the island and moved into an area inland.
Our home was mostly surrounded by forest, and there were many trails through the forest.
To get to the nearest stores you had to go through the forest. Not something a person would want to do in the dark.
By this time I was babysitting as much as I could. For two reasons. First and foremost, to get out of the house with a valid reason to do so. And two because I abhorred these terrible, awful elephant pants my mother was trying to make me wear. I looked like a big red and orange checkered balloon!
I looked for another reason to get out of the house. Besides babysitting was sporadic after all.
So I went to my stepfather and tiptoed rather with trepidation because I never knew what kind of mood he would be in. I asked him "Could I join Army Cadets"? To my surprise, he said, "Yes".
But then he revealed his yes by saying, "You need more discipline." Whatever the reason, I didn't care. It was an opportunity for me to meet other people and not be under his thumb.

A day came when my sister and I were cleaning out the kitchen cupboards.
One chore on a large list of chores they assigned to us daily. Us girls did ninety-five percent of what was required in the home, laundry, dusting, vacuuming, dishes, cleaning, cupboards, cutting and raking the grass and serving as a punching bag.
In the cupboard was a basket and in that basket were sugar packets. One of the many things we are not allowed to have in the home. One of the things my stepfather stashed on his desk.
Groceries and other quick-eat foods were stashed in their room too. Always things we were not allowed to have.
I thought "Good, maybe I can have some sugar for my cereal".
I returned the basket to the cupboard and removed it from my mind.
That very night I went to Army Cadets. I listened to the sergeant yell at the top of his lungs and marched to the beat that they set for us.
When I returned home, my house was dark and unusually quiet. I walked in the door, hung my jacket on the hook, left my shoes on the landing.
I noticed one light coming from my parent's room. All other lights were out. I walked towards their room and through the door I looked left. I saw the man lying there reading a newspaper. He sat up and walked over to me and said in a calm voice, "Your sister tells me you've been at my desk, stealing sugar." I quickly responded, "No, I was ---" What seemed like lightning, his fist shot out slammed me in the head. My cranium bounced off the wall. Starburst...
Again a punch in the middle of my face and pain exploded across my cheeks, forehead and nose. Blood flew around the room while I was flailing my arms attempting to keep him from punching me.
I ran. I ran down the hall to the bathroom and barricaded myself in all the while yelling "I didn't touch your damn sugar!"
He kept trying to get into the bathroom. Kept saying he wanted to clean up my face. That he wasn't going to hit me anymore.
I didn't believe a word he said so I burst from the door, ran down the stairs and out the front door down the street and I ran.
Swift as fast as my feet could carry me until I could run no more I collapsed.
Down onto the ground gasping for air I found myself in the middle of the forest due to my instinct to hide.
Into the forest and under a tree off the beaten path I sat.
Finally, the ink-black darkness of the night started to fade and I could see the yellow leaves on the ground.
My head was pounding, my face was swelling and there was dried blood all over my face, the front of my shirt and my arms. Finally, the ink-black darkness of the night started to fade. I could see the yellow leaves on the path and knew I had to make a decision.
There was nowhere for me to go. There was no person to tell and no door that would open.
So I did the only thing I could do. I slowly made my way out of the forest and back onto the street where my house was and shuffled in fear down the road slowly because I knew what was probably waiting for me.
 
I can't blame my sister for saying i'm doing the thing she did.  She was trying to cope with the same circumstances of abuse and brutal humiliation that I was going through.
 
She thought if she could monitor the comings, goings and doings of the people in the house and report back to our parents, that she would be accepted and finally have the love, she so longed for.  Even if that information was extrapolation or simply made up. 
My stepfather's plan of pitting myself and her together was working.  
I was fourteen, she was 12.  All those things pitted us back-and-forth against each other.  Jealousy, misunderstanding out and out ratting of my comings and goings.
What's the name of the game in this competition between us?  Ask that man. He made it up, all designed by our stepfather playing a sadistic game of cat and mouse.
Every time he was in my face. I got the distinct impression that he wanted me to fight back.

The man was 10 times stronger than me and three times my size. What can a young girl do against that? Nothing, that's what.


**********************

It's late in the evening now my eyes are weary, my heart is heavy and yet my soul is light.
There must be some good that comes out of the life that I have lived. Some way of turning such darkness into light. I hope in this small way, I have done so....

Author Notes This chapter is part of an autobio I'm writing the called "Ghost". Please Feel free to read but also note it can be a hard read for some. Reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 11
The Great Lie

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Slowly, putting one foot in front of the other I made my way home.

Quaking in terror wondering what I was going home to.

My nose still hurt but my headache had subsided a little having been exposed to the warming sun.

I stopped and looked down at my shoes. I wondered if the blood splatter would disappear and just blend in with the other dirt spots.

I heard some cheerful chirping above so I looked up.

I could see birds borrowing shelves of air and singing their cherubic songs. 

How I wished I could've been part of that flock and be free. 

 

There was the door...that dreaded front door to which I must force my hand to reach out and turn the knob.

I finally thought "Well, if I'm going to get it again, I might as well get it over with."

The doorknob seemingly turned of its own accord before my hand reached the knob.

There he was standing inside the open front door. Startled and already jumpy, I stared at him with big moon eyes.

"Get in the bathroom and let me look at you," he said.

I complied. It's best to comply and save myself some grief.

I sat down on the toilet while he examined my nose he then took a cloth and ran it under warm water then began to wash my face.

He finished without saying a word about the incident. He examined my nose once again and decided that I looked normal enough.

"Wash yourself, put your dirty clothes in the laundry and get yourself something to eat." He said.

It didn't escape my notice that my mother wasn't home like she wasn't the night before.  Either that or she came home and left again. Who knows, I never know.

I can't just say that I have considered her a maternal figure or my mother very much at all by that time.

But, I have this faint hope clause within me that says "Maybe this time my mother will say or do something".

I decided to try one more time even if it meant I may be punished. I waited for her to come home. I asked her to come into the kitchen for a moment. I wanted to tell her about it so I looked her in the face. I said, "Mum, he punched me in the face last night. Hard enough to make my nose bleed".

She sighed and responded, "OK I'll talk to him". Days went by not a word was said for or against.

I approached her again and asked, "Did you talk to him?" She said, "Yes, he told me that if you hadn't ducked, you wouldn't have got a fist in your face."RIDICULOUS!!!"

That was the most outrageous and stupidest thing I ever heard!  I also knew in that instant that she was lying. 

She never said a word to him.   

I was devastated and hurt beyond words even though I knew it was a real possibility that she would disappoint me, the hurt was no less. 

One of the worst incidents between me and my stepfather and she betrayed me...again. She left me to to stare right into the eye of the wolf again.

I did not react in any way whatsoever to this realization. I just lined up all the lies in my head she told me, all the lies in my head he told me and all the false promises.

Like getting new bedroom suites if we kept our rooms clean.  That's crap...we've never had proper beds, why would they start now?

Our summer vacations were always the same. He'd make the same statement at the beginning of every summer, " This is not a vacation, this is work time.

But these were lesser things in the grand scheme of it all. I bear the scars of her betrayal every day. Both physically and emotionally.

It wasn't very long after this that a close family friend of my grandparents on my mother's side passed away.

We didn't get to see a lot of family members for obvious reasons but at the funeral, I could do so.

I talked with many relatives.  Talked about our family and friends and commiserated with the pain of losing a loved one.

My Aunt bless her soul, the one who gave me real clothes to wear, took me aside to speak to me.

"I think you should know what your mother's been saying," she paused and looked me in the face. "She's saying that you girls are mentally disturbed and are suffering from false memory syndrome. Pay no attention to any stories they may tell you."

Oh, the fury. Oh, the bone-shaking fury!

If it wasn't enough to deal with the physical and emotional abuse. Now we had to deal with the false reputations our parents gave us.  I could not stop my limbs from quivering or my mouth from falling open and uttering the words I tried so vainly to keep to myself.  I clapped the hand over my mouth and strode out of the church, out the front door and into the parking lot.

I took many gulps of air to control my anger. I could feel despair welling up inside of me but the fury held me up one more time and stiffened my back with a sure belief that I would never let them beat me.

***********************
My fists clench and my fingernails create crescent moons across my palms. Then I remember...I'm not in that life anymore.
Relax.....relax. Put up my feet...and remember...

Author Notes The story is part of a book I'm writing called "Ghost" an auto bio of the life of abused children. I caution you, it's a hard read, but things must be said. Feel free to peruse my book and the chapters within at any time. I thank you for visiting and reading.
***Picture by Pinterest***


Chapter 12
Secrets

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

As my heart, my mind, and my bones begin to release with each telling, I begin to understand so much more...
 
Sensitivity and hypervigilance stood me well in answering some mysteries and secrets of the family.  There are connecting dots a plenty.
So I write...and contemplate. 
*****************************

My mind continuously spins like a top. Responding to all the cues, all the signs. The changes in the air, the slight noises no one else can hear. The air was thick like pea soup. I could measure the negativity by the thickness of it.  The hurricane of thoughts jostling for position in my head.

I analyzed every move I made, analyzed every move they made and analyzed those in my family too.  To my surprise and not a surprise, I made some horrifying revelations in a sideways fashion.

I just couldn't understand why we had to be so different from every other family. We'd see happy kids all around going places, doing things, and having friends. Wonder why we couldn't have those things. Why couldn't we be happy and peaceful and live without fear? 

Again with the why.

Casting my mind back a couple of days. I find myself standing on the front lawn at the bottom of the cement stairs staring up at the man.

"Get your ass in here you little witch!" 

He often called my sisters and myself degrading names.  He didn't mind expressing his opinion on how useless he thought we were either.

I knew when I walked by him in that open front door he was going to punch me.

Thickness in the air and the blackness of his eyes, I knew it.

My mind sang warnings repeatedly like I didn't know. 

Stars and the whip snap of pain exploded in my head and shot down my neck.  The rage I can hardly contain also spread through me. I trembled in the effort to control myself. 

I was caught skipping out of school.

Yes, my only excuse for that was wanting a little bit of fun in between being a student and being nothing in the eyes of my parents.

He had me work hard around the house and outside of it. No food and a couple of extra lumps for my trouble.

My sister brought me food as we always have done.

My stepfather developed a new routine. Coming home from work, he would see us and he would say.

"Well? What did you do today? He expected a list of chores that he had given to be completed.

Well, I was fed up with a lot of things in those days. This one is not excluded.

If he didn't get his list the tirade would begin. Heads would roll. 

I'd spent the day working as he had bid me to do while I was not at school.

I thought, "He couldn't see anything around him? I did nothing? Can't you tell around you that everything was done?"

All the pent-up anger, all the hurt, all the frustration and injustice of it exploded out of my mouth.  "Nothing! I just work here! I suppose you're mad now and you want me to go to bed without supper right?!"

Thunder moved across his brow and I knew I was in for it.

I knew I'd better be swift for I was going to get it again so I ran. I thought for sure he was following me so he could reshape my skull!

A pot can only boil for so long before the lid pops off. Such was my fury.

I ran down the street and through the forest again.  This time I ran all the way through until I found myself on the street in front of a store, a small mall just down the hill.

I bent down on my knees breathing fast for a few minutes before I walked over to a bench and sat down. 

My mind turned to what was next, what would be my next move? I wasn't sure.

I couldn't go back there.

I couldn't face more of the same.  I'd had enough. I was finished. I knew it and I knew that if it went on, one of us was going to die.

So I did the only thing I could do.  The only move I could make besides going back there. 

I had a little bit of money in my pocket from babysitting so I walked down the hill to the mall and into a department store. 

Inside, I bought a small pup tent, and sleeping bag and spent the remainder (minus bus fare) on food. For the half-hour ride on the bus, I tried to relax as best as I could and looked out the window at the hazy mountains in the distance. My fingers fidgeted and my knees bounced until my destination came.

I had ridden as far as my bus fare would take me and ended up standing in front of a large park, a big swatch of forest on the outskirts of a neighbouring city.

Going into its green arms seemed less frightening than the place I'd come from. 

I started down the dark path.

After a while, I jumped off the forest path and into the forest...

 

For the next 6 months, I lived in that forest, in that small tent, stealing food from a grocery store...better.

***********************
I rubbed my hands over my eyes and across my face. A weary brain drained for the day.
It's not a bad thing. Just like the tears, not a bad thing anymore. When it heads toward peace.
 
Not a bad thing...Not ever again.

Author Notes This story is part of an ongoing project on a auto bio I'm writing called "Ghost". Can be found on my portfolio if you'd like to read. Thank you everyone for reading. As this is not an easy read and can't be at times disturbing reader discretion definitely advised..


Chapter 13
The forest Cradle

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Casting my mind back to the memories that stir, wrestle and push, I must order my thoughts and at the same time maintain a certain distance as if I were watching a movie.
I cannot help but feel for the girl I was.
So far I had learned that adults could not be trusted.  Especially parental figures.
I learned there was no such thing as love, faith or hope.  That all was betrayal and that survival was the only gift I could give myself.
I learned what not to do, not necessarily what TO do. I carried on my forest life until I couldn't anymore.
Life outside of the home I knew was like stumbling around in the dark. Scarier than any tent in a forest by far.
Scarier than any person could be...except him. 
The girl in the forest...shall we go?
*****************************

It was getting dark, the bushes and branches were snapping back in my face and arms.  It was a little chilly. It was early spring after all.  At least I knew the summer months were coming, I had a little bit of time.

I walked for another twenty minutes and found a spot far enough off the beaten path that no one could see or hear me. I set up the small tent under the boughs of a cedar tree thinking it would protect me a bit from the elements.  I learned map and compass as well as survival techniques while deployed in the Army Cadets. 

I began to practice what I knew by setting up what they called a "Hoochie". A shelter made from raincoats and other waterproof materials. I also learned how to make fire with minimal fuel and under wet conditions.

I cheated a bit and bought a lighter. I also had some paper from what I bought at the store.  I made a fire and then began to create a perimeter which was another Army-created task. The perimeter is designed to make noise when touched should anyone come near.  I was used to listening to sounds in the night.  And listen I did.

It didn't take long to set it up.  I was smart enough to bring water in with me but not smart enough to bring anything to cook with.

I knew I would have to find some sort of supplies soon even just a pot and a spoon would do for now. But I had limited resources. Very little money. The only thing I knew how to do was work hard.

But no one would hire me at my age. I was too young. All I could do was babysit and that was out given my circumstances.

I let the fire burn low while I considered many wacky things that could be done even the ridiculous ones crossed my mind, but every one of them required risk. 

I could tell no one who I was or where I was. That was my conviction at that time. They would just send me back and I wasn't going back.

I was so exhausted, My face was covered in tears, dirt and the Ding Dong I had just eaten.

The warmth of the fire was causing me to nod.  So I put it out and looked over at my pup tent.  The thought occurred to me that any noise I heard that night would not be coming from "him" but from the singing forest all around me. 

A sigh escaped me as I crawled in.  The ground was hard but I just didn't care. 

I wanted to rest. I just wanted to turn my mind off. I wanted to forget that this was my life.

My sister flashed across my mind as I drifted off. I thought, "I'm going to go get her just as soon as I can..."

 

Morning found me curled in a ball in my tent.  I was cold but I had rested. 

I took some of the water and splashed my face. Ran my fingers through my hair to try and get out some of the tangles. I concluded that I was not going to get any more presentable than I was at that very moment.

I ate another ding dong drank a little bit of water, and sat down to think again about what to do next. 

I had two friends in the whole world. One I met in Army Cadets and the other was in the same school as me. We were the three amigos. They were close to me or as close as I would allow them to be.

We made up silly jokes together and did practical jokes on the clerk in the Tim Hortons.

We would take the sugar dispenser screw off the top lid. Then take a paper towel, and put it on top. Gently turn it over with the paper towel underneath. Then replace the lid on the bottom of the dispenser. It looked like a completely normal sugar dispenser until the clerk came along and lifted it, boof!  Sugar everywhere!   These were my two friends...they didn't know a lot about my situation so I was going to have to swear them to secrecy and tell the truth...all of it if I wanted their help. I didn't want them to think less of me because of my family. In my situation, I was used to people looking down on me because I wasn't the same as everyone else. I didn't wear the same clothes or behave the same way.

I didn't want my friends to look at me like that.  It would crush me.  But it was a chance I had to take.  I got up and walked out of the bush...

***********************
Rubbing my eyes I leaned back from my PC and looked down at what I'd written. Things got worse before they got better. But it's the battle I have to fight. There's no way around it. There's no way to put it on a shelf...
 
I fight the last fight now and then I will close the book and permit myself to live....

Author Notes This is part of an auto bio. I'm writing called "Ghost" which is currently in my portfolio. Feel free to peruse and read if you wish. Note that it is a unfinished book as of yet, and it's a work in progress.Thank you every one for reading!
*** This story contains disturbing contents reader discretion is advised***


Chapter 14
The Risk

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

My PC calls to me again...a silent whir of impatience coming from behind the screen.
The unstoppable wave of memory is pouring through and there's no choice but to write.
So I sit here negotiating with despair saying "There's no place for you here now."
 
The fog clears...cursor blinks.  Saddle up...another rodeo begins.
 
*****************************

I peeked out from behind the trunk of a large tree and looked down both sides of the pathway.  I saw no one. I jumped out of the bush and brushed myself off. 

I raked my fingers through my hair, took a deep breath and prepared myself to walk out of the forest to the nearest phone booth.

I rehearsed in my mind what I was going to say and how I was going to say it a hundred times and never sounded right.

I didn't want to sound like a whiny, crybaby. But at the same, I didn't want to sound like I had all the answers either...I don't.

I was afraid of not being believed again or looked at as if I had some kind of mental illness.

On shaky legs I continued the walk, familiar clean smells of the forest around me.

It wasn't too long before I saw a phone booth sitting on the street corner in front of a store.

I juggled in my mind as to which friend was likely to be home. It was a coin toss but I couldn't spare the coin.

I dialed...a woman answered and I asked to speak to my friend.  "Sure Lea," she said.

Quickly, my friend came to the phone. " Where are you man, your Dad just keeps saying you're out." "I am out. Just not where you think" I said tiredly.  "Can you pick up our mutual friend and meet me at the park?  It's important."

I told him which park I was at and to meet me at the main entrance. "One more favor? Can you please bring something to eat? Maybe a drink?" "Sure," He said.  "He's not home until five. We'll come after. Sure you don't wanna tell me what's up?" "When you get here...hey...thank you."  I hung up and breathed a sigh of nervousness.  Now comes the hard part...being vulnerable once again. I had some time to think on the way back. 

I tossed around ideas like; keep walking east until I can't walk anymore.  Lie about my age so I could work.  Panhandle. 

Perhaps better just to lie low and stay where I am for a while.  I reached the park entrance sat down on a log and waited for my two friends. I leaned back to sip the air and get a taste of the cleanliness and freedom of it.

The whisper of pine needles and the pungent scent carried with them cleaned my senses. I slowly turned my mind back to the job at hand.

While rehashing ideas in my mind, I saw a black blur whizz by my head. Instantly I cowered, threw my arms up over my head, bowed my back and then I realized.

It was a large black bird....just a stupid fucken bird and I was a puddle!

Fury raged inside of me angry tears rolling down.  Mad at myself that I was so easily frightened! Angry also at the need to hide.

I couldn't go back, I'll never go back and I couldn't spend my life cowering from every movement around me!

Dusk was beginning to surround me. Forest arms reached out to caress me welcoming me back to the cradle.  Finally, I saw my two friends rounding the corner of the park entrance and in their hands was a pizza and a six-pack of pop.  My stomach rolled and growled just at the sight.

 

"Hi, guys.  Follow me."

 
***********************
Grainy eyes...like a pound of sand got dumped in them.  I picked up my pomeranian and began to scratch her ears...
My one friend who is always glad to see me. No matter what I've done or said...
 
That's my girl...
 

Author Notes This story is part of an ongoing auto bio I'm writing called "Ghost" which is located on my portfolio. Feel free to read with a cautionary note some parts are hard to read. Reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 15
Reveal

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Exhaustion... I feel some of that. Maybe not so much mentally. I think it's more about old emotions. 
I keep the ring tight while I'm writing but still allow the feelings to guide my pen. 
It's a balance really like anything in life...balance  A strong realization has hit me over the last little while. 
I was wrong. 
When the well spring sprung I thought for certain it would turn out bad.  There are people behind me now offering support, rooting me on. 
Giving me the gift of belief. 
 
Let the healing begin...
 
*****************************

A scream.  The loudest scream I ever heard and it's coming from me.

I clamped my hand over my mouth. My heart thundering in my chest while outwardly I listened for sounds. Nothing...just the slam and bang of my heart.  Having dredged up all of that poison and spewed it out around the campfire, the nightmares showed no mercy.
I waited for that look in their eyes that I was sure my two friends would give.  The one that says, "You're fucked".  After all that was on tap since the day I was born!
I looked into the faces of my two friends reluctantly raising my eyes to theirs.
What greeted me was not the look of disgust.  Instead, I beheld one face almost purple with fury and the other, sorrow.
"Dude, we should go over with some buddies and show that fuck what pain is!"
 My two friends looked at each other in agreement that must be the solution.  
 
" Thanks, guys I'm just glad you believe me," I said
 
"We knew something was up. Just didn't think it was this!" My sad friend (S) confessed.
 
" Promise me you guys won't do something stupid and go over there and make a scene. He has a nasty temper and that'll just make things worse." 
 
"Ok well, maybe we can talk to my parents. Maybe they can help."  My mad friend (M) got up and started to pace around.
"NO!!" I yelled.  "I'm sorry.  You can't do that.  You can't tell anyone promise me!  They'll send me back!  I can't go back there...I can't!" Sobs ripped unwillingly out of my mouth. 
S looked up and asked, "What can we do?  You just gonna live here?"
 
"I don't know yet...something. I do have a favour to ask though..." looking a little embarrassed. 
 
"Shoot," they said in unison.
 
"I could sure use some food. Maybe an air mattress, something to cook with?" I asked.
 
S picked up a bit, feeling better knowing that there was something he could do.
 
"Fer sure, I'll go in the garage and see what camping gear I can grab without the old folks knowing."
 
M too, didn't look like a purple plum anymore. Starting to calm down now that he had a mission in mind. At least that was my assumption.
 
" I can get you some food.  I can't take too much though. My Dad's got an eagle eye on everything. But man we gotta hit the trail or they'll ground me. Let's roll." M replied.
 
"Thanks, guys, thanks for not thinking I'm a freak and thanks for helping me out.  I won't forget."
My two friends waved goodbye saying," We'll be back on Saturday."
 
It's pitch black outside. Just as black inside my tent.  I knew the man wasn't there and yet my body was set for flight regardless.
I could still see that fist coming down towards my face and in my nightmare, the fist was 10 times bigger.  I tried to sleep more but every time I closed my eyes, red was all I saw. I realized I could see my hands in front. 
Light comes to chase the nightmares away.
Saturday they said. That's three days away!  Food was my immediate concern.  There was exactly one piece of pizza left in the box. I had one Ding Dong and a 1/2 container of water. Without money, there is only one thing to do... I have to steal it. 
One look on my face they would know.  No poker face here and not something I could take a practice run at. I munched on my cold piece of pizza slowly. Cause I knew that when it was done I would have to take action.
Reluctantly But there is no choice. 
Choices are for those who've never known fear.  It's the great debilitator.
Is what I'm doing the right thing to do? Are there any choices? Am I now set on the path I just made for myself? Whatever that may be, I hope it's better.  This can't be all that life is. Hard, unforgiving cruel?  Hell...what do I know? Only what's behind me...forward I go...watching for trip hazards with every step...
 
*****************************
What if unloading pain was a diet? I would've lost half my weight by now and dropping fast.
The memories line up in my mind in order one by one.  The emotional baggage train just behind them.  
 
We cannot stop the train from rolling. It will roll regardless dropping rail cars along the way....

Author Notes This story is part of an ongoing auto bio I'm writing called "Ghost". It's a work in progress but feel free to read. It's in my portfolio.
A special thank you to everyone for reading along and bearing with me. It is a tough read and reader discretion is definitely advised.


Chapter 16
A Little Unsteady

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Since these traumas began to flow out from me and into legible text, the rest seem to want to rush their way out.
Kind of like unplugging the kitchen drain.
I devote most of my time now to letting it flow.  But careful control is needed.
Tears? Yes
Anxiety? Yes
Anger? Yes
Sadness? Yes
Pain?  Yes
 
Remedy?  Write?.....YES!
 
Let's open that door again and go back in time to the forest and the young girl.
Let's show her the door shall we?
 
*****************************

I peeked around the corner looking at the receiving bay doors of the grocery store.  Since I had the world's shittiest poker face, I thought this would be my best bet.

The forest's growth came right up to the parking lot of the grocery store and for me, that's a bonus as a quick escape may be required.

I waited... I waited until the driver and the receiver were engaged in paperwork. I slipped around the corner and quickly walked down to the bay doors staying close to the cement wall as I went.

The truck had pulled ahead about three feet from the bay door and yet the bay door was still wide open. Not general practice I'm sure.

I slipped behind the truck and hopped up onto the bay door landing. I could see a warehouse full of pallets and on each pallet was a different type of food or sundry.

I pulled the hood of my jacket up over my head and pulled the drawstring on my waist.

Even then it occurred to me that there might be a camera.

Had to be quick so I zeroed in on one pallet...Alfa Ghetti's. I ran over stuck my hand through the shrink wrap grabbed as many cans as I could and as quickly as I could. I stuffed my jacket with as much as I could carry.

I ran, then jumped out the load bay door and sprinted as quickly as I could for the forest.

I kept running until I reached the turn-off to my campsite. I thought my heart was going to explode so great was my fright! Back to my site, I sat down on a log and dropped all the cans onto the forest floor.

My heart began to slow and I thought to myself, "I can't do this all the time.  At least not the warehouse way."

I looked down at the cans lying on a pile of pine needles and started lining them up.  Twenty-one cans.  A haul.

No wonder my torso felt like it had gone through the spin cycle on a washing machine!

I had enough cans now to get me to Saturday when my friends showed up. 

Three cans a day for three days and I'd still have half the pile left.  Good...my heart was not up for another run.

One minor setback... How was I going to get the cans open? I started looking for one sharp and one blunt rock.

Around twenty feet past the perimeter, I found a small pile of slate and around it was the more common rock, granite.

It didn't look natural so I thought someone at some point must have dumped these rocks here.  All the better for me.

I selected a rock that fit my hand then I selected a few slate rocks that I thought might be sharp enough to cut through the tin.

Sitting down I put a can between my feet. Pulled the sleeve down on my jacket enough to cover my hand.

The granite in one and the slate in the other. I started to hammer the slate into the top of the can. Of course, you can go through a few of those when you're trying to get into a tin can as it is not the most solid of rocks out there. I concentrated my hits on one side of the can and finally, a corner of it was free.

I was so hungry I couldn't wait to get the rest of the top open.  I upended the can and let the contents pour into and put of my mouth.

I gulped the Alpha Ghetti's quickly spitting out little pieces of slate and orange sauce as I did. Then sat for a few moments letting my tummy settle and take the terrible hunger pains away.  Although better, one can just wasn't enough so I started a small fire.

I took my time with the second can careful not to leave so many slate pieces inside.

I was able to remove the entire lid except for one tiny corner so I could manipulate it like the lid on a pot.

I put the can on a small bed of coals and watched the label catch fire while I blew the ashes away. This time I ate slower. I wasn't so frantic that I couldn't take my time and enjoy the food in my mouth. Setting aside the can, I leaned back in the log, stretching my hand across my tummy, a small crooked grin of satisfaction even at the guilt of having stolen, crept over my mouth.

Gazing at the top of the canopy. I could see the tips of the mountains in the distance covered in white as if the clouds draped their white blankets over the peaks to warm the land with its cottony breath.

Quiet, peaceful with the occasional bird melody singing to the sky, I slowly drifted off....

 
***********************
I remember these small moments of peace. Like little jewels along the way. So precious and quick that I almost missed them. 
My little pomeranian is looking at me with that funny little grin she always has.
Her big blue Marty Feldman eyes gazed up with questioning.  
 
Walk?  OK...let's walk.

Author Notes This story is part of an ongoing auto bio I'm writing called "Ghost". It can be found in my portfolio and is open for anyone to read. Thank you everyone for coming on this journey with me. Although difficult at times it is a necessary one, please read at your discretion.
***Photo by IStock***


Chapter 17
Orange Cleanse

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

I cracked my eyes open and rubbed the sleep from them, I looked over at my phone at 5:05 AM.  A little pink tongue flashed out and "Bloop!" was right on my eyeball! 
My little dog...she needs to pee.  Opening the door she shot out while I strolled onto the landing.
I gazed upward and noticed the night was still dancing with the day but the day always wins so I stood back and watched their Cha Cha.
My mind returns to the stewpot of memories.  The child in me starts lining them up like a little Napolean. I know if I turn and look at my PC the cursor will blink and call on me again.  Inside I drifted and made some coffee. 
I did a temperature check and gauged how I was feeling physically and emotionally when I realized the large weight I carried wasn't so large anymore. 
I finally found the avenue in which to combat all that was to be present in all that will be. 
It's time to go now...she waits...
*****************************

Splash...right on my forehead which then proceeded to run down my neck. 

Well, seems I'd fallen asleep, and now it's beginning to rain. The fire had burned low and yet the empty can of Alpha Ghetti still sat alongside the other like two little sentinels.

I'm in rainforest country and in rainforest country, it rains. Mostly drizzle from October until May and that's the weather.  That day was a little bit different.

I watched those black pregnant clouds roll in ready to give birth to a waterfall.

I pulled the two cans into a more open area along with my water jug. Just as the clouds began to open up, all those watery kids seemed to fall at once. 

I always thought that if it's going to rain, do it right. Let it pour, never mind all that drizzle.

So this time it answered and pour it did. 

I stood in the deluge letting the water run down my face into my hair and then soak my clothes.

It was so much better than being sticky and dirty. I'd been wearing the same shirt and pants for the last several days.

I was sure my pants could have stood up by themselves!  

The cans filled up quickly with water so I poured them into my jug and set them back to fill again.

The downpour felt so good. I just kept running my hands over my face and threw my hair shaking my head occasionally. As fast as those downpours roll in, they fade just as quickly.

But it was enough. Enough to get some water and to feel a little bit cleaner.

Squish squish squish was the song of my shoes as they met the wet earth. I walked over to my tent hoping it was unscathed from that very intense and fast downpour.  I looked inside and I could see that the seams and the corners of the tent were wet and it had soaked the edges of my sleeping bag all the way around. 

There was nothing to do about it except try to get dry.  In a world that's completely soaked and a fire pit full of water comes the challenging task of trying to dry out.

I went in search of some white Birch tree bark just as the sun peeked out from behind lighter clouds.

Birch tree bark is highly flammable and can be set off with a spark. I found a stand of white Birch trees about a 15-minute walk from my camp.  I opted for the longer strip toward the bottom of the trunk. They seem to be the driest but still viable.

Walking back through the bush towards my campsite, I could see puddles of water pooling together collected from the deluge.

Those little ponds exposed their diamond bellies to the sun cheekily showing off their wares.

Returning to camp, I looked at the water-filled hollow I had created for my campfire and decided it was best to just fill in the hole and create a new hollow.

A couple of sticks and a flat piece of bark and I had a new hollow. I ripped off some labels from my Alpha Ghetti cans scrunched them up in my hands and threw a couple into the pit.

On top of that went my Birch bark, inside face pointing down.  Out came my lighter, a small flame to the label. Within less than a minute, the Birch bark was engulfed in flames.

On top, some twigs and then slightly larger damp branches all burned well as Birch bark tended to stay burning for longer than your average piece of bark.

I spread out my sleeping bag on the branches of a nearby tree and pulled my little pup tent closer, but not too close, to the fire to dry out.

I was feeling very grateful that I had learned the skills I did from Army Cadets. I also knew how to fire a rifle, although I did not have one.

After a short amount of time, I could see my sleeping bag and my tent steaming in the sun and from the warmth of the fire. I knew it wouldn't take long and that I must pay close attention. Temperature is a pretty tough thing to control when having a fire. A couple of hours later, I was dry again alongside my tent and my sleeping bag. Mission accomplished.

I banged out the tin lid of another can of Alpha Ghetti then placed it on some hot coals. 

Soon it was down the hatch.  I used a little bit of water to splash some on my face and quickly wash my hands. I don't want to go to bed with orange sticky fingers.

A couple of hours passed and the dust rolled in to tickle my hair causing goose bumps over my arms so I put on my jacket. I heard in the distance some screaming, then yelling, laughter and loud music. All sounds of a party.

My curiosity began to outweigh my fear of who was out there so I walked towards the sounds just so I could see what was going on. 

It took a while to get there because sound makes things seem closer than they are. I followed the sounds for sometime making the odd incorrect turn. The echoes bounced off of different trees which changed my direction. Eventually, though I could see a large bonfire through the tree's flickering light and the smell of burning wood. People dancing to the sounds of music, alcohol being consumed by all.

I crept closer, and set aside some smaller branches to get a better look.  Peering out through the crowd and watching them have fun together made me feel lonely. Hell, I could feel lonely in the middle of a crowd.

One, especially drunk young man staggered towards my hiding spot and proceeded to pull out his wizzer for a pee. He saw me though, peeking out from behind the leaves when our eyes, met.

"Hey, man! Who the fuck is that!" I burst from the bush, made a quick 180 and ran down into the forest.  Sounds of pursuit. I heard some of them crashing through the forest.

They were like demolition trucks on a city block rather than the silent padding of a wild animal. A quick decision saw me throwing myself into another batch of bushes, laying down in the mud and smearing all over my face and hands.  Tough to see white skin when it's covered like that... Here I wait now in the cowering bushes for the sounds to fade and the green light to leave.  No party for Bonzo tonight...fine by me.

*****************************
I often wonder how I got through some of these things without suffering some sort of repercussion. But I suppose everyone deserves some good luck sometimes...
My turn to cook today and I believe that a fine meal is in order... A little magic to go into dinner, just like the little magic I'm receiving today. 
 
There are no words...

Author Notes This story is part of an ongoing auto bio I'm writing called "Ghost" It can be found in my portfolio. Feel free to read whenever you wish, please also note this can be hard to read, so reader discretion is definitely advised.


Chapter 18
All Good Things

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

I'm sitting in my small space.
In a room attached to a house in a quiet neighbourhood.  Although my family has taken everything I have, I still will not bend...
Courage, strength, and ability to see within. It comes from the people who support me and believe in me. 
When it's something you've never had, it's a gift beyond words.
I, at times, am filled with gratitude!  When one goes through life, having never believed at this age and this stage of my life, that it is still possible and has happened, blows me away.
 
So it's me and my dog grinning like village idiots.
I give her raspberries, she kicks me in the face, LOL
 
Gotta love that dog...
*****************************

The snapping sounds began to fade away. It was completely dark. I could see nothing but I could hear and so much better than most.

I waited until no more crackling or snapping could be heard then quietly released myself from the bush. 

It took some time to find my way back to my campsite as quiet was required until I was far enough away that they'd have to have bionic ears!

Relieved to be back, I stirred up the coals added wood and started to brush the mud off my pants and face.

My friends returned Saturday much to my relief bearing gifts.

My sigh was palpable and registered in their ears.

" Man you look like shit," they said in unison.

"Yeah well, there's not a lot of showers out here you know." I smiled happy to see them.

M passed me over a pair of pants, a T-shirt, a toothbrush and toothpaste.

Bonus! A clean toothbrush! I've never been so happy in my life to see a toothbrush!

Wow, the things we take for granted!

"These are my sister's, but she won't notice.  She's got way too many clothes piled up all over her room."

S silently handed me over a bag and inside was a box of puffed wheat, a loaf of bread, eggs, milk, a couple of cans of stew, a few apples, two pieces of fried chicken and a pan with a spatula. Under his arm, he carried a rolled-up piece of foam.

My eyes filled up with tears of gratitude surprising myself but they were there regardless.

"Thanks guys," I said.  "I appreciate this.  Bright orange Alpha Ghetti Poo is getting old."

They both scrunched their noses while my mad friend lifted his leg and farted. That was his usual way of announcing his presence!

S asked me again. "So what are you gonna do? You can't stay here forever. I mean, there's no family you can turn to I guess. Anyone who can take you in?"

I have been worrying over that very thing like a dog with a bone.

Not because I thought they would look for me. I knew they wouldn't. More about getting sent back.

Most kids that ran away didn't last much more than twenty-four hours. I'd spent 6 weeks in Army Boot Camp. Camping out here was a breeze. As long as the weather held out that is. Considering the alternative this was paradise.

I gave him a sardonic look which required no words.  He knew already.

"I think I'll hang out as long as the weather is good and figure it out then. Honestly, I don't know really, but something." I answered.

"One more month or so, schools out. We'll be able to hang out more and do stuff together. You won't be by yourself so much, but keep your thinking cap on girl. My folks will start noticing stuff missing. Shit'll hit the fan" M said.

I felt a bit of shame because I knew I was asking a lot of them and it could potentially get them in trouble all because of me. 

I wanted to turn off my mind for a little while. Get off the train for a few. Forget for just a bit.

"Guys let's hang by the fire...you can tell me what's going in the world.  A sort of who's who and what's what." I couldn't ask them the obvious questions. I figured I would just lead into it and see what they had to say. I prepped myself for the usual emotional BS that comes from finding out what I already know.  My parents just don't give a damn.  My mental middle finger came up again. Feel the love...

*****************************
Balance...always the balance. The yin and the yang, the push and the shove, the give and take, the action and reaction...always the balance.
That's what it is to feel the event and yet act as the observer too.  The balance...
I looked up again from my computer and around my small room.  It's not much, but it's safe and it's mine.
And my little dog too.

Author Notes The story is part of an ongoing auto bio called "Ghost." It can be found in my portfolio. Feel free to read at any time if you wish
A comment for content. It can be disturbing to read. Reader discretion is advised.
***Photo by Shutterstock***


Chapter 19
Old Revelations

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

There are no shortcuts when it comes to writing. No alleyways, no back doors and no excuses.
My fellow writers, whom I consider mentors, guide me and remind me...leave no stone unturned.  That's the thought I had when I first opened my eyes. 
The silent clock face proudly showed the time gazing at me inquiringly as if to say, "Well? What are you laying around for?"
Coffee...the nectar of the gods brewed pleasantly on the counter. 
My mind started to spin with words clambering for position.   
 
"Hello computer,  shall we?"
 
*****************************

"Nobody's said shit. A couple of kids asked. We just said you might've moved." S remarked. "Heard squat about your parents though."

"Maybe call there and ask for me. Throw off any suspicion from you guys...see what they say. I'm not expecting much but...you never know." I said. "Perhaps ask about sister in a roundabout way?"

My two friends agreed.

We spent the afternoon together chatting about small things, gossip from school, have you seen so and so and joked about a substitute Teacher named Mr. Seimans...that was an interesting chuckle. 

That was what I needed at the time. Some semblance of normal, something every day and some laughter.

 
"Yo girl were out.  Be back next Saturday need anything? Food of course?"
M asked.
 
"A book?" I asked.
 
"A book..." M said.
 
"Ya..." I answered.
 
"Yer weird...who reads books man." M said with a smile. 
 

"Be back Saturday." S said.  Off they went, hands jammed deep in their pockets.

A week is a long time away.  I knew I'd have to go out for food soon.

I dreaded it every time and this time was no different.

On this particular occasion, a new approach was required. I washed myself as best as I could trying to look more like a customer rather than Raggedy Ann.

I approached the grocery store from the front and picked out a cart just as everyone else did.

I walked at the same rate as everyone else and blended in as best as I could. I had to force myself to slow down, not pick up the pace and zip through the aisles.

I didn't want to spend a lot of time browsing either. I had in my head what I needed to get and made a beeline for it with as normal a pace as possible. The last thing I needed was someone looking at me.

Three things I couldn't control. Trembling hands, slamming hearts and other people.

I walked through the aisles and placed a few items in the cart like eggs, milk, bread...staples.  As much as I would have liked to cruise the junk food aisle I resisted.  Too much time in the store is also not good. Get in, get out. While putting a jar of peanuts in, I went through my exit route.

Draw no attention is my best bet obviously but, IF I drew attention, I needed a path of least resistance.  The cart will not go through the bushes as I do so I drew the drawstring in my coat snug around my waist.

I shopped my way towards the bakery which happened to be close to the doors. One eye on the doors, one eye on shoppers and the baker I waited for my moment.

A clear path.  No eyes on me and as calmly as I could, I pushed the cart out the door. I pushed it steadily along the front of the building, my eyes fixed on the corner thinking that I was okay once I rounded it.  WRONG!

Around the corner, I went smack dab into a Clerk gathering up the cart.

He took one look at me and my items and said. "Miss, do you need some bags?" His open expression quickly turned to suspicion.

He flicked his eyes over my face and back down to the cart.  My reaction had me flash-push that cart as quickly as it could go to the exit and out of the parking lot. 

Down the sidewalk along the park, I ran to the nearest entrance my cart leading the way.

The clerk gave chase but gave up after a block. I was fast, he was chubby.

Pushing the car up a sometimes muddy path. I got it as close to my turn-off as possible. I dragged that cart into the bush a few feet, emptied the contents and then buried the cart under tree boughs, branches and forest floor debris. I stuffed my coat and pocket with as much as I could and carried the rest. There it was my little campsite once. The adrenaline rush having slowly dissipated from my system, left me weak kneed.

I sat down dumping the contents of my jacket and grabbed the carton of milk. I opened the top and chugged back as much as I could then sat with my head between my knees and waited for the quivers to finally cease.

I thought to myself, "There has got to be a better way." If I was old I'd have had ten heart attacks by now! I lifted my head and gazed at the pine and poplar trees.

The pine trees wiggling their green fingers, and the poplar leaves spinning like ballerinas helped return my heart to a normal rhythm.

"Ok," I thought..."Time to get this show on the road...."

***********************
 
I looked up and noticed that the time had got up and ran away.
I also noticed that when I get into writing, time has no meaning.
We are so limited when it comes to time. One linear plane, yesterday, today, and tomorrow.  Our corporeal lives are a ring in a tree, a ripple in a pond, a day in class and the bell rings at three......
 

Author Notes This story is part of an ongoing auto bio called "Ghost" and can be found in my portfolio. Should you wish to read feel free. Caution, some of it is difficult and therefore reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 20
Tightrope

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Laying back on my bed with my little dog at my feet trying to reorganize my thoughts into the chain of events that led to my exit from the forest.  But to do Justice to the thing all must be told....
 
My mind slips back in time once again to the forest, to a girl with a large stubborn streak and a sense of justice.
A bird's eye view as I swoop in and join the girl I know. 
I understand that the scene will soon turn dark again. 
 
But the river still flows...from my memory to text it goes...No stop signs! 
 
*****************************

Looking around my campsite, I realized that I shouldn't have everything lying on the forest floor.

The trees to hang stuff is okay but just a temporary measure.

I think it's time to do better than that. At the back end of the park, there was a Junior high school and a field connected to the park just inside the field was a row of Willow trees. Weeping Willow to be exact.

Their branches are like long arms that hang down to the ground slim fingers trailing the grass.

These were not stiff like most trees but flexible like vines with slim green leaves. 

I twisted off half a dozen of the branches enough to make a shortish rope. With branches in tow, I walked down the side of the field towards the forest.

Out of the side of my eye, I noticed a middle-aged lady with a walking stick looking curiously at me. 

I  pretended not to see her, entered the trail then slipped off into the forest when I rounded the curve in the trail.

"Weird," I thought. I returned to my campsite. I wasn't sure how I was gonna make these Willow branches into a rope.

I had a vague idea, but it required experimenting. I finally settled on splitting the end of the Willow about a quarter way up into three strips. I did the same to the other branches.  After that, I took two split-end branches and braided them together.

Then I repeated the process with the other branches. Before long, I had about a 10-foot piece of rope.  I tugged on either end. Just to make sure that they would stay together. At least for a while. I took the newly made rope and strung it between two trees then gingerly hung my jacket over it.

It held...no signs of weakening.

Satisfied I brushed my hands off and looked around me.  Two stumps parallel to each other, a couple of feet apart.

I stared at it for a moment and considered maybe a makeshift table could be done.

I looked around for a long piece of pine bark of which there was much and selected a three-foot-long piece which I laid between the two stumps.  I adjusted it a little and stood back.  "Good." I thought and tried a couple of cans on top.  It too held for now. Well, tell me, let me know. It was time for a break.  Food was mostly required now. I pulled out the bread on the bologna and made myself a triple sandwich.

I spoiled myself with that extra layer so I could have two pieces of bologna instead of one.  That was my logic at the time.

Dusk came calling so I lit a small fire and sat down on a log to think.  It was long past due.

Gazing off into the fire watching the orange darts lift their skirts to spread the burn while branches bowed and opened their flaming arms...something let go inside me followed by rivers of pain, floods of tears.  It struck me once again the reality of my situation. No family, no one who loved me. Not a single soul in the world wondered if I still lived and breathed....

No conclusive answers came to me...none. It happened every time I thought about what to do.  The miracle I hoped for would never be.

It was unrealistic maybe, but I had to hope for something. The sadness and the fear came rushing through me.

The depression had been with me for a long time, this was no surprise.  But with it came a new fear. Where would I find myself in the fall?  Where would I go? How would I live?

Having no answers opened the door to the new fear I find myself feeling more and more often.

Exhaustion finally shut down the onslaught of emotion, I put out the fire and crawled into my sleeping bag where sleep took me immediately.

Morning came shining in turning my tent into a bright green almost luminous shade that said time to rise.

I stretched, took an apple from the bag then walked to the nearest trail. Coming into what I affectionately called skunk cabbage city, I almost walked into the same middle-aged woman that I saw in the field the day before.  The same walking stick gripped in her hand she stared at me. 

I couldn't tell if she glared at me or looked at me in curiosity.

I concluded it was a strange mixture of both.  I quickly spun around and walked back the way I came. I could hear her shout behind me.

"Hey, hey you! You better not be one of those hooligan homeless people! We don't like them in our park!"

Again, I pretended like I didn't hear her and kept on walking. After a while, I disappeared into the forest once again and returned to my campsite.

I thought to myself, "This is getting sketchy...I better stay close to my campsite I don't need any hassle."

But I just couldn't shake the feeling that it wouldn't be the last time I saw her...

 
*****************************
Those days still flash in my mind and I wonder if there's anything I could have done differently. I wonder if there was a place different I could have gone to. A different action. Turning left instead of right. Where would I be now?
 
The realization today that I didn't have then was;
My life, as was my sisters, was in danger the entire time. It may still be considering what I know now and didn't know then. But it's okay, it's not too late for me anymore.
 
But it's too late for them...and the hammer will fall....
 


Chapter 21
Signs

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

It's raining today as it often does in rainforest country.
I'm listening to the staccato song of rain on the roof.  It's soothing in a way which helps to organize my thoughts in an ordered fashion.
Casting my mind back to those times is like a crap shoot. A true mixture of joy, fear, sadness and hope.  I still have nightmares and very vivid dreams about "the man" and my time in the woods. Few and far between these days. As with knowledge, it brings understanding.  What understanding brings is relief and relief brings the idea that I'm not completely batty. 
 
Let loose your sails, let the wind guide you...
 
*****************************
 

I don't like it....This feeling of foreboding was hanging around me like a greasy gas cloud.  There's tension in the air like something's about to break. That tension kept me held fast in my spot and not be too inclined to leave it.

I've always been sensitive. I feel the changes in the air or get a sense of malevolence waiting to burst.  I felt it. 

The woman with the walking stick flashed behind my eyes. What she said to me didn't phase me in the slightest.

What she could do is the matter and the unknown element in this case.  My senses tell me she's trouble so I acted accordingly.

Growing up in my home, you've got to be quick-witted, fast on your feet and know when the shit gonna hit the fan.  Anticipate what he will do and how he will do it.  Study my enemies.  

I suspected everything and everyone for that was what the world taught me. In my head, I separated people into three categories. 

First, when you meet an evil person, a truly bad person and you know that they're bad, they're gonna do bad things, they're predictable.

Second, when you meet a good person, a person who smiles and is glowing, helps people. Spreads positive vibes wherever they go. You know they're good, they're gonna do good things. They're predictable.

Third, what you have is what I call the fence sitters. They bend whichever way the wind blows the strongest. Nine times out of ten, they'll do great things, but on the 10th time, they shaft you so hard, you don't know where your teeth went! Those are the most dangerous kind of people. They're unpredictable they do unpredictable things.

I find that this world is full of fence-sitters. They get you when your defences are down, that's when betrayal comes. My friends arrive for a few days and that's about when my food runs out.

I decided to keep myself occupied by building a lean-to with branches and boughs to make a small covered area over the logs, a place to sit and not get wet.  It can't be an obvious shelter either. It's got to blend in with the surroundings. If it doesn't, it's like putting a big red flag in the middle of a black field.

"Hello, I'm here I am not very smart so come pick me up" Yeah we won't be doing that.

To make a camouflaged lean-to. You need to use fresh boughs or near-fresh boughs. I prefer Cedar, they have many branches and on the old ones, those many branches, curve and bend towards the ground creating a natural oval shape for shelter. The cedar needles themselves are flat and spread out. They tend to lay like a mat. They're not needle-shaped like other evergreens where the water simply runs through.

The Cedar where my tent was has other Cedar trees surrounding it. They generally come in stands. These evergreens are never alone. Not a single solitary evergreen is by themselves.

It occurred to me that I may not have to cut or pull any branches at all.

I simply had to move aside some of the connecting branches in the front of the tree to create an entrance. 

Then, take some other cedar boughs that may have fallen and/or wind torn which could've blown onto the ground. 

After I shall try to weave them in and out of the other attached branches. Kind of like a checkerboard but a green checkerboard that no one can see. 

I thought about that and many other things while I pondered about the woman with the walking stick.

It's that feeling, that same one just before my stepfather came home. I so despised that feeling. It was usually preceded by something bad. There was nothing immediately I could do about it So I tried to distract myself and begin building the shelter.

The job was not as easy as I thought. I managed to attain some lovely scratches and a couple of bruises in the offing.

It was, however, starting to take shape very close to the one I had in my head. So long as I kept my head and used patience. 

A difficult task when you've got a sharp stick poking you in the back!

Tired. 

There was approximately a 1/2 hour to an hour of daylight left so I opted to pack it in for the evening and get started again in the morning.

After all, it wasn't like my schedule was jammed. The fire was ready and I had a small bed of coals going. I took out my pan and made myself some scrambled eggs with two pieces of bread. Voila dinner! 

I ate it directly out of the pan. Of course, the eggs stuck to the pan without butter but most of it made it into my stomach with its daily dose of ash. The days were getting longer and warmer. The long days meant I could have my fire going for longer. Attention is drawn to fires at night. The other side of the park has a recreational area people go to in late spring and summer.

Campfires were expected. Mine, however, was not so when it got dark, out went the fire. Soon there will be a much bigger problem... water. With the warm weather, water dries out. Soon a new way has to be found.

I woke...something alerted me.  A crack. A branch hitting another branch.  A sigh or an isolated breeze.  I listened intently to the sounds of the night my heart running amok in my chest.

More sounds very much like the ones I just heard.

But this time I heard a faint...low...voice.

 
*****************************
 
Leaning back gripping my hair to put it into a ponytail. I looked at my work.
I read the last few lines and it struck me as surreal.  It's me, that girl, but not me anymore.
But a definite connection remains from my heart to my head and to the girl I was. It was like looking like actors in a show and I was directing.  I'm almost incidental it seems. What a weird feeling.  But how is one supposed to feel having gone through and now digging up those memories for text?  Weird... that's what.
 
"There is no change without change."

Author Notes This story is part of an ongoing auto bio I'm writing called "Ghost" which may be found in my portfolio. If you wish to read, you are welcome at any time with a stipulation of reader discretion is advised as some parts can be difficult.


Chapter 22
Dark Noise

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

My heart and mind are a blur sometimes. I can't tell my thoughts from my emotions because they're so deeply entrenched within one another.
Especially when remembering past times. And yet the feelings still rise within me. I suppose it's inevitable. 
That doesn't mean it's a bad thing, no... This is a healing journey that I'm on now...it dries up the wound instead of weeping as I've done for so many years. 
It's a hard thing to describe when that old pain and betrayal comes up. Because it's got a difference to it now.
 
And the difference is light...the light that finally shines upon it cannot escape the sun's healing rays.
 
Nor can they...
 
*****************************
 

Terror...sheer terror and adrenaline rushing through my veins making my heart jump hoops!  Snapping branches and swishing bushes the odd word floated through the air.

Shoes on I held my breath and waited for the moment I had to sprint. That was the moment when I truly realized I was not safe.  There is more than one kind of safe I found out. 

Here I'm relatively safe from my stepfather.

Here I'm possibly unsafe from strangers and ladies with walking sticks who don't like the homeless.

I strained my ears listening for the sound and the distance of those sounds. Are they closer, or are they farther away?

If they cross the perimeter, I will hear a much larger snap than just simply a branch, possibly a shout instead. That would be my ticket to get out to safety.

I could hear pieces of short clipped conversation a bit of a distance away. Words like, "field, girl" and "where" faded quickly. 

To my great relief. The sounds of cracking branches and muffled clipped voices began to dissipate.

It taught me a lesson though.

I need to have a better pre-alert system. They could have made one turn different and stumbled upon me.

I came out of my tent and tried to see something. I could hear talk a bit of a distance away which quickly faded.

I strained my eyes try to see movement...any movement at all.

I did not accept the flashlight my friends offered when last they were here. Like the campfire, the light was too easily seen.

Silence crept in, no more noise could I hear, no breaking branches. No birds flapping above. Just the deep silence of the night. 

I knew sleep would not return to me that night. My hypervigilance and my extra sensitivity were on high alert.

For the remainder, I was on duty.

My loneliness and fear were palpable as I was surrounded by what I could not see.

Trying to think of solutions to problems in the darkest hours is nearly impossible. I can see nothing. But, I hear everything.

Even the thundering silence banging on my ear drums.

It's not a good combination when trying to come up with answers.  I was still in a reactionary mode.  Fight or flight, my frame of mind and I was ready to go. 

But I have been close up and personal with these feelings and actions for most of my life. I know what it is and where it comes from and I know what needs to be done.

Angry for crying, feeling tired and weak. It's because it's not what I've come to expect from myself. 

I hoped that the light of day would change my perspective. After what seemed like forever and a day, I could finally see my hands in front of my face.

I looked towards my tent and shelter and took some comfort in knowing and seeing that my tent and the shelter I had started could not be seen in the dark without close inspection.  Well, one thing is right anyway. 

After a while, it was light enough that I could make a fire warm up and be relatively safe.

The trick to smokeless fires is to not put on wet wood, live branches or, God forbid, pine needles or leaves. You can bank coals at night and restart the fire in the morning. This I choose to not do as I cannot monitor the coals nor stop their glow from showing while asleep. Anger was still with me even as my fear of the night faded away.

I was angry because these people could have easily done something terrible to me and no one would know. Angry because something I didn't do Could make that fear a reality. 

I decided to take control back. I will be the stalker instead of the stalked.

I'll find out what this woman and whoever she's with is up to. As soon as I do I will place obstacles every step of the way and slow them down.

First things first perimeter check. Then I have a trail to follow.

Armed with information. The only way to fly.

 
***********************
It's late in the evening now.
 
A residual tremble runs through my body in remembrance of what was... and what's yet to come
 
This is no horse to ride now They cannot climb this mountain.  For it is mine alone.
 
Hand over hand now with only a come along and a piece of rope...care to join?


Chapter 23
Cat & Mouse

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Until recently, I was a prisoner of the past...angry, resentful, sad, distrustful and defensive.
 
These traits I carried stayed with me for some time.  I also kept the real me under wraps.
 
Outwardly, I was the life of the party, the Comedian, the Singer, the Fishing Guide, the Customs Officer, the Mother and the Widow. 
Inside, with writing and some key people on this site, I'm able to look beyond the negative and simply be the comedian, the Fishing guide, The customs Officer, the Mother and the Widow.
 
Oh, But I am angry...oh yes.  The depth of the depravity, betrayal and violation went much deeper than I knew.
 
During those months in the forest, in the park, I came to fully understand after much analysis that all that had happened was not my fault.
That the negative traits were fostered by a negative environment.
This realization gave me the ability to know and be able to separate my stepfather from everyone else. To not punish the world's people because of my pain. 
That was freedom to me. Every time I recall that moment, that rush of feeling comes over me again. Sort of like the one you get when you're on a roller coaster at the top and you're about to go down.
The only part that still troubles me is that my parents or my family ever paid for what they did to any of us girls.
There was no restitution, no being held to account, no "I'm sorry". 
But I write...my pen is my grenade.
 
I also know this, balls to bones, the Pied Piper has been calling for some time now....
 
Looking for his payment.
 
*****************************
 

Gazing out over the high school field, I could see dew sprinkled on the grass like little diamonds offered up to the sun.

I wondered if they would sparkle so brightly if they knew what was in the forest behind them.

Earlier I started checking the perimeter for any gaps. Given the night I had, perimeter walking was paramount. 

A branch that I left on the line was the only one disturbed.

That could have been an animal or could have been them. I voted for the animal given the direction of the voices came from.

I began to fill in the gap so that it would be difficult to miss the sound of anyone or anything crossing it.

Adding some more piles of dry twigs all along the line so that I would hear a louder snap seemed reasonable. Satisfied that the perimeter was as safe as I could make it for now.

I started expanding my walk in concentric circles. It didn't take long to see broken branches and disturbed ground. Whoever came through here was like a bear in a honey shop.

It's as if they plowed their way through rather than exercise a little caution.  Whoever did this was an amateur...whoever did this was less than fifteen minutes from my site.

My heart jolted so much that I feared it wouldn't restart. I followed the snapped branches and disturbed ground back to the trail that led to the high school field. No signs could I see beyond that.

One positive, attached to the side of the school facing the forest was a tap.  A REAL TAP!!  I zipped up the side of the field, up along the wall of the school and approached the tap.  Turning the tap gingerly, I was overjoyed to see the splash and hear the gurgle!  

I tilted my head under the tap and gulped. I gulped and gulped until I thought I would turn into a big water balloon! 

I leaned forward and stuck my head completely under the tap and let the water run down.

I let the water run through my hair down my back through my clothes down to my toes. I let it run... I decided then and there I was going to kill two birds with one stone. "I'll go back to the field tonight," I thought.  The off chance that I might see whoever they were that came close to my camp was slim but I had to try.  "Know thy enemy" my sergeant used to say.

The other?

To wash...a glorious fabulous wash. "I'll bring my water jug and wash by the edge of the forest as quickly and as quietly as I can". All these thoughts occurred to me as I made my way back to the camp. A yearning was developing inside of me,  one that grew daily.

A wish. A hope. A dream of...just being a kid. 

I didn't want to have to worry about all these things.

Wondering where to go and what to do next.  I guess security is the word I'm looking for. 

A simple hug would have done it temporarily.

I let go, my tears dropped on the forest floor. I wept not caring who heard me.

I wept for my sisters. I wept for our lives. I wept for all the pain and I wept for the kid I couldn't be.  I crumbled under the stress of it all and just let it pour out of me.

I was, after all, still just a kid...

*****************************
Writing this chapter did drain me some...but it's not a bad thing...
It is the emptying of an overfilled bucket.
It is the scraping of the flotsam of my life, it is the skin over the pail of cream.
 
Scrape...pull...drain...rinse
 

Author Notes This chapter is part of an ongoing auto bio I'm writing called "Ghost" a work in progress. It can be found in my portfolio. Feel free to read at any time you wish. One small piece of information, this work can be disturbing to read reader discretion is advised.
***Picture by IStock***


Chapter 24
Walking Stick Lady

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

 
 
 
 
 
 
I must confess to struggling through a few emotional ups and downs. The old scars threaten you see.  It's different this time though for "knowledge is power" or, if you prefer" armed with information". It's not a bad thing...
It is not the reopening of old scars, but simply the cream to make them fade.
 
It is sometimes difficult to draw the line between memory reality and reality.  To remember what's finished cannot be repeated. 
 
I let my mind float back.
Back in time to a place in a park in the woods and to the young girl sitting in her campsite sobbing.
 
We are connected to and through a string of events and memories. 
I want to tell her that I'm here on the other side of life. She's not alone, my hand reaches out to her...our eyes meet... 
 
The time to write is now...
 
*****************************

"Sitting here bawling like a bunch of sheep isn't gonna find out about the woman with the walking stick or if she was the one approaching my site.

And the other voice...who was the other voice?" I wondered. Time to find out. The thought occurred to me also that in future, when I come in and out of this campsite, I need to change my direction.

Human beings tend to be creatures of habit. It's habits that get us caught. 

So I will vary my entrances and exits as well as the times I do it.

"Ok," I thought. There's something that needs doing which has nothing to do with self-pity. When I feel my mind going down that road of memory my heart slips and my sadness grips.  Distraction is a must.

I have learned the art of turning my mind to a different task. It's essential to get my head out of a bad place.

Taking my mind from my woes, I set out to do just that.

Since Alpha Ghetti was the gourmet meal of the day, I peeled the label off as clean as I could and as close to one piece as I could. Folding the label, I put it in my pocket along with my pen. 

A plan was forming.  My compunction for distracting myself in tough times gave me an idea.

"What if that same art of distraction can be used outwardly?" I wondered.  "Perhaps I can steer them far enough away to move them off to a different area." I quickly ate my lunch and put out the fire.  With the empty can be lined up with the others intended to collect water when it rains, I began to prepare. 

My joy at having access to a tap and water abated the last feelings of sorrow for now.

I stopped to enjoy that feeling for a moment and anticipated sticking my head under that tap again. 

How do you spell relief?  With a pen of course...duh

I had two pairs of jeans to wear.  One pair the guys gave me and the other was the one I was wearing when I left.  I changed into these as they were darker in colour and could provide some cover should I be seen. Slipping those jeans on and doing up the zipper, I let go. 

Ever so slowly those jeans were slipping down.  "Weird," I thought but then I noticed my hip bones protruding from my sides. My thighs looked like two sticks and my wrist bones were sharply displayed.   I knew the time for me was running out. 

But not yet...soon but not yet.

I pulled out the drawstring from the waist of my jacket and strung it through the loops of my pants tightening it up as best as I could.

Satisfied for now, I set out for the field by the school to my beloved water tap. I exited the trail much farther up than I normally do. I came up from behind the building rather than the entrance to the field.

Watching as I went, I headed towards the tap with my water jug in tow. I stuck my mouth underneath that tap again and let her rip.  Many gulps could be heard if one chose to listen. 

Not only was it good timing to find that tap, but it was good timing because I needed water and because the kids were out for the summer. No school kids hanging around meant I could access the tap reasonably well.

I soaked myself again letting the water run over me as best as I could then filled my jug.

Taking a look around and down the field my gaze turned to the general area where I saw the woman with the walking stick. If it was indeed her, she may return to the scene of the crime.

I entered the woods slipped inside the forest tree line and made my way down to the end of the field.

I selected a spot behind the tree line opposite the trailhead she entered.

Choosing a clear line of sight without being seen can be tricky. 

Behind some foliage that grew right up to the trunk of a large tree, I found my spot. While my vision began, I set my mind to other matters and yet still kept an Eye on the trailhead. 

I knew my youngest sister was doing okay with her father. Maybe not so much with her stepmother, but she got out of the fire for which I was happy.

But my middle sister troubled me the most. She was the only one left and taking the brunt of the wreckage. My guilt and my worry walked hand-in-hand with my need to know.

One light...my friends were coming the next day and I hoped for news. It wasn't long before I heard the sounds of footsteps crunching on the path and then heading towards the field. The voices of a female and a man I could hear. I couldn't quite make out the words yet, but that would come. Out of the trailhead and like a gift, came my culprits.

"Homeless people bring nothing but crime, drugs and filth. They have no business being in our parks or even in our neighbourhood." Those comments came from none other than the walking stick lady. "

Walking alongside her was a short, chubby man who looked to be in his twenties." Mom, you can't just go chasing everybody around with your stick!"

We'll find out where they are then call the city. End of story". The son made a frustrated one-eighty and headed back up the trail.

There stood the walking stick lady annoyed that her son had stalked off.

So I thought. "Well, he left, let's hurry the other one away too." I picked up a good-sized rock and tossed it just past her which gave a satisfying loud thump and crack when connecting with a tree. Startled, she jumped and turned to her left.  I tossed another rock, at the same distance. But on the other side, again a loud crack. This time she spun in a circle, her walking stick went flying while she made a bee line for the trailhead calling for her son as she went.

A small smile crossed my lips as I waited for the sounds to dissipate. I walked by the spot she was at and I picked up the woman's walking stick.

Two constructive things happened today.  Water and the clear, certain knowledge of who my perpetrators were and why.

Tomorrow was going to be even more constructive...and kind of fun too.

*****************************
As I sit here now, reading back what I've written a smile does come to my face.  At this particular time, the woman with the walking stick and her scruffy-looking, chubby son were about to have some lessons.  
All this from a young girl who happens to know her way around a tree.
 
Go figure...

Author Notes This chapter is part of an ongoing book I'm writing called "Ghost" an auto bio that can be found in my portfolio. If you wish to read, you are welcome to do so. But with one small caution. Parts of it can be hard to read, reader discretion is advised.
***Picture by Pinterest***


Chapter 25
The Trick

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

"Comes the night in blessed shadow.
Hide the girl with tricks and camo.
Pull the veil on strangers' eyes.
Thickened dusk is her disguise.
The girl is wise beyond her young years.
Walking stick lady shifts her fears."
 
I was sitting back about to begin my next chapter when these words came to mind so I decided to share.
 
I still look back on that very day and smile...
 
One for the homeless...
 
*****************************

Part one is complete... Next, the distraction. Followed by the chase and if all works out as planned, it will be a leisurely walk back to camp.

It was clear these people sought my exit from the park but without an alternative, there was no way I could let that happen.

After having retrieved her walking stick, I began the journey up the trail in the opposite direction of my camp. Turning away, I walked even farther out.

I then came to a place I thought might have been an old trail. I gave it further inspection and decided this was the place. I could see bits and pieces of the old trail sporadically showing itself on the forest floor. Purposely I crashed through the bushes not at all my usual careful approach. This created a very legible track of disturbed chaos.

I came to a tiny clearing that seemed to mark the end of the old trail.  I then took some evergreen branches and laid them haphazardly over a cedar tree to make it look like a semi-camouflaged fort. 

Then I took the walking stick and placed it inside the makeshift fort. I pushed the end of the stick into the ground.

Last but not least, the final touch. I pulled the folded Alpha Ghetti label out of my pocket and took the pen in my right hand.

On it, I wrote a short note stuck it to the top of the walking stick and stepped back to observe my handy work. 

The result was what I was looking for. A place that looked like a homeless camp.

Carefully I retraced my steps back to the main trail, then proceeded to the place where I first saw the lady with the walking stick out on the trail to Skunk Cabbage City.

I didn't know whether or not I would see her there this evening but, I would come back every evening until I did.

I arrived in the general area where I had first seen her. I could tell by the smell of the skunk cabbage not far from my location I was where I needed to be.

I sat on a log and waited for the telltale signs of people approaching. It seemed like forever, the sun was going to sink soon and the light would fade. I was about to give up when I heard a loud crack, a scape and a slide followed by the sound of an animated conversation.

I watched expectedly poised for action. I could see through the foliage, it was the walking stick lady and her chunky son.

I slipped from the trees and back onto the trail slowly walking in their direction. I shuffled along and hung my head down as if I had nothing better to do.

They rounded the corner so I gave them a look of surprise. I turned around and started to walk quickly away.

Not so fast that they couldn't get a glimpse of me at every bend but fast enough to keep me ahead.

Predictably they followed.

Soon I came upon the small trailhead I'd just created and waited for them to come around the corner again.

I may not be the most credible liar but, I knew how to act when they came around the bend. I shifted my head back and forth as if to look for someone following me.

I pretended not to see them until they came closer.  Then I turned my eyes upon them and gave them a frightened look.

I jumped onto the trail allowing them to see the tail end of me turn into the forest. I ran as fast as I could down the trail.

Arriving at the site I zipped behind a large boulder collected some hand-sized rocks and waited. Crash and bang came my two pursuers. For people concerned about the homeless wrecking the park, they didn't seem to mind busting through it.

"I told you there was homeless around here. That girl is one of them" the walking stick lady said. "Look see? One of their camps."

Ok Mom, yes you told me." He replied annoyingly. I could hear footsteps, little twigs and the light swish of legs moving against each other.

A deaf person could hear a chubby son. He was breathing hard, shuffling and talking under his breath.

"Son come over here and look at this," his mother said.

I looked down at the pile of rocks I'd gathered and selected one for best throwing, the last couple of rocks to follow. Then I made myself ready for my next move.

"It's my damn walking stick!  What the hell is iy doing here and what's that on top?" She yelled. 

"Take it easy Mom I'll bring it out," her son said. Shifting my weight to my legs I tensed.

As soon as he came out of that shelter, I fired a rock. The rock landed between them and just behind with a resounding crack!

That's what happens to wood when it dries out. Bounce a rock if, it sounds like gunfire when it hits.

"I heard that this morning.  A couple of times it scared me like it's scaring me now!" The walking stick lady looked shaken up so I fired another rock.

It dropped farther back and bounced off a boulder. Immediately I fired another to make it sound like more than one person was out there. It landed over to their left.  CRACK!! That was it. They both turned around and hi-tailed it out, walking stick and Alpha Ghetti label in hand.  I caught a last-minute glimpse of the two of them heading back up the trail.

I could see my chubby son's belly bouncing up and down looking as red and shiny as a tomato. A joke my friends told me crossed my mind and to my shock, I finally GOT THE PUNCHLINE!! At the time, my friends shook their heads with disgusted smiles on their faces. Because I just didn't understand the joke...now I did. I clamped my hand over my mouth so hard I left my hand prints on my cheeks. The howl of laughter was trying to get out and I almost lost the battle. Finally, I was sure they couldn't hear me and I cut loose.  The first true belly laugh I've ever had and I just couldn't stop it.  All my stress, worry and fear drained with my laughter. The joke was:

"Do you know what a dickdo is?"

"That's when yer tummy sticks out farther than your dickdo" 

I howled!  Peals of laughter escaped me. I just couldn't stop it. I was laughing at my naivete too. I didn't get the joke right away. The whole thing was just killing me.

I walked back to my campsite still chuckling away and thinking it was a most successful evening.

I decided to eat my last apple as a reward.

 

Oh...and the note on the Alpha Ghetti label? It said:

"I think you made a wrong turn. Don't forget your stick!"Never mistake a homeless person for stupid... 

*****************************
I feel now a little bit exhausted and yet the smile of remembrance still stays on my face. 
 
One bright spot... in the world of darkness.

Author Notes This chapter is just a smidge longer but I think once read, it will be worth it.
This chapter is part of an ongoing auto bio called "Ghost". It can be found in my portfolio. You're welcome to read if you wish. One caution parts of this can be hard to read, and therefore reader's discretion is advised.
***Picture by Pinterest***


Chapter 26
Reality

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

It's raining outside, dark and drizzly. A constant perpetual mist, no peak of sunshine. 
 
But, I think the clouds are parting inside of me, healing rays are coming through. That's what it feels like. A foreign but nice feeling. 
 
So let's go back to the girl in the woods...
She needs me, things are going to be serious very soon...
 
Down the garden path, we go...
 
*****************************

I yawned and stretched looked out through the roof of my tent and saw the sun shining in.  Green, dappled glowing spots like the coat pattern of a newborn fawn.

The smallest smile remained on my face. Surprised that what I planned worked! Just as equally surprising, was the small amount of confidence I gained as I did.

Examining new feelings seems to have become a thing since I left home... Some realizations brought immense relief. Others brought me immense worry.

I must be careful not to get too big for my britches and remember I'm just a girl, not a superwoman!

My friends were coming today and I wanted to make sure I met them at the gate given my new routine of coming and going in random areas.

Crawling out of the tent, the thought occurred to me, that was the best sleep I've had since I've been here!  Another bonus! I made myself a small fire and considered what was left to eat. I still had a couple of cans of Alpha Ghetti a can of stew and two pieces of bread.  I opted for the stew. 

I and the Alpha Ghetti have a difference of opinion.

While I waited for the stew to warm, I prepared myself to walk out of the bush. I washed my face and brushed my hair. I took a small twig and picked out the dirt from under my fingernails. Brushing my teeth could wait considering food was on the fire.

I ate quickly and put out the fire. I brushed my teeth and washed my hands one more time. Then pulled tight the drawstring around my waist so my pants didn't fall while I was walking. Looking around the site to make sure outward signs of habitation were hidden as best as they could be, I then began the walk out of the bush. 

Although I was clean, my clothes had seen better days.  I thought to myself, "What does it matter, they're not that much worse than what I had at home anyway."

I approached the main entrance, found the logs lining the parking lot, sat down and waited.  I wondered if they found out anything about my sister and/or what my parents were up to if anything. And where my sister was I heard a young man's voice,

"Hey, brain dead! Didn't you hear us the first time?" M said with a smile.

"If I heard you call me that name the first time, you wouldn't be standing here now for the second calling me that." I retorted smiling back.  "Hey guys, glad you came.""How come you're out here? We know where you're at." S said.

"Some things happened since you were here last. I needed to change up my entrance and exit. We're gonna go separately this time." I answered.

An odd expression came over the faces of my two friends.

"No, I think we should take a walk up to McDonald's and have something to eat cuz you look like a bone rack that went on a diet!" M explained. 

Although pleased as punch that we were going to Mcdonald's, I needed an answer for that uncomfortable expression they were wearing.

"Guys what's going on tell me now I know something's happened so spit it out, "I demanded.

 

"It's your sister...she's gone...."

 
*****************************
I'm sitting here thinking that I should carry on with this chapter. But then a reminder of this portion, it's going to take more than one chapter, so I'll break off here with a little bit of a cliffhanger.
 
I put on my shoes to walk into the next chapter...
 
See you there...

Author Notes This chapter is part of an ongoing auto bio called "Ghost", it can be found in my portfolio. Feel free to read anytime you wish. One word of caution, Some of this can be hard to read, reader discretion is advised.

***Photo by IStock***


Chapter 27
Missing

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

There is nothing in the world like the feeling that someone has your back.  
For some, it is something that they've always had.  Easily accepted as a daily offering.  For myself, it's a beautiful gift...
 
It's time to go back to the park. Back to my friends and back to the hard truth...
 
*****************************

"What do you mean she's gone?" I asked incredulously. "What happened? Did you talk to my parents? What did they say?"

I peppered them with questions, my expression being one of huge anxiety.

"Let's get some food, we'll talk along the way." M said.

"Tell me what's going on!" I demanded.

"I did like you asked, I phoned your house and then asked for you." M explained."Your Dad said you don't live there anymore. So I asked if your sister was there. He said she moved too."

"Your stepdad is usually a dick but he gave me the creeps this time.  He sounded almost happy... That bites man." But that's not the weirdest part..." M said.

S piped up and said, "I called there last night to do the same thing.  Your number was disconnected"

By then, we had rounded the corner and arrived at McDonalds, we went over to an outdoor cement table, and I plunked down and lay my head in my hands.

"What am I supposed to do? Where did they go?  Where is she?" I wanted to know.

"Let's try lunch first." S suggested dropping a hand on my shoulder."Have what you want."

"Filet O fish meal with coke please," I responded. "Thank you."

M went into McDonalds while my S sat with me in companionable silence.

My brain stewed, and my thoughts raced but I had to figure this out, I had to know.

M returned with a tray full of food.

Despite my distress, my mouth filled up with saliva.  My stomach felt like it was caving in. The food in front of me smelled so good, I couldn't help but devour it and within minutes too.

I wiped my mouth and looked up and my two friends were giving me the Mr. Spock look with the classical raised eyebrows.

"Sorry guys, was hungry. Thanks, it was good" and wiped my mouth again.

"Obviously eh" S said. "Have you figured out what you're gonna do yet? Summers not gonna last forever. You probably wanna know what's up so, what do you think?"

"You said some things happened and you gotta walk in different. What's up with that? M asked.

I proceeded to tell them about the lady with the walking stick and her chubby son. How I first saw her and how I last left her.

My friend's got some laughs out of that but I wasn't feeling like laughing anymore.

Their amused expressions began to fade into one of concern.

M said, "That's kind of creepy someone crashin' around out there and seeing walkin' stick lady like that. You took a chance messin' with her and her son. But hey, kudos for getting it done.

"I think you need to split sooner rather than later." S offered."I can ask around and see if someone's got a room or somethin'."

"Ok," I said listlessly.

"I got you this bag of stuff. My mom seems to think I'm eating a lot lately. Dad said I'm a growing boy. I didn't say anything." M  remarked."

S pulled out another bag and said, "Mom was gonna take this to the food bank. I told her I'd take it for her but, I brought it here instead."

I looked up at my two friends so grateful for them that I almost broke down in tears.

I accepted the bags gratefully. "Thanks for everything, yer awesome dudes."

"We gotta take off, dude is going RVing with his family so he won't be here next weekend." I'll be here though." M said, "You can show me what's up. You alright walking back?"

"Yes," I answered distractedly.

We stood up and hugged each other and wished S a good time. Then we waved each other goodbye and began to walk up the street towards the park.

Instead of going straight through on the trail, I took a right instead. Then checking both ways, I jumped into the forest to continue to my camp.

The urgency to find out where my sister went, was paramount above and beyond what my parents were up to.

I couldn't go to the police. Going to them meant having to go back there and I couldn't allow that.

Despair had returned along with a deep frustration, a feeling of hopelessness, that my hands were tired. No resources to be had. No questions could I ask without risk.

This was too great a matter for my young mind to decipher but I tried anyway I tried to figure out what he would do.

My mother would just follow along like a sheep, but him? He was capable of anything...

All I could do was wait.  Wait until I could figure out a place to stay.  Ask in a roundabout way if they'd talked to her.

I don't know. I wish I knew, but I didn't. I'm not the wellspring of all wisdom.

But, some questions needed to be answered, had to be answered, must be answered. I'll find out, I'll find a way. 

Maybe not today, but it won't be for lack of trying...

***********************
I ran my fingertips over my temples. Massage them gently.
A slight headache behind the eyes, remembering the fear, The frustration of the unknown.
All is known now when back then well, that was a whole other bowl of wax.
Time to recharge...we will be with her again soon.


Chapter 28
Requiem

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

One of the things I mentioned was the need to be able to distract oneself from stressful events out of our control.
 
The art of distraction is the ability to turn one's mind off of distressing things by turning to something non-stressful.
 
For an extreme example the death of a loved one is out of our control but making a cake, doing some crafts or washing the car is. 
So we turn to what we know.  A coping mechanism.
 
I am no different...I've poured out many chapters and dredged up old pain.  My mind was told to distract myself for a little while so I did.
 
Now I can venture down that dark road again....
 
She never leaves me...
 
*****************************

"What's going on? Where's my sister? Where's mom? My stepdad, what's up with him? Who is dead who is alive? How am I gonna find out? What am I supposed to do? Who can I call?" Dangerous and needed...bad combination.

The whole family is convinced I'm this person that I know I'm not.  How do I fight that?

I could bang my head on the wall and get more information rather than try to ask them.

My mind was spinning as if I had one foot nailed to the floor! Looping around on a very fast carousel.

Panic was creeping up to my back door and was insisting on entry. It was getting difficult to keep the door locked.

I was very close to losing that battle and I knew it.

So I attempted to distract myself by picking up the two bags my friends gave me. I started to look through the first bag and saw a book."Huh...wasn't sure if he'd bring me one."I thought.

I pulled it out of the bag and took a look at it and on the cover, it said, "The Tides of Rapture".

"Oh man, it's some dumbass romance novel. Gag me!"

He did, however, leave a small can opener at the bottom of the bag along with some canned soup and stew, and a couple of bananas which looked worse for wear. Some juice. Thank god there was no Alpha Ghetti in there!

Turning to the second bag. I found a couple of chocolate bars, Mars Bars no less! If you wanna get into my good books, get me a Mars Bar! Some instant oatmeal, eggs bread and a little bit of margarine this time! I looked at the bounty my had friends brought me.

My eyes filled with tears of gratitude that my friends could be so selfless.

This was one of two examples of this selflessness for many, many years to come.

I couldn't ignore the obvious signs around me anymore. Although the bags of supplies distracted me for a few minutes, my mind turned back to the serious problems at hand.

Because there will be more walking stick ladies with their chubby sons. More bush parties too.

I was starting to feel my energy drain quicker than it did before.

Sometimes I felt shaky. I knew I was losing weight by the size of my pants or rather the size of my waist.

My clothes, pants, in particular, were going to wear out. Soon there would be nothing. My l runners too were about to disintegrate.

I dreaded the idea of having to steal the things I needed. Eventually, I was going to get caught and that would be disastrous.

The days were still warm enough but the nights were getting cooler. Now the more immediate issue was to find out what was going on! The not knowing was driving me nuts!

I also knew I had to make a decision sooner rather than later but, I was struggling with options.

I could feel panic returning with a splash of desperation thrown in for good measure and could not stop my panicked thoughts. My mind went there again. 

"Who could I call? Where could I go? Where is everyone?"

Standing up I began to pace around the campsite trying to rid myself of panic and the urge for immediate flight so I ran through a list of relatives in my head and wondered. "Which one could I talk to, if any? Which one would believe me?" 

My experience told me none of them would.

I continued to pace back and forth as if that act alone could cure what ailed me.

What I didn't know at the time was that my decisions would soon be taken away.

Soon slim choices became no choices...

So there I go...quietly tripping into the dark...

but I've been here before...

*****************************
I remember that feeling of panic. The feeling of wanting to escape all that was.
 
The following 12 hours in this story will be life changing as all traumatic things are.
 
I will have some lunch. I will calm myself and then...I will begin.

Author Notes This chapter is part of an ongoing auto bio I'm writing called "Ghost". It can be found in my portfolio should you wish to read, you are welcome with a small note. Some are chapters are hard to read, reader discretion is advised.
***Picture by Google Photos***


Chapter 29
Eviction

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Comes the night
In such a fright
There is no fight
With earthly light
 
She waits for flight
from others sight 
To do what's right
she strikes the blight 
 
***********************
 
I woke up to a loud cracking sound, Almost like a gunshot going off so loud it was. The wind screeched at the cedar branches around my tent, skeletal fingers scratching the outside.
In the distance, I could hear the sound of large trees falling and a thunderclap as they landed on the ground.
Not thinking the wind could get any stronger, it did. 
The Cedar boughs chattered around my tent and began to crack, moan, bend and screech.
I needed to make a hasty exit and now! I reached for the zipper of my tent just as I did, branches crashed down on the entrance, and a large bough whipped through the side roaring its thunderclaps.
 
As the cedar tree around me fell apart my world got smaller. Soon I was almost underneath it.
 
I crawled to the back of the tent that was closest to the trunk of the tree and stayed there.
My existence was crashing around me. The small little bubble that I created for myself burst.  
The front of the tent was completely squashed and buried. Branches and boughs tangled together, flattening the front of the tent down. Holes torn with multi-armed wooden, almost discernable, daggers in every direction I'm sure all were pointing at me. Minutes dragged like centuries, the wind continued to howl. The trees continued to fall and the branches ever-shifting around me. Until I could see, I wasn't moving. My fear wouldn't allow me to anyway.
So the vigil began for the endless night to quit fighting the day's light. I waited hand-in-hand with terror.
We knew each other so very well...
The roar around me deafened with every howl. Wind-swept screeches duelled with my right to hear until there was nothing but the constant attempt to crush me beneath bleeding pine arms and the roar of laughing chaos.
I could hear the flight of the branches and debris, scattering all over knocking and crashing, and the shelter of my tree quickly disintegrating around me.
Fear was a five-year-old playing with firecrackers compared to the bomb going off around me. 
I was paralyzed. I couldn't move if I wanted to. The violence of nature surrounds and glues me to my spot. Tent walls, random branches, and debris all scratching me as it flew around, out and back in again.
Hours and hours it seemed while the wind bitched and moaned. I was sure I wouldn't get out of this, that I was doomed to die was a given for all the things I couldn't do.
Slowly ever so slowly, the wind began to slow. And the crashes became fewer and far between. Still dark it had slowed to a strong breeze but at least I could see my pants under some debris but no jacket.  A shredded sleeping bag looked like it was playing twister. I forced myself to wait a little bit longer till I could see better and the wind calmed down some more. The breeze finally died and the light was coming through. I looked for the brightest spot and that would be my exit point.
There was no way to know if my exit strategy wasn't the way of getting trapped even further or ready to collapse at any time. I knew I had to try. 
 
Staying was not an option. I expanded on a rift that was already there close to my exit point. Pulled it open wide enough to get through. 
Looking out, I could see that there were a ton of branches, dirt, pine needles, and a mixture of mayhem. I began to push, pull snap and drag my way through following the light as best as I could. 
 
Scratches, pokes, stabs and scrapes are my constant companions.  Dirt began to fall on my head so I froze.  This was the last move I could make to break free.  I got ready for pain, had bunched up my leg muscles to force them under me.
 
Gradually getting my knees ahead and my feet down.  I gathered as much strength as I could and I sprung. I pushed up as hard and as fast as I could while the debris, dirt and branches fell around me. 
 
Finally, my head burst through a pile of evergreen. Cut on my head blood dripping down my cheek.  But I was out.
Pulled myself out the rest of the way getting a few more gouges as I did.
Finally, I was able to pull my legs out and let myself roll down to the bottom of the pile. And there I lay for a few minutes trying to catch my breath. Trying to slow my heart down and rein in the terror within.
Finally, I sat up and looked around at the world changed.  Everywhere, broken branches snapped trees, bent bushes squished up against each other.
All of these things are in seemingly organized piles like the wind had arranged them just so.
But that wasn't the horror of it. The horror was that I could recognize nothing around me. Nothing was the same, the whole world changed overnight.
I didn't even know what direction I was pointed in.  Panic threatened again...I forced myself to sit and breathe to try and gather my wits around me, to remember the skills I learned so I could get myself out.
 
To what though...to where...and how.  These were questions I could not answer. 
 
There was one option...a black and dangerous one...my heart skipped several beats. 
 
It wasn't the unknown I was afraid of.... it was the known...
 
*****************************

Exhaustion pulls at me... remembering the fear, the pain and hopelessness of that day...

The day I almost gave it up to God.

Author Notes The story is part of an ongoing auto bio called "Ghost". It can be found in my portfolio. If you wish to read, you are more than welcome to do so with one note, some chapters are hard to read, so reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 30
Exodus

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Sitting, staring down past my PC contemplating my navel, I'm wondering how to write the struggle to get out when so much was an unrecognizable blur, so much was darkness. 
I looked over to the many pieces of jewelry I had created. Pendants, rings, bracelets and necklaces each different from each other.  Well, if I can do that then surely I can write the next events with some acuity. 
Taking off the pen's leash now...lettin' her rip.
 
*****************************

From where I was standing, I picked a point in the direction I thought to go. One that was visible to my eye as I walked.

The reason is that once I reached that point I would pick a new point visible to my eye and so on.

Hopefully, it will reach a major trail.  It all seemed so reasonable to me.

My nerves were shot, and my panic sat just outside my peripheral vision but my senses were all firing.

A plan, even if it was just spot to spot plan, was essential to keep the panic at bay.

My choice was a reasonably intact Sequoia as my first target. I began to climb over bushes on top of tree limbs, over logs and pushing branches out of the way as I went when I spotted something orange. 

Pushing the limb aside there it was.  A can of Alpha Ghetti. Its blue and orange label smiling up at me. 

One of two I had remaining from my Alpha Ghetti caper. I was grateful to see it. I didn't know how long it would take me to get out of here or if I could. But, I had my water jug and a can of food. 

The impetus to move forward. I carried on like this for what was to be a long trek out. 

I deliberately kept my mind on a single task at a time. From one spot to the other. If a person looks at a mountain meant to be climbed, climbing that mountain seems like a monumental task.

But, if we take one step at a time, one task at a time, before you know it, you're at the top of the mountain.

That's what I tried to do. Don't think about the big picture in something like this. Think about the here and now. One step...one task. While I was taking one step at a time. I wasn't paying attention to my feet if that makes any sense. One foot fell through a pile of branches I was climbing over. I could feel it scraping as it went down like I didn't have enough of those.  Gingerly trying to pull my foot out again, it caught on something heavy, hard and unmovable.

I thought, "Well, it got down there. It's gotta be able to get out."

I slowly turned my foot from one side to the other and at each turn, I gently pulled until finally, my foot popped out with a couple of branches wrapped around my ankle.

I didn't want to look. It hurt. I felt fabric tearing a warmth and a slightly sticky feel. There would be not much I could do about it in my current situation But if I had to, I could rip a portion of my shirt. I looked to see if I needed a stitch or not. I think my whole body was screeching at that time. By then I had more scratches, scrapes and cuts than unscathed skin. Looking at my ankle, I noticed. I ripped my the West side team and inside. That team was sticking out a sharp, splintered piece of wood. I knew it was stuck in my foot. I could feel it think away so I pulled it out. What more can you do? I got a grip on it and I pulled it out as quickly as I could. Some bruising on my knee and cools forming from the franchise that had wrapped around it. But it could be worse, it could be broken. We can't be doing that.

I stood up and kept trudging along as best as I could for as long as I could and still no major trail.

I couldn't be that far off. Could I?

The sun was tiptoeing towards the horizon as if the day was a shy maid. As the dusk settled, I knew I was hopelessly lost. I should have hit some trail by now. Walking farther would be foolish because tonight is just around the corner. I mean, It's already a mixed-up world.

It's a really bad idea to try and do it in the dark. I smashed open the can with a nearby not-so-sharp rock.  I chose to eat only half the can and save the rest for breakfast. I set the can aside and placed a large rock on it so it wouldn't be grabbed in the night.

I chose a significantly larger pile of debris burrowed within and pulled up all the leaves that I could around me. After a few minutes, I was surprised at the warmth it was generating. Not very clean mind you, but it did keep warmth inside. How I longed for a full stomach a hot Bath, and a real bed

But what I wanted most of all was someone to care. Someone was hugging me and telling me everything was gonna be okay. The girl in me was still there the adult in me struggling to come out. But too soon.

Much too soon to be a grown up.  The strain showed on my face and body. I was not as strong as I was.  My strength was not what it was. I could see the sticks that made up my body and knew there was nothing left to spare.

But it was not time for weakness and weakness could not be my excuse fir inaction.

There was no alternative at all. I had to get out or I would die here.

"Please God," I said, "This can't be all there is. There must be some purpose for me and for my sisters, too. A method to the madness."

I saw no answer to the unanswerable.

The hopelessness of my situation caught up to me and so I cried watering the leaves and the debris around me and I asked again.

"Please God...send some light "

 
*****************************
So vivid is my memory of that night. So close to my demise, I was. 
I am thankful again for the events that brought me here alive and through the chaos.
 
For the miracle of acceptance and the gift of belief. 
 
Did Santa show up?


Chapter 31
The Maze

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

I keep forgetting that I'm human. I don't have to be a super hero or an extraordinary human.  I'm just a person and nothing more.  So I let my mind and body rest. Not because it was my first choice, but because I was given no choice.
During the writing, I don't think it takes a lot of toll on me until I stop.  My stamina and my emotions runs that show.
This is not my personal whine session. Simply an acknowledgment of limits and balances of which I am often unfair with myself about. I feel as if I've opened to the door for the rot to run and it took the door with it. 
 
And run it should...it won't find self pity here....
 
*****************************

This was not a shiver.

These were quakes that ran through my body unabated. 

Wave after wave threatened to take out my knees with no ability for regrowth or even a splint for support.

Without some sort of plan, or a next move, I was hanging on by a fingernail. If not, I'd surely be checked in! 

Covered in cuts and bruises with blood in my hair and on my face, giving up crossed my mind. 

Just lay down and sleep the rest away. The idea seemed almost perfect at the time. 

But I couldn't give in. I wouldn't give in. I'll go to my grave in defiance! My stubborn rage kicked in everytime.  I couldn't articulate the words at the time but, if I could I would've said,

"If I was to succumb to all that was then who was I?"

That was the last piece of control I had in my life. Whether I rolled over or I kept standing up. 

I will not give them that last part of me! I will not give them the idea that they have broken who I am! FUCK THAT!

Ok, mission accomplished. Panic has been averted. Now decision time. 

Get out or get out. It's a no brainer really. OK that part was easy.  I started to scan the now alien surroundings for any familiar object. 

I looked up a large pine slightly bent at the center and off on the left branch sat my water jug. the handle of it  hooked onto a lower one. 

Small favors that sometimes give hope.

I made my way gingerly through the brambles, sticks and boughs to the base of the pine tree. Luckily, there were some intact lower branches I could climb to reach my water jug...so I did. My protesting body grudgingly obeyed.

Tent remnants were sticking out here and there.  I tore a piece of it soaked it in water and began to clean my wounds plus some of the grime from my body.

This was torture. A sting session from beginning to end. I splashed some water on my hair to rinse the blood off my scalp while it sings its sharp soprano.

I scanned the ground began shifting branches around and lifting limbs. I was shocked and confounded when before me, in the exact spot I put them when I went into the tent the night before.

There sat my runners waiting like nothing happened. 

This in itself gave me direction. I remembered the orientation my runners had to my tent and the orientation of my tent to a trail getting me out. But I had been covering my trail of course. 

Challenges never cease.

So the next decision made, it was time to try and get out.

I turned and looked at what was my home for the last several months and recognized nothing but knew this spot had harbored me for some time. 

I gave it the respect it deserved.

Offering a slight bow and a wave, I slowly picked, climbed and snapped my way in the general direction I thought I needed to go.

If I could find one of the main trails, then surely I'll make it out. Direction, however, is subject to change.

With every broken bough, every fallen tree, when bush has turned into tumble weed, comes the place where trails become extinct.

Direction becomes directionless...

***********************
Although frightening and terrifying, nerve wracking and challenging and in the grand scheme of things, all that has been, nothing prepares you for "him".
 
And I wasn't done with him yet. 

Author Notes This chapter is part of an auto bio called "Ghost". It can be found in my portfolio for which I invite you to read at any time you wish. One small caution. Some of these chapters are difficult to read and can be disturbing, reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 32
Escape

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Yesterday I read a beautiful poem. It was from a mother to her daughter, conveying love, pride, and joy at being her parent. An offering she gave of support and love through this beautiful vehicle called writing. 
I offered my review and when I was done the dam burst. 
 
Silent tears fell down my face instead of wails of pain. Watching salty water fall onto my shirt, fingers shiny with the liquid, I remained...
I stayed that way until my tear ducts turned into a desert repast.
 
It's not because I'm sad but, because my joy for a daughter to have such a gift tells me again...have faith.  
 
We are human after all...
 
*****************************

There was a leaf up my nose... Every time I breathed in, part of that leaf disappeared.  Every time I breathed out, there was that leaf sitting there on the end of my nose as if it had every right to be there.

Sneezing several times popped my head out from the pile of leaves and debris I had buried myself in.

Dislodging myself I realized I was ill.  Headache, sneezing, my body covered in scabs, my hair knotted with blood and dirt. My limbs were in such pain, that they almost refused my mind's commands. 

Today was do or die, I knew it and began to make my way again after eating the last bit of Alpha Ghetti. I bid farewell to it as it was the last time I would eat that in this life if I could at all avoid it.

The bit of strength the food gave me could not be wasted. I must move when I could in any capacity that I was meant to.

I knew I was lost and had no clue which way to turn. I'm sure there was a way to figure out direction if I could only see through the canopy of the forest.

I knew this, the direction I was going was took me farther and farther away.

I made a harsh left turn. At that point, it could not be worse than where I was headed and that was deeper and deeper into the forest away from everything.

Climbing over more trees than I can count kicking branches and dirt out of my way to make passage.  My world had shrunk to a simple thing, putting one foot in front of the other. Soon steps became harder.  With each step, it became more of an effort to move. 

Soon I stopped caring whether the branches hit me or not...there was no strength to lift my arms. 

I staggered forth pushing and pulling until I noticed the path I took was not so filled up with the storm's gift.

The path I was on had less debris than the one that preceded me. It was not because the storm was less severe, but simply because of the break or the gap between one side of the forest and the other.

Piled up gently on either side of the trail and in places the mix of green and brown forest skirt tapered down where it slipped unspoken towards the center of the path.

The slight difference in terrain then became noticeable to me.

I stopped my mind wandering and looked down at the surrounding ground.  I kicked aside some branches. Moved some pine needles, leaves and dirt away, as reasonably as my strength would allow. 

There it was.

A main trail which I walked slightly diagonally into.  My mind cleared and realized this was the way.  Until that point, the world looked as if I was underwater. Wavy, abstracted light... that was the sight my eyes beheld.

I had to concentrate. I had to keep what was left of my mind processes and not let the illness take me...not yet anyway.

I followed the path as best as I could moving aside the smaller branches as I went conserving as much energy as I could, not too fast, not too slow and watching the placement of my feet so as not to fall.

Gradually, slowly I made my way out aided by one more small miracle that came before the day was out. 

In a pile of debris, I found a torn-up jacket.  It was beyond repair and could not be worn but, when I tossed it down again, I heard a jingle.

I searched in the remaining pocket and inside there was close to five dollars in change. 

A small quirk of a smile took a shot at my face, but the energy just wasn't there.

I permitted myself one thought as I forced myself to walk the last hundred feet out, "Hot chocolate". 

I dunno...seemed like a good thought to me at the time.

Pavement...shining bright pavement.

Like the road to heaven, it bloomed in light banishing the darkness which said it's night...

Down the road shone the yellow sign in brown lettering that said, Tim Hortons.

This was not the usual exit or the street I was used to seeing but rather on the other side of the provincial portion of this park.

I had walked many miles it seemed. I was mildly shocked at knowing that but too tired for real shock at that point.

I just wanted some relief. 

The attendant behind the counter eyeballed my condition and gave me a look like I couldn't afford to buy hot chocolate. 

She was right up to a point. But I wasn't gonna give her that satisfaction. I plunked my seventy give cents down and motioned for the hot chocolate which I drank so fast, I scalded my throat. Four dollars and thirteen cents in my hand.  I splurged for a donut. 

The clerk continued to give me the hairy eyeball but passed me the donut without conment.

Out the door, I went.

Out into the small strip mall I found myself. Swallowing my donut, each swallow brought pain to my throat.

I knew it was not because of the hot chocolate, but because I was ill.

I wanted to lie down. Anywhere so I could rest. Didn't matter. Grass ground, tent, bed, it was all gravy to me...not yet. On the street, Down a distance, I could see a lit booth.

Which to me meant "bus stop." Just a bit now and I can get onto a warm bus. I can sit down. I can lean my head against the window and finally, clearly rest, even for just a short time...

My mind proceeded to give me a short blank spot which then found me on the bus stop bench.

My well ran dry. I could move no further so there I stayed.

I stayed until a kind male voice reached me..."Did you want to get on the bus young lady?"

 

"I think you do..."

 
***********************
This journey stayed with me and still does to this very day.
 
It will always stay with me and will always remind me,
that when push comes to shove, that wellspring is still there...inside...and I can draw on that well anytime I must.
 
For another day on this Earth...
 

Author Notes This chapter is part of an ongoing auto bio called "Ghost". It can be found in my portfolio for those who would like to read. Feel free to do so with one small caution. Many of these chapters are difficult and may be too much for some. Readers discretion advised.


Chapter 33
Camouflage

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

I've been sitting with the girl at the bus stop, well, in my mind anyway. 
The physical and emotional remembrance of that day shakes me even now.
But the long dark tunnel led me out, my trembling, aftershock. 
Like the feeling of a close call or narrowly avoiding a bad car accident.
 
I can't leave her lying on that bench too much longer...
 
Come back with me now...let's see.
 
*****************************

"C'mon, young lady.  Let's get you inside." The bus driver said."looks like you've been in a bit of a tussle."

"Yeah, a tussle with a windstorm" I responded listlessly.

"That how you got all those scapes and bruises?" The driver asked.

I nodded and slowly sat up then, attempted to gain my feet.

Staggering a bit, he took my arm and helped me onto the bus.

Warmth...it encompassed me like a long-lost friend. It was not lost on me that I was alone, other than the driver, I was alone on this bus.

"I have some coffee. I'm sure at your age you don't like coffee but, it looks like you could use some. I also think you could use a hospital too," the driver remarked passing a lidful of coffee.

"No! No...thank you. This bus takes me near home. I'll be fine there," responding with alarm a split second before I quashed it.

"Not liking that young lady...can't hold you prisoner though. Here, will you take this instead?"

He passed me over a used but warm turtleneck miles too big for me.

Putting it on, I gratefully accepted.

My eyes were begging me to close. The toothpicks that currently held my lids up were beginning to snap. 

I took the chance because I had to. I told the bus driver where my stop would be and asked, "If I fall asleep, would you please wake me before my stop?" To which he agreed.

Streams of light zipping by horizontally, entrails of fluorescence bleeding out the line.

Peering through the window with sleepy eyes. I'd forgotten how light could be refracted through glass. How the image itself could be made to lie.

I drifted off. 

The lull and sway of the moving bus made its move and I was asleep.

"Young lady? Your stop.  Make sure you get looked at and keep the sweater, looks better on you," the driver remarked.

Offering a small, genuine smile of thanks, I moved as normally as I could exiting the bus trying to hide my pain. The bus drove away slowly while I looked around.

There I was back in the neighbourhood where my parents lived, where I once lived and where my memory lived. 

It started to rain as I walked to the phone booth outside of a pub near the corner next to a coffee shop.

"Ok, now what?  S said their phone was disconnected".

I thought to myself I had to try. I popped in a dime and dialed their number.

To my surprise, the call was answered.

It was "him".

"Hello?" he asked. 

My heart chatted through the chicken dance in my chest. I said,

"Hello, Dad."

"Yup," he said.

"Can I come home?" I asked.

He responded, "No"

"Click" The phone went dead.

So strange...relief then panic.

I weakened fast, I had to sit down, I had to rest. I had to do something where I could. There's only one other phone number I could remember. My grandmother's so again with the dime and I dialed the number now soaking wet and with shivering fingers,  I listened for the phone to ring. After a couple of rings my grandmother answered.

"Hello Oma"

"Vee is dat?" She asks in her thick Dutch accent.

"It's me Oma, your eldest grandchild."

"Vhat you doing?" She asks."

I told her where I was, I told her I had nowhere to go.

She asked another question, "You call home?"

"Yes, he won't let me come home." 

"Heh heh," she responded. "I'm sending a social verker to you." She asked if there was somewhere I could sit and wait. 

What I didn't know then that I know now was, how deep the rabbit hole goes. How very much involved in Social Services she was and had been for years. She had a front row seat down that rabbit hole.

"There's a coffee shop here I can wait in." I gave her the name of it then hung up. I could barely stand but, I walked into that coffee shop and found a booth. 

Collapsing inside I ordered another hot chocolate and mug of soup which cost a total of two dollars and twelve cents.

When the waitress came back with my hot chocolate and soup, what looked like two aspirins sat on the tray beside them.

"That should bring down your fever. You got someone?" She asked.

"Yes, my grandmother has sent a social worker to come pick me up."

"Okay," she responded.

I ate as quickly as the heat of my soup would allow and sipped my hot chocolate alleviating the "caved-in" feeling I often had. 

Leaning back and losing the fight for consciousness, thoughts drifted...

"C'mon...come and get me.  Is that all you got?"

I couldn't care anymore that day...

 

Maybe tomorrow I will...or won't. 

 
***********************
The blink blink of my computer cursor says that's enough for today. 
Stretching I can hear my right hip crack telling me to move around a little more. 
Without my nose to the grindstone and a change in my eye position every so often, we would atrophy I'm sure...
 
Get busy coming or get busy going that is the nature of the biz...

Author Notes The chapter is part of an ongoing auto bio called "Ghost" which can be found in my portfolio. Anyone is welcome to read, should they choose. Just a small caution. Some chapters are difficult to read, reader discretion is advised.
***Picture by Google Images***


Chapter 34
The Parallel

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Driving the familiar streets of the suburb where I live and thinking about my inevitable exit from this city, from this valley, through the mountains into the interior to arid lands. It seems my mother's mouth and recent efforts have come to bite her in the ass.
I said "Darn." 
It seems now the powers that be are aware of my efforts. I don't know for sure, only some side information that I've received from another source.
I did, however, get an interesting email from social services that gave me a case file number with my name on it.
I find that very interesting. Don't you?
I believe I've come to their attention for three reasons. One, a request for copies of all documentation of myself. Two, it's an awful lot of paperwork and three, within days my sister requested her own.  
I've also come to the attention of certain family members as well.
How I'm supposed to be ashamed of myself for putting my mother in danger? A made-up story about two Indian men climbing the wall (50ft of flat concrete straight up) to her sliding door banging on it demanding money, that I supposedly owed money to big-time drug dealers. Yes, this is the story she tells the family. Of course, it's just a way to discredit me.
Then I received another message from my mother and it said, "You're an idiot. Quit whining. Tell me how many men have you been with?" 
This is my mother, the one who nurtured me and protected me from all villains.  Oh, I'm sorry I must have dozed off...
 Driving down the street and the suburb where I live I can see the last of the seasons squirrels and chipmunks gathering up what remains of the nuts to call it a day until Spring.
Orange-red leaves twisting in the breeze soon to join their friends on the ground.
I recalled the conversation about leaving I had with my friend just yesterday.
My upcoming chapter is about the same thing.  Leaving. 
It's a compelling parallel.
But I'm used to weird things.  Knowing, seeing and feeling things that others do not.
Meh...
She's waited too long though, my sixteen-year-old self.
It's time to march on...
*****************************
I was on the beach. I'm playing volleyball, my favourite sport. The sweet salty air enveloped the ocean's breeze and soothed my soul. The ocean lifted her watery skirt and slapped the shore line cooling the hot rocks steaming in the sun.
I woke... Damn...that would have been so much better than here, so much better than this.
I resisted tears and gingerly got out of bed. I was still sore but I could at least tolerate some pressure. Today was the day I decided I was going to go see my friend from Army Cadets.  I had to try and get permission to go, ask for bus fare and get shoes on my feet that weren't winter boots. 
The one way to get bus fare and permission to go was to do exactly what they wanted me to do when they wanted me to do it. If I could anticipate it and get it done before they ordered it. That's always a plus.  If I do extra on top of what they ordered, that too is another plus.
So I did.
I went to my mother instead of my stepfather. He always said no.
I pleaded my case successfully with my mother. She agreed to give me bus fare and permission to go with instruction to be home by nine pm. Of course, it was all contingent on whether or not I could find a proper pair of shoes.
I looked through my sister's things and found a pair of her flip-flops. I showed them to my mother and she waived me off with a parting comment.
"Make sure all your chores are done before you leave young lady."
To which I responded, "Yes".
I knew what time my stepfather walked through the door. I did the quickest and best job I could, the idea being to leave before he got home.  As I was about to leave, I heard his car pull up.
"Shit," I said under my breath. I was going to have to navigate my way past him.
"Where do you think you're going?" He asked.
"To my friend's house". I answered.
"Not like that you're not. Get inside." He growled.
Every damn day always something. Never satisfied. "Fuck!" I thought. "If he wanted perfection, he should have ordered that up to begin with."
Uh oh...there's that sarcastic voice in my head again. "I'd better cool it." I decided. "If I wanted to get to my friend."
Quietly, I followed him in...
*****************************
Sitting here gazing at my friend who's across from me playing on his phone, because that's the nature of the biz these days. I am just as guilty.  Still pondering the problems of today from the problems of yesterday but still, that parallel remains...the leaving...
So let it be written...

Author Notes This story is a chapter in an auto bio called Ghost. It can be found in my portfolio can be read if you wish. One word of caution, some chapters are difficult to get through reader description is advised.


Chapter 34
Bomb

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Walking around my room with a cup of coffee in hand I considered what I'd written. I must keep control of my emotions which could lead to things like accusatory comments, whining, blaming anger or long-winded speeches. 
I don't need to do that. The story speaks for itself. Having opened the door, however, the flow is tough to control.
 
It feels as if have to go pee badly but I'm only allowed to empty half my bladder.  
You try stopping in mid-pee!  A monumental task!
 
There is only one solution to such a dilemma. That is to let my pen continue.
Continue until the whole bladder is empty.
 
Not the best example but the only one that seems to fit.
 
Let's turn the page, shall we?
 
*****************************

I heard my name...echoing down a long dark tunnel.

The buzz in my ears began to fade but not without banging on my already beleaguered head. At first, it seemed like a thousand angry bees were having a party inside my brain.

I heard my name gently called out again.

I opened my eyes.

Someone poured a bag of sand in my eyes, grains of it rolling around behind my lids. Itchy, scratchy and irritating. It was making my eyes water profusely.

I could see the figure of a man standing before my table.

With hands in his pockets, and a small smile on his face, he seemed like a personable sort of guy from his looks.

"Yes, that's me. Hello," I responded.

He introduced himself and where he was from and said, "I received a phone call from your grandmother who's concerned for your welfare. She's saying you're possibly in need of help"

I nodded.

"Can you tell me what happened?" He asked.

I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Dad won't let me come home." I left it that.

Any involvement from these people meant. I had to trust them, and they'd already betrayed me once.

This was the chance I was taking. The risk of sitting down with this man could mean a boatload of repercussions.

I was sick. I was exhausted and my mind desired to shut down.  I became quiet for a while after he excused himself to make a phone call.

I could feel myself slipping ever so slowly in the chair while my head gently dipped towards the table.

I realized if he'd asked me one more question I wouldn't be able to answer anyway.

Nothing left for me to do except lay my head down and play volleyball with the bees in my brain.

Returning from his phone call the social worker informed me that he was taking me to my grandmothers. 

By then I cared for nothing but warmth and rest. I remember almost nothing about the ride from the coffee shop to my grandmother's house. I was completely out of it.

I felt a hand on my shoulder."We're here now." Walking unsteadily, I saw the familiar front door which opened as we approached.

The figures on the top of the stairs were backlit so I couldn't see who they were.

Then slowly, they began to part, my grandmother approached me, "He he" she said. "You are dirty. Put you right into de tub"

"Oma, I don't feel well, can I just lie down? I asked.

"You cannot put dirty feet and hands in my clean sheets. Tis terrible." She answered.

I could not argue. There was no strength in me to do so. I let her lead me as she willed. Oma popped the hallway light on, thanked the worker for bringing me, and then shut the door. I looked up the hallway stairs again and beheld what I thought must have been a hallucination.

My sister.

Standing at the top of the steps looking a bit scared and pale but otherwise she seemed ok.

"How did you get here? What happened to you? I asked.

Immense relief flooded over me enveloping me like an electric blanket. Seeing my sister was okay and unharmed, as far as I could tell, gave me some solace.

"A lot less than you I think," she answered.

"No time for talk." Pointing at us two girls grandmother said, "You into bed" pointing at my sister, "And you" pointing at me, "to the  bathtub.  You girls can talk in the morning."

No point in arguing besides, I didn't want to fuss about it or think for that matter. 

It would be all I could do to get into the bathtub. Besides, it's been months since I had a real bath. I could not forego the pleasure if I wanted to. Willingly, I walked, hand on the wall, towards the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom, I turned on the taps to my desired temperature and sighed deeply. How wonderful this was going to be. Tired and sick doesn't matter.

I removed my clothes and looked at myself for the first time in a long time. I was shocked at what I saw.

Staring back at me, a skeletal girl with big eyes overwhelming her face. Dirt on every inch of her. Blood crusted in her hair. Multiple cuts, scrapes and bruises, mostly arms and legs, some on the face. Rib bones move between breaths skin translucent the bones threatening to bust free of its cage.

A horrid realization hit me not just as a matter of intellect but as a matter of heart. If I hadn't made it out today, I would be dead in a matter of days.  Not the girl I left behind but a wilder darker version of me.

My eyes appeared haunted with dark circles, fingernails shredded looking like a victim of war.  All those who suffered unjustly, who lost their lives during World War Two...and to the beat of nothing, my thanks goes to you.

I certainly looked like one of them. Looking down at the pile of clothes on the floor. Crusted with dirt, blood, old food and everyday muck, I rolled them into balls and tossed them in the garbage.  Wobbling slightly, I pulled my leg over the side of the tub and then the other and slipped into the water.  I lay back in the tub, luxuriating in the glorious field of warm water and weightlessness. I watched incredulously as layers of dirt sloughed off my body in streams. 

Soon the water was black and I hadn't even lifted a washcloth. Draining the water, I filled it up again. Today decided to kick me in the face and lined me up for the after-effects. Shock, you see, can do interesting things to a person and risk lives too.

Floating, mind drifting down hallways in my head, not of my design. My mind was filled with fever and my body hungered again.

I wanted to chase the dirt down the drain...just leave it all behind.  Maybe it was better there...there was nothing amiss and...

Maybe there was no "Him".

My family created the art of disguise.  They are experts, masters of the trade, cons with deceptive perfection. Is kings and queens of manipulation.

She's fooled you now dear reader.

She is not the savior as she would have you believe. 

But the reason...

 

The reason for it all.

 
***********************
I wonder if we couldn't take something like a coffee filter. Put it in the plastic cone and pour all of your emotions into that coffee filter. Then run hot clean water over the pile of emotions and let only the good run through and the rest stays behind in the filter. Like old coffee grounds.
 
In a perfect world....

Author Notes This chapter is an ongoing auto bio called "Ghost". Feel free to read it if you wish it's in my portfolio I would have one word of caution and that is, some chapters are hard to read and therefore reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 35
Deeper

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

I keep thinking I should have known.
I should have known that I was just banging my head against a wall. 
Well, that was many years ago and naiveté should not be mixed up with stupidity. They are, in fact, two separate conditions.
Stupid, I was not. Naive in many ways?  I was, yes.
So I'm running that through my mind right now. Thinking about how to put all that out there in a coherent way, but without complaint.
I keep that in mind as I write and try to capture it all.
 
I'll do my best to keep doing this for this chapter and all coming...
 
Let us peel the roof off this little house and see what she's doing...
 
*****************************

"Time to get up now efer. Breakfast is on the table. Opa will take you to the doctor today." Oma said in her broken English.

"Doctor?" I repeated.

"Yes, check up.  You're too skinny and you vere running a fever last night." She said

I felt OK by then after having slept for 16 hours, I awoke ravenously hungry. "Ok, Oma". Having only my sister's pajamas to wear, I brushed my hair then brushed my teeth and looked around.

Across the room was another bed I assumed was my sister's. Light shone in from the picture window to the right of my sister's bed.  Tree leaves of with emerald-dappled smiles drifted in shadow across the floor.

I came out of the room and smelled the most delicious smell ever made. Approaching the dining room, my eyes fell on the dining room table.  Before me, I saw bacon, scrambled eggs, French toast, milk and juice. My sister happily eating her breakfast at the other end. Based on how she looked, I figured she was headed out to school.

"Eat up," Oma said.

Looking at my sister she said," Five minutes your bus will come". My sister hurried and grabbed her bag.

"Talk later," I said to her in a secretive tone.

"Ok, after school." and bounced out the door. I filled my plate and filled it again.

I knew I had over-stuffed myself. I groaned, grabbed my round belly and made my way back down to the bedroom. After visiting the bathroom for  evacuation, I then came back to the dining room.

"Thank you for breakfast Oma. I can load the dishwasher if you like." I loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counters on the dining room table.

"Go into your sister's room efer and find something that will fit you," Oma said.

I did as she asked and waited patiently in the bedroom for further instructions.

It was, at this time, that I decided to take a peek behind the curtain of my mind and see what was going on. I knew I was still in shock.  I was looking at the problems as if I were outside of it. As if I was watching a film and I was waiting for the script writer to write the conclusion and the director to film it.

"What was going on here? What happened to bring my sister here? What's going to happen to us?" I asked myself.

I wanted answers but wasn't getting any so I'll try to ask my grandmother.  It was a crap shoot on what she will or will not say...I just didn't know or trust anyone.

A little while later, my grandfather knocked on the door and opened it. "Are you ready to go? Opa asked.

"I'm ready, coming right now." Hopping into his station wagon we headed for the doctor. 

My grandfather did this funny little thing he used to do when we were small.

He would hum a song and blow it out his mouth at the same time, and then wiggle his bottom false teeth at me with a big grin. My Grandpa didn't talk about serious things. Not with me that I noticed. He just liked to be everyone's funny Grandpa and leave it at that.  That was fine by me.  He was, on the other hand,  detached from everyone...emotionally distant.

We wheeled into the doctor's parking lot Opa said he'd wait in the car so off I went with the unit number in my memory. I went into the doctor's office and was called for examination almost immediately.

I was asked to remove my clothing and put on the paper gown. The normal procedure is when having a physical exam. The cop doctor came in introduced himself and started gently hitting my knees with a little rubber hammer producing a bounce.

Then had me touch my toes standing up. He checked my joints by maneuvering my arms and legs feeling my neck and looking down my throat listening to my lungs and heart. Examine my scrapes and bumps.  He seemed to consider them superficial and would heal.

Then he performed another exam that I'd never had before. It shocked me.  I didn't understand in my naiveté. "What is this? What are you going to do with this". I asked. 

"I need to perform an internal exam with these instruments." he said. Did your mother ever explain this to you?" He asked.

"No" I answered.

He explained the why and the how-to me.  He said it can be uncomfortable but it's over quickly. Given that he was a doctor, I allowed it to continue and he performed his exam. He was right, it wasn't comfortable, but not unbearably so."you can get dressed now I'll be back in a few minutes.

I dressed quickly not liking the exposed feeling I get in those paper gowns.  I could hear the doctor's voice and then I heard my name.

I was naturally curious to hear what was been spoken of me so I cracked the door a little bit. Kitty corner of this exam room was the doctor's private office.  From that office, I could hear words like," She's a little thin, borderline malnutrition but otherwise healthy". It was silent for a moment as if he was listening then I heard,

"I did an eternal exam, she is intact." Another pause,

"I can't comment on mental disturbance or false memory except to say that she seems stable.  I would consult a psychiatrist for a further opinion."

I quickly shut the door and sat quickly down in a seat. The doctor entered and I eyeballed him suspiciously.

"I would like you to take these vitamins for three months." Handing me a prescription and a food chart. "Try to eat more from the four food groups. You can go now but I'd like to see you in six weeks." 

What does the doctor mean by intact? And who's he talking to on the phone if not my grandmother?

I didn't know a lot, but I knew some things had to be private and this sounded private to me.  I hated that deep hollow feeling, that gut wrench that always told me when something was wrong.  Part of my extra sensitivity that I could not ignore.

I also knew another thing. That doctor was repeating words I'd heard before.

Words from my own family's lips. They continue to perpetuate the lie, but why?  

As mentally disturbed, why? Because they're setting the stage, they're setting the stage for what's to come. Again the truth just of reach gazed upon me.

I was silent the rest of the way back. I didn't like this feeling.  I knew this was going to go deeply and badly wrong.

Right through the front door where three small girls carrying the lies.

Hello, fear...back to dance on my heart again?

 
***********************
Everything has to be so harsh. Everyone hides everything from everyone and everybody. All the secrets, all the joys all the sadness...hidden.
My family continued to make the same mistakes. They always made the same one over and over.
Assuming I'm stupid....
 
Good luck with that...

Author Notes This chapter is part of an ongoing auto file called ghost. It can be found in my portfolio if you'd like to read it just a small note of caution. Some chapters are hard to read reader discretion is advised. The word seen here as "Efer" is like "Do you understand?" And/or get moving "come now" or "get it?


Chapter 36
Revelation

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Here we are in the deep mire where truth resides. I've pushed, sloshed and scraped my way to it. Stand in defiance against those who try to stop it...truth always comes out.
 
My family holds the language of secrets, the art of deflection. They are the wool pulled over your eyes designed to fool. 
The masters of manipulation disguised as charm.
 
People lie for two reasons. one, to protect themselves. Two, to protect someone else.
 
My mother texted me yesterday evening. She asked how my book was going. She had acquired a copy through another family member (it's not hidden).
Those first few pages of writing held terror for me. I've poured my heart out on these pages.  I carried the old pain for all of us for so long by having to sift through words, by the dredging up of old betrayals.
She said to me only one thing...
"You made me look bad."
 
That's it...that's all.  Love you too...
 
****************************

"So tell me what happened? I asked my sister. I mean I had to leave...I had to...you know I had to. I'm sorry." I said.

"I know." She said looking down at her fingers. "I just don't like to talk about it."

"We have to if only to keep going and not give up.  Tell me what happened after I was gone. Please. I tried to find out. My friend called and asked for me and then asked for you.  Dad said that neither of us lived there anymore. My other friend called to do the same thing and he said the line was disconnected."

She looked at me, visibly shaking, a face bunched up with tension, trying to hide the true face of fear.

 

SISTERS STORY'

"After you left, I tried to be a good girl so he wouldn't have a reason to hit me. It didn't matter, he was always mad about something.  Many times he wouldn't let me eat.  It was such a long way to school with no food, even longer. I was always hungry. He didn't like anything I did. Always punishing me.  I can't remember all the things he said I did wrong, except one. There were some cold cuts in the crisper. I was so hungry, I ate some of it.  He was mad.  He pushed me around the kitchen and then kicked me hard in the stomach. I was crying quietly because I couldn't catch my breath enough for anything else.  He told me to stop crying or he was gonna give me something to cry about. There was no eating allowed since he figured I'd eaten enough. Sometimes, for days at a time, I went without food. Every day I walked to school and back again often without lunch, and loosing a lot of weight quickly. One morning I couldn't get up. There was no strength to stand. Dad tried to make me but I couldn't stand.

I heard Mom on the phone talking about going to the hospital, maybe intervenous feeding. 

It was quiet for a minute then the rattling sound of the mouthpiece being dropped into the phones cradle. 

Footsteps.

Then I heard her say to Dad that she was taking me to Oma's house. It took me a couple of days to feel ok so here we are, both of us."

 
What she didn't notice while telling her tale was my hands began to clench. Knuckles bled white.
Crescent moons on bleeding palms.  Legs shaking just dying to spring. The white purple and pink swatches on my face were indicative of extreme rage.

I exploded "FUCK!! I wanna beat the shit outta him!! I hate him!!"

"What is going on down there!?" Oma yelled.

"Sorry Oma, we'll keep it down," I answered.

My sister expressed a wide-eyed look at my outburst and asked, "What's going to happen to us?"

"I'm not sure yet, I'm not sure about a bunch of things right now, I'm not sure how Oma is involved. I'm wondering about that. I mean, why wouldn't they just take you to a hospital?  Why did they bring you here instead? You look like you're sick and need a doctor."

"I did see a doctor," she said. He gave me a prescription of vitamins and told me to take them for a while." Then a little thunder showed in her eyes and across her brow. 

"What's up?" I asked.

"He did a weird exam, it's just that it was uncomfortable and it was inside. I didn't like it at all, I don't want it again." She said.

"That doctor did the same thing to me too. I heard him talking to Oma. She wants to know if we're virgins. " 

"Oh wow really? " My sisters eyes like moons.

"You girls! Supper!" Oma called out.

"Coming!" I said. 

Something was wrong, Something was very wrong.

The loose ends just don't connect. There's a step missing somewhere but I don't know what it is.  Is it dangerous? What am I not seeing? That feeling of foreboding hanging onto me since the conversation with my sister.

Rage was still sailing my ship so I had to calm myself before going out there for dinner. 

It was question-answer time. 

It was time to fill in the blanks.

It was time for all things to be in the sun...

 
*****************************
 
That was the day when the doors opened. That was the day when I realized the 14-year-old girl who went in the bush was not the 15-year-old girl who came out.
But neither am I the 15-year-old girl and so the progression continues whether we like it or not...but every once in a while, we must reach...back

Author Notes This story is part of an ongoing auto bio called "Ghost". You can find this and other chapters in my portfolio under the book name, feel free to read anytime you wish. I should say a word of caution that is, some chapters are difficult to read. I would say that reader discretion is advised!


Chapter 37
The Clue

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Acid tears the cheeks repast 
A trail of dissolution 
This leads only to betrayal
My heart's bewilderment
 
Molasses smiles the con's mask
Entangles pretended warmth
A promise of empty foundations
Cracklin' whip their fool's arms
 
Soon she'll come, the circle to close
To deliver that which they honed
The popcorn pops, the movie plays
I need only watch...
 
I called this one Gas lighter not because of a man...but because of my family.
 
Barracuda in human skin.
 
"A poem by Lea Tonin"
 
*****************************

"Oma, Opa after supper can we talk to you?" I asked.

"Opa is deaf. He can't hear you. You just talk to me." Oma replied.

We finished our dinner chatting about small things then cleaned up the kitchen.

We sat down on the floor in the TV room waiting for Oma.

"Ok, vhat you girls vhant to know?" Oma asked.

"How did we get here Oma? I mean, I know how I got here but how did this whole thing come about? What's going on with Mom and Dad? What's going to happen to us?"

I peppered her with questions when it might have been better to ask one at a time. She took it in stride though and began to answer.

"You girls vill stay vith Oma and Opa for a vhile."

"What's going on with Mom and Dad?" I asked again.

"Ve not talk about Dat. It's neet good. Not necessary. You girls vill stay for a Vhile."

Before I could protest she moved on to the next subject. 

"Ve take you to the school on Monday" looking at me. "Ve go to church on Sundays. The Deacon sometimes comes for Sunday dinner. You vill be on your best behaviour. No buying or selling on Sundays. You vill have chores and curfew.  NO BOYS!!"

I wonder where that one came from because I never thought about boys. That's a no-brainer for me. My grandmother avoided the big questions. Skillfully done too I might add. 

She also refused to talk about our parents.

Suddenly it clicked!  This was all planned!  This was all arranged!  Step-by-step, all arranged to get us here! Why though? What is going on? I don't know.

I'm missing a large piece of this puzzle. What's the motivation behind this? What is happening? 

I wrapped my arms around my knees and began to rock. Sort of a self-soothing action which also helped me think. The warning bells in my head were trying to crack my skull open, they were so loud.

There was no truth in this family.  The truth is what they deemed it to be, not necessarily what is.

Each with their own agenda, each with their own mission to get ahead.  One member I was watching liked the ladies and lots of them.

He circled like a buzzard flying in concentric circles tightening that circle bit by bit until he was close enough to whisper in her ear.

Offering a tray of sweet words in  slow seduction, I could see her beginning to relax, see the slow smile begin to spread across her face.

He knew the moment he won her over. Soon they walked hand in hand together out the door.

A manipulation, a means to an end.  It's the same approach. The same seduction. This time on a church reverend. Another member tried and tested the approach and it worked beautifully.

The slow circle. The small little seduction a brush on the shoulder, compliments, a helping hand a small wooing of the churches reverend until all who were in the church were skillfully disarmed. That following Sunday all the churchs money was gone. 

Gone.

Then there was the agoraphobic pack rat a nice man just the same. Promises made to clean and redecorate his home. Friendship assured just give me access to your accounts. The gentleman did.  That gentleman has nothing left and by the same insidious plan of attack used over and over again. 

I could lean back against the wall and watch the same game being deployed by the greedy. 

Manipulation in all its forms happen everyday. One by I one could predict their next step. When they were going to succumb when the con had won. Circles within circles of people with their own agendas, pushing and moving to create the circumstances for whatever success they had in mind. I could see the same thing happening repeatedly, here, today. 

Some are buzzards others are carcasses. 

When you're sensitive, you learn to follow certain cues, body language that might be an old term, but it's highly practical for this purpose. Watching their eyes, do they flit back-and-forth?  Do they look you in the eye? Are they down or up.

Study the attitude. Do they fidget? Are they slightly hunched over looking down holding their hands together? Or are they standing tall with the chest puffed up?

If you know human behavior really well and the types of personalities that are out there, you can predict what's coming and along with messages given it provides the direction that's needed.

"THAT'S IT!!" I thought. "They want to control our movements, our speech, our very thoughts! To watch us every minute of every day.

What do we have that they want?  Is it our silence?  Are we kept hidden and out of the way?

This is systematic.  A pattern of behaviour I've seen throughout the family and out into the world. 

The con is on.  A game of who can fool who.

They say the same things, comment on the same subjects and pass on the same gas lighter plan that never fails. Why fix what ain't broke?

Circling in smaller circles, they zero in on the next target. I watched my Mother, my Stepfather, my uncles and my grandmother. These family members all behave in the exact same way. 

They blow smoke up each other's ass then get offended when it starts to burn!

Each using each other for their own purposes. 

What is this family blight?  The disease of deception? Think it can all go away with the flick of a broom? Why keep us under wraps?  What is it they hope to accomplish that they're so willing to trash three girls to achieve it? 

We has been controlled and manipulated as far back as I can remember. Isolated incidents over the years began to fall into place...start to make sense.

Times we were told to leave the room, Nonsensical snippets of conversation now fit the puzzle board.  The reason behind the multiple name changes my mother arranged. The same social worker where no reports were noted. The isolation, the systematic abuse both physical and mental. The effort to make us believe we had false memories.  To make us believe we were mentally disturbed. Now all this corroborates this new revelation, this "ah ha" moment I'm having.

Shocked and blown away by all these new pieces of information.

I couldn't trust myself to sit still or behave properly. So I said good night to everyone and went to my room. Spinning tumbling brain not willing to believe what I already knew was real.  People who can behave in such a way and with their children. I didn't need to look at a textbook of laws to know it was wrong. I also knew that my naiveté in many ways had burst its borders and knowledge was taking away the cherubic face of innocence. 

There can be no end until all the players in the game are exposed when their motivation shifts on the breeze and they run out of cards to play. 

Then it's done...I'll say when.

 
***********************
Remembering those times of revelation and realizations when ends finally started to meet, things became known.
 
My eyes became brighter and wider. I knew more, I saw more and felt deception in the air..heavy like smog...my senses were...more.
 
Patience was the key.  No other way...to tame the beast.

Author Notes The story is from an auto bio called "Ghost". It can be found on my portfolio if you wish to read feel free. With one small word of caution, some of these chapters are hard to read and contain violence. Reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 38
Shock

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

"If I knew then what I know now..."
How familiar is that phrase? It seems to echo and bounce in my mind as if my gray matter was a trampoline! 
 
It's sunny and cool, a sapphire sky winks at me coaxing me to join the dance. 
Rain check.
 
It's time to gather up the clues. It's time to put them in line.
It's time to know.
 
*****************************
 

Distraction. Didn't work. Not this time. Within a minute my mind flipped right back to the issue of where I was and why. 

There was no stopping that train in my head until the answers were received.

Stop chewing on those revelations like a dog with a bone and act.

I forced myself to breathe. To calm down, To try and employ logic and common sense in an illogical situation. This needs to be approached like you would a large mountain project one step at a time.

First step:

Write down what's known and this is what is known.

GRANDMOTHER - High public figure for Social Services now known as Ministry of Children and Families. Commemorative plaque in Halifax at the pier with our family name marking our arrival in Canada. Very involved with the church and the Deacon. Shady things/dealings details were not yet known at that time.

UNCLE  #1 - A high non-public figure works deep in the core of Social Services now known as the Ministry of Children and Families. Policy Maker/Enforcer

AUNT - Medium non-public figure member of Social Services now known as Ministry of Children and Families. Long-serving foster parent to special needs and/or disabled children.

UNCLE #2 - High public figure Politician. Popular TV presence. Chamber of Commerce, active speaker

Four important careers.

Four important people.

THREE YOUNG GIRLS - 

Complaining of abuse with what was called Social Welfare, or Zenith 1234 and then known as Social Services now known as Ministry of Children and Families.

No important career. Not public servants and nobody knows us. 

Can you see where this leads? What is the common denominator? What theme comes through or whispering to your ear?

I only know this... terror was back.

And not inclined to leave anytime soon.

Author Notes This is a chapter in an auto bio called "Ghost". You can find this novel
On my portfolio you are welcome to read if you wish to do so.
One caution would be that some chapters are hard to read. Reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 39
Aftershock

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

"You are no longer my daughter. Fuck off! I've had enough of this"
 
This is my mother...as it was...as it is...as it will be.
She doesn't like me writing.  She doesn't like me talking.  She doesn't like me knowing. 
 
Soon messages will come.  Soon those who would try to shame me will come followed by those who would perpetuate the lie.  
 
The lie that spanned
generations.
 
*****************************

"Snap out of it! You knew when you opened that can of worms, there would be more than one worm in it!"

That went through my mind as I tried to slow the paranoia and panic slamming doors in my head. Slowly my heart and my breathing returned to normal as I tried to re-order my thoughts. Attempting to untangle the mystery of what's going on.

I began with step one about what's known.  So far I have a sort of who's who. Will there be a path to follow? I don't know...

I know this, it's time to line up more clues and see how the cookie crumbles.

Step two

Girl 15 oldest child. The name changed three times. Two identities per change for a total of six changes. Currently uses one of the aliases as permanent ID. 90lbs, ill, rundown upon arrival.

Girl 14 middle child. Name change three times no double identity for a total of three changes. Currently uses legal identity as permanent ID. 89lbs, ill, rundown upon arrival. Required hospital care denied.

Girl 10 youngest child. No name changes. Her natural father removed her from the home at age five.

Environmental conditions - girls lived in the attic. Cots for beds, little else. Living restricted and in isolation.

Parents did not attend school functions of any kind or have an interchange with any officials. Upon the oldest girl reaching high school age requiring her to leave the island, relocation commenced to another area of semi-isolation surrounded by forest.

Systematic premeditative conditioning both mental and physical began in preschool years.

I'm looking at what I've written. I know that the answer is in there somewhere but I needed another clue. It made no sense to me that someone could hate children so much. I wondered what it was that we did so bad as to cause such hatred, such pain and such loneliness.  Confusion, that's what my life has been at its best...confusion.  When Despair comes it drags down the soul and takes away the will to move forward. I open my bedroom door with a crack. I can see my grandparents each in their respective, chairs. Oma is talking to Opa in Dutch. Opa is Poo pooing waving his hand as if to blow off whatever it was she said.

After lining up all the clues, I could see there was a pattern.

Do you dear reader? Do you see the pattern that I see?

A round and round Hell Ferris wheel turns clanking and screeching with each revolution. 

Very soon, an important clue will come my way. Understanding a large chunk of clues began to make sense.

But it comes from an unlikely place. It comes from the end of a rolled-up newspaper.

*****************************
 
It all seems so real now. I'm moving forward at a break neck speed.
Now the hammer begins to fall like I knew it would.  I have protected myself in such a way that they cannot interfere with my employment or my means of supporting myself.  
Every day I ask myself two questions. Did I do the best I can? Is there anything more I can do?
If the answers are yes and no, I must be a like a duck and let it all roll off.

Author Notes There is a difference between what is known now and what was known then. My 15 year old self registered the strange and cruel things that went on, but didn't connect the dots until much later.
I've lain out some of what's known now.
If you wish, there are other chapters in an auto bio called "Ghost" in my portfolio. You are all welcome to read should you wish. One note of caution. Some chapters are hard to read. Reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 40
Origins

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Sometimes to understand the present one must understand the past. 
 
Because no answers were forthcoming, no explanations and no adequate reasons why, I needed to at least make sense of it. To put it in order, pop it in a box and shelve it.  I wish it was as easy as that...
That can of worms didn't have enough room in it...I approach with trepidation in the writing of it.
 
Tippy toes...
 
*****************************
 
"De street slut is home!"  Wack wack wack the rolled newspaper bounced off my head. 
It was 11:15 pm.  I explained to her that the movie does not end until 11 pm that I would be home by 11:15. 
 
"Nay," she said. "Home by 10 pm" 
I was home by 11:15 pm
 
I loved my grandparents. Every time we visited we were allowed to eat. 
Every Christmas she would give us a chocolate letter to eat. I knew my stepfather would not hit me when we visited.   He just sat in the corner with a newspaper.  I never wanted to leave.
Since we came we sat through many religious lectures.  Church every Sunday, a round of chores, school, things that most families did.   I didn't mind any of it.  I would gladly deal with all that as long as I didn't get hit and I could eat.
In these religious lectures, there was a common theme. 
 
"The sins of the first generation shall be visited upon the third" is her favourite line. 
Finally I asked her, "Does that mean I'm gonna get heck for what you did?"
 
"That is exactly true!" She answered. 
 
From then on, I was the street slut whenever she thought I was sinning or disobeying.  According to her, if I did not conform then I was a whore.
Heck, I didn't even know what a French kiss was! Some guy asked me how far I've gone. I said I walked to the movies once. That's how naive I was.
That weekend I was allowed to go to my oldest Uncle's and my aunt's house to visit with my cousin.
 I was sitting down on the carpet in their living room feeling sad. They asked me what was wrong so I told them. 
"Oma keeps calling me a street slut."
" Come and sit up on the couch with us we'll try to explain." my uncle asked. 
 
I sat up on the couch just as my uncle pulled out a photo album.  In this album, there were pictures of men. Some in snappy suits others in everyday clothes.  He pointed to one man wearing a fedora.
"This man is likely the father of your twin uncles."
I looked up in shock."  He pointed at another man fair-haired.
"This man is probably the father of your aunt in the interior."
He pointed again to a man wearing work clothes, "This man would be the father of your uncle back east."
 
I stared at my uncle and a phrase Opa used to say we all thought was a joke came to mind. 
" I took my pants off in Germany and my wife was pregnant in Holland." Oma would chuckle perpetuating the idea that it was only humor.  Opa was dead serious.
"These other men may or may not be a father to any of your other aunts and uncles. But your Oma spent time with them." Uncle said.
I was blown away.
But it explained so many things. "Your Oma seems to think that all females behave in this way."
 
 My Opa, whom I loved the best, I always thought maybe he was a little bit soft because he did whatever my Oma told him to do every time. He stayed in his world and did his own thing. Always pleasant to me yet always seemed distracted. When I returned to my grandparents, I took my Opa aside.  "I know now Opa...may I ask why you didn't leave her?"
He said to me words I'll never forget.
"Because I had children that were mine and I couldn't leave them.  In those days you don't leave your wife."
 
My respect for Opa soared after that.   He sacrificed himself to keep everyone together.
As a result of Oma's increasing behaviour, they left Holland for Canada.  Oma continued this behaviour until a few years after Opa's death. 
In all the years since I never once threw that in her face,  never once. 
I didn't need to.  I had what I needed... 
 
Understanding... 
 
************************
I could see the family dynamics and how things moved back and forth. I watched while everyone went to great lengths to keep the big secret quiet.  It's funny how things pass down from one generation to the next. That each of these passed on behaviors over generations can cause mental Illness. Can cause a disconnect between what is right and what is wrong.
The family circles each other.
Like the gas lighter buzzard to see who's bleeding next.
I began to realize and learn more with every new revelation.
 
We are the tug and pull in this family.  The doormats at the door.
The sacrificial lambs to all that is and all that was in my family.
 

Author Notes This story is part of an ongoing auto bio called "Ghost". It can be found in my portfolio if you wish to read. A note of caution, some of these chapters are hard to read. Reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 41
Mask

By Lea Tonin1

Isn't it funny, all the faces we show the world? The masks we wear?
We wear them when we don't want to be vulnerable or expose ourselves. 
We wear them out of fear and in the process we've disconnected.
We don't know who we are anymore. Instead, we live with our masks, peek out occasionally then duck back behind them again.
 For the last couple of days, I've been shaking my head. 
My family is as predictable as ever...I am disowned.  All that means is things will remain the same.
 
Squawk squawk squawk...I'm sorry... are you speaking to me?
 

****************

The amber sun was beaming in azure blue while flirting birds bounced on gymnastic skies.  Drawing as much peace from their antics as I could, I made the troubled journey home. Oma had been diligently trying to make us believe we were mentally disturbed. That we were exaggerating or lying about the things that happened to us. That we had made up memories. That we misbehaved and didn't want to face up to our punishment. That we are ruining people's lives with the things we're saying. She poured on the tears crying as if we did this to her. She successfully shamed us into complying with her instructions.  She said I should be careful or I was going the way of the street slut. She had me write letters to each member of the family apologizing for my behaviour and promising not to say or do such things again. Only one family member responded which brought me back to myself.

In the letter, she said it is not your fault your stepfather used you as a punching bag. It's not your fault your mother abandoned you, it is not your fault they used you as slaves. You shouldn't be apologizing for any of that.

That was my aunt. The one who, some years back, gave me clothes because I didn't have any.

I thanked her for her letter and said you're right. Thanks for bringing me back and I came back to myself quickly. For one specific reason.

The girl who went into the forest was not the girl that came out. I had more wisdom when it came to survival. Some of the naive bubbles that I carried with me popped. There was a shrewd look in my gaze and I watched with an eagle eye missing nothing. 

Knowing the things I know about the family too, I knew they were capable of anything.  So I prepared myself for anything.

I also knew balls to bones that my stepfather was trying to end our lives.

Death in a way they could explain due to deteriorating mental health so it wouldn't cause trouble for Oma and her sons or my stepfather and mother.

While oma continued her diatribe in her effort to make us believe we were messed up.

At the same time, my mother went to family and friends telling them that we girls had false memory syndrome to not pay attention to anything we said. They set the stage for the three of them so anything that happened to us, there it was, the explanation.

I got wind of that particular jewel when we had to attend a funeral. People began to approach me throughout the funeral saying, "You should know what your mother and grandmother are saying about you."They said it word-for-word verbatim like they sat and planned it together. My mother and grandmother, two created undeserved reputations for us girls that we were never able to live down.

That set the trap for us.  I knew it...plain as my nose.

The snowball effect:

What would happen if Social Services took us seriously? 

Oma, a high-up public social worker would lose her job and an investigation would be carried out. All her secrets would be revealed.  Which in turn could ruin the career of her politician son.  This will also affect the career of her policymaker son high up in social services.  Her daughter's career as a foster parent for disabled and/or special needs kids.  The whole house of cards will come tumbling down and everyone will go with it.

You cannot start a life with lies and deception. It's doomed to failure. A house of cards bound to fall.

For Oma, it would be the worst, but for one lie, one secret all of this chaos, wreckage, blood, danger manipulation and downright criminal activity would not have happened.  Likely there would be charges and people would pay. How could you keep something like this quiet? You can if you work for the source.

Oma could not have any of that coming up. It would ruin her reputation with the church the social services and her friends.

And the success of her children would not happen.  They'd lose their careers by association and/or involvement with that deception exposed. If all came out, it would be like being back in Holland again rejected by everyone.

If Social Services did not take us seriously well... 

Two dead girls... without even a whisper.

************************
 
Even now my knees quiver a bit with that knowledge.   We were expendable. Trash. The one's no one valued.  How could we fight that?
 
I would be 16 soon...old enough... 


Chapter 42
Pawn

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

People ask why. Why would someone want to abuse two girls?  I spent my life asking why.
You might as well ask a cat what it sees at night. There is no rhyme or reason to it.  The answer is because he can...simple as that.
 
Combined with public people who work directly with foster children and abused children,  who desperately want to keep this under wraps.  That's how you abuse two girls. then cut them off from everything.  That's how you teach them, make them expendable.
 
How many chances I wonder did two young girls have? When the mother is indifferent and the stepfather wants them gone? No one believes you and the environment created by the parents makes it difficult to change minds...
How dare we put the lives and careers of others on the line? How could we be so selfish? That was their favourite argument.  That's how you abuse two girls. That's how it stays under wraps.
 
I wonder what it's like for someone to hug you and tell you they love you and mean it?
I wonder what it's like for someone to hug you...
 
I wonder...
 
*****************************
 

I'm going to be 16 in a couple of days. Isn't that supposed to be some milestone or something? But I didn't think it mattered.

I was suffering hard from depression, At times debilitating.  Each time it happened it was worse and harder than the last. There is a vast difference between sadness and depression. Normal sadness would be from a loved one passing or your dog getting lost, that would be sadness. It has rhyme, it has reason.  Depression has no rhyme or reason. Not only does it take you down the deep dark hole. There is no eating, there's no sleeping, no dressing, no doing anything but constantly begging God to please make it go away. 

A feeling of desperation and anxiety.  Like holding on with one finger nail over a large black maw.

There is no control. It comes and goes as it pleases regardless of your day. It's chemical, it's physical. It's an imbalance and lowering of natural endorphins produced by your brain. Specifically called Serotonin.

I laid there in my bed not caring if I lived or died. Not caring if I ate, not caring if I used the bathroom, brushed my teeth nothing. All I could do was beg God over and over and over again. Please take it from me, please take it away. Please take this terrible pain away so I can function again.

The smell of food was making me nauseous. Any sudden movements set my heart racing. I was scared again. I completely shut down from my instincts. Anyone who came around me or near me could not touch me or make sudden movements or I would cower.  I had to have all the lights on and remain completely still.

It sometimes lasted for days and this time was no different.  If I saw anyone I would think, please stay or please go...

I just couldn't handle it. If the TV was on, I couldn't watch anything more violent than a nature show. Don't even put a feather on my head I will know.  Crying, rocking and begging, I suffered more than my stepfather could ever create during those times. 

None of us came out of this unscathed. This was my burden and still is to this day. I feared for my life during those times.

There's only so much I could take. I told everyone to go away leave me alone and let me pass this. I would sip water cry, beg, throw up and cry some more.

I knew and kept telling myself to get my shit together. I told myself I had to get moving. That I have a plan and the plan won't come together unless I get moving. That's what it was. 

I just couldn't do it.

So I laid there. I laid there for days, refusing anything except for a little bit of water. A depression, I never felt so bad...wake up!! It's time to die!

 

But not today...

 

Author Notes This story is part of an ongoing auto bio called "Ghost." It can be found in my portfolio and can be read if you wish. A small word of caution some chapters are hard to read. Reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 43
Surprise

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

I'm stalking my PC again...or it's stalking me.  Don't suppose it matters. Really.
It's my hand that reaches out of its own volition moving the mouse, setting things in motion once again.
There, up on my screen was book called "Ghost". Two sides of me respond when I see that. One wants to kick ass all over the place and keep on writing. Get it all out right up to now.
Spew it out until the last bone chatters on the floor. 
The other one wears my stepfather's voice saying.
"You playin' your stupid games again you little witch? No one wants to hear your shit you mental defective!  You're useless! Get the hell out of my sight!" 
You know what I say?
 
A loud resounding FUCK YOU!
 
Good...that's better...
 
Back on memories trail.
 
*****************************
 

I was afraid to open my eyes.

As soon as I do the tsunami comes rushing over me. An onslaught of fear, anxiety and hopelessness I was becoming less able to fight.

I cracked when my eyes opened. I could see the sunlight running rampant through the room. Streams connected with the carpet's gold-coloured filaments waving their arms...good morning!

So far so good. No banging heart no rush in my ears. I opened the other eye.  A small flurry in my heart and the distant roar of rushing blood. Other than that, better.

I sat up slowly, and swung my legs over the side of the bed, waiting to see if any of that nastiness would come back. 

I was feeling weak. A little wobbly in the knees but, it seemed like the worst was over. The main symptoms had passed for which I was extremely grateful and thanked God for profusely.

I put on a house coat and peeked out my door. No sound could I hear and no person could I see.

Walking gingerly down the hall I could see the dining room table and on it was some tea and a couple of cookies. I poured myself a cup of tea and considered the cookies. They looked good so I grabbed one and out to the patio I went. Sitting down on the lawn chair I slowly sipped my tea nibbling on a cookie.

My mind wanted to start chewing on the problem again. But I forced myself to relax and not to think about anything too deeply.

"Veese! Come help vith the groceries effer!" I could hear Oma yelling from the front yard. It gave me a jolt as I was still flinching from loud noises and quick movements.

"Oh good you are avake. Get vashed and dressed efer, come to the table. Tell your sister ve have some chicken." I said OK and returned to my room.  There she was my sister perched on her bed. "You OK?" She asked.

I answered, "Better thanks. Oma wants us to wash up and go eat chicken."

We washed, dressed and headed back to the dining room.  Eating chicken Oma seemed especially solicitous and was even joking a little bit.

My warning bells were screaming.  My extra sense recoiled back into my head. Oma wiped her hands on her paper towel then turned and looked up at us."Ve sending you girls home tomorrow." Both of us were shocked and went pale.  My heart started slamming blood rushing like thunder in my ears.  I could see my sister quickly retreat within herself, which would become her coping mechanism more and more.  Soon she won't come back at all.

I dropped my fork onto my plate. "You girls are much better now, you can go home." I got up, walked quickly down the hall to the bathroom and promptly threw up my chicken. I left the bathroom went down to my room sat down on my bed trying desperately to slow my heart down. Oma came into the room.

"Vhat do you think? Hmm? You can't live vith Oma forever."

"Didn't think anything.  We didn't have anything to think of.  You wouldn't tell us about our parents. Now you're sending us back."

I hung my head low and I too retreated into myself not saying another word.

Oma saying, "do you hear me? Do you understand me? You don't sound like youre listening to Oma...." but on this level where I'm at now, nobody can reach me here.

This changes everything.


Chapter 44
No body's Child

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

It is with a tripping heart and trembling fingers I write this next chapter. 
I cannot give way to rampant feelings for fear it will temper my writing and steer it to a place none of us want to go.
Between remembrance of the mind and remembrance of the heart, there is a delicate balance.
Step back... breathe...Give the facts out as best as I can.
 
I can't stop all the old feelings.
Nor the tears...
 
With my middle standing straight up I write....
 
*****************************
"Are you ready?" I took my sister's bag wrapping my hand over hers to try and reassure her but hers was cold and clammy. Her eyes overwhelmed her pale face with a pleading.  I know that look...we are closely familiar.
"We have no choice now, the only thing we can do is stay out of his way and be very quiet, do exactly what we're told. It won't be forever and we'll be gone." She looked at me nodded and walked slowly over to Opa's car.
Both of us were fidgeting in our seats knees bouncing, looking around our faces pinched eyes shining with fear. The closer we got to the house, the more I saw my sister fade behind her eyes. When we got to the house, she was gone.  Only her shell sat quietly in her seat. Perhaps it's better for her that way to retreat and wait for the bombing to be over.  She never did fully come back after that.
Parts of her remain lost in her mind. For me, the closer we got to the house. The deeper my rage burned.
That rage kept me from following my sister and slipping away too. A stubborn something inside me still had its middle finger up. Such a nice finger.
"Don't leave your stuff on the landing. Put it away."
 
The familiar growl sent my spine crawling. Down the stairs, we went into our old room and put our stuff away. I stood up with my sister and knew we had to get up there for orders.
Standing in front of him we waited.   He sighed dropped his newspaper and looked up.
"What are you standing there for?  You're not here for summer vacation you know, get to work."
"Waiting for instructions," I said. He got up from his chair distended his middle knuckle and punched me in the head.
"Don't get smart with me!  You know damn well what the chores are!"
I hated him so fucken much at that moment, I was shaking in anger.  And my mother...gone as usual. 
I started the wash and as I did, I considered patricide. I could understand very well how a child could be driven to such a thing.
I had visions of him begging for his life while I held a knife to his throat.  But wanting a thing and doing a thing for me would not connect and knew I could never do it.
I spent the next two days in that basement doing nothing but laundry.
It didn't take too long before the starvation punishment was re-introduced. My sister didn't put something away in the right spot.
No supper, but he didn't stop there. No, he went and got McDonald's. Putting it on the kitchen table made her sit down on the floor forcing her to watch us eat.
The cruelty, the mind games, the name-calling, and the punching all started up like it never went away. 
I had a new hatred though towards my mother. A long time coming I think. Her indifference, Her lack of maternal instincts, Her narcissism and selfishness, and her willingness to throw us to the wolves without even looking back.
She was also armed with a boatload of excuses for why her children were bad. But most of all her failure to protect us.
And it pains me so much to say. I hate her more now than I ever did. They called themselves human. I called them monsters with a human guise. 
We deteriorated fast.  Weight loss, haunted eyes. Terror for breakfast lunch and dinner. 
"I've got to get us out...quickly." I thought. "He's slowly killing us" 
 
My mother and my stepfather have decided they liked it better without kids in the house and we're diligently making plans to get rid of us.  
 
How...remains to be seen.
 
************************
That was probably the most dangerous time we had to face. Filled with malevolence, hatred and pain, we lived in it daily...
I put my hands to my face...felt the tears.  Slowly I wipe them away and tell myself...it's over.
 

Author Notes The story is part of an ongoing auto bio called "Ghost." It can be found in my portfolio should you wish to read it. You are welcome too. Please note, some chapters are hard to read. Reader discretion advised.


Chapter 45
The Rage

By Lea Tonin1

I don't know...I'm not sure.
 
There are many supportive people here on this site who kindly asked me, "How are you doing today? This must be hard for you."
 
I don't know...I'm not sure That's what I got when I asked myself how I'm doing today.
 
I knew when I began writing this that it was going to be a journey.
The mountain of new revelations, connections and evidence reveals itself.  One block in the correct spot causes all others to fall into place.
Then a chain begins to reveal itself linking all clues events and hints together.
 
A bomb was dropped you see. 
A bomb in the form of multiple boxes with a note on them...It's a warning. It said, "Do not read these documents alone."
 
How am I doing today?
 
I don't know...I'm not sure. 
 
What is shocking to me today is that the whole thing was premeditated and designed to rid themselves of unwanted children in such a way as not to be caught. A deliberate methodically planned event designed to make two children disappear whether metaphorically or physically.
They began to mentally condition us trying to make us believe that we were mentally disturbed that we had false memory syndrome that no one should listen to us because of this.
They spread out this made-up philosophy to anyone or anyone who listened family or otherwise.
I sit here now with proof of everything they tried to do and did to us. I have ridden the emotional rollercoaster while writing this. New information also discovered caused much alarm and what I discovered is incredulous to me. I couldn't even think of doing that to another human being...who does that?
This potential becomes large and significant my mother is doing her level best to discredit me.  She spreads her venom to anyone who will listen. She continues to lay the foundation that she began years ago to bury me.
I know as we speak that she's out dumping more deceit and singing the same tune. When the authorities come knocking, she has her excuses lined up. So I sit surrounded by proof of their reprehensible stack of lies.
 
What I didn't know then that I do now? Lots.
 
Opponent's
 
Mother - actively perpetuated the lie. Blocked information and/or falsified documents, Abandonment, failure to protect and nurture her children.  Active participant in abuse and cover-up.
 
Grandmother - progenitor for cover-up. Actively falsified, blocked and manipulated social service reports and documents.  Interfered with social services procedures to have us placed in her home as "a favour" to her.
 
Stepfather - active abuser in all forms. Progenitor to systematically break us down through starvation, beatings, mental abuse and manipulation through brainwashing all actions designed to cause our deaths.  Participated in the cover-up by supplying false information and falsified statements. Collaborated with mother and grandmother to back each other up in the event of questioning.
 
Unknown participants - actively participated in the cover-up of abuse. Falsified, misdirected and/or misplaced key information regarding our treatment. Inside assistant to my grandmother.
 
These individuals were and do hold influential positions within social services allowing them to move about and manipulate pertinent information freely.
 
Complainants
 
Myself
My sister
 
No chance...that's what we had.
My youngest sister rescued by her father at age five was the only one meant to survive. 
 
Long term effects
 
Youngest sister -
Exploited for sexual purposes
Agoraphobic 
pill usage 
PTSD
Gambling issues
 
Middle Sister -
Some split personality traits in some aspects affect her willingness and/or ability to remember.
Control issues 
Displays traits of Stepfather's personality and acts accordingly. 
PTSD
migraines
Emotional disconnect. 
 
Oldest sister Myself 
Remembers everything 
Severe depression and anxiety
PTSD
Analyze and critical 
Trust Issues
 
So here I am with all my boxes are proof reeling from the shock of discoveries.
 
How am I?
They should have never mistaken me for stupid.  I'm never stopping.  I'll never shut up. I'll never give up.
 
That's how I am...
 
I'm going back to the 16-year-old girl.  I'm here...I'm saying saddle up, lock and load.
Front lines! Battle ready!!

Author Notes This story is from an auto bio called "Ghost" Which can be found in my portfolio if you wish to read, one word of caution, some chapters are hard to absorb reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 46
Molester

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of sexual content.

Standing in front of the mirror, I noticed my scars were whiter today. The one on my chin, split when my face got introduced to a fireplace,
the one under my lip, where my tooth was pushed right through and poked out of my face, The one across my nose, a beer can was thrown so hard it stuck into the bone on the bridge.  None of these injuries were treated, so they will be there reminding me of what was.
Yesterday's revelations still have me reeling. It almost feels surreal. 
I knew it was going to be bad;
I just didn't realize how deep the cover-up went.  The deliberate destruction of one's own children, the actual premeditation of how they planned to harm their children over years!
The road ahead could have its sharp bends, assisted by my mother who does her level best to discredit me. 
I'll say one thing for her, she is consistent.
I choose to say nothing.  My pen will do the talking as will the mountain of evidence standing behind me.
 
I'm not that child anymore...
 
*****************************
 

My ear was aching. There was a consistent buzz behind the lobe.  The latest acquisition. I had mouthed off my mother, and that was not acceptable! Although this angered me, I was much angrier about an earlier incident.

He hadn't come home from work yet, which suited me fine. But the front door opened and I could hear crying. I walked across the living room and looked down the stairwell just in time to see my sister round the corner.

Following, I went down the stairwell to the bedroom and there she sat on the side of the bed wiping tears from her eyes.

"What's up?" I asked quietly. She laid it out for me,  simple and to the point using the least amount of words as possible.

"Well, you need to tell mom," I said.

She looked at me doubtfully.  "Yes, I know...try.  She can't ignore this." I thought for sure she would do something about this. After all, it had nothing to do with him. My sister decided to approach mom.

"Mom?"

Mother looked at her.

"Do you remember a couple of weeks ago I asked you if I could help this man move into his house and you told me I could?" She asked.

Mother nodded.

"When I visit he's always in his underwear. The last couple of times he was naked. He told me he couldn't put his underwear on unless I rubbed this cream on him to settle his rash. I did that a couple of times but I felt funny.  Then he asked about my younger sister. He said if I didn't keep rubbing the cream on him, he was gonna do stuff to her and hurt her."

Mother looked back at my sister and said,

" It's too late now.  You should have told me sooner. Now I can't do anything about it." 

I couldn't believe she said that.  I'm sixteen and I know that's wrong.  I'm a different girl now than the 14-year-old who left their house and the 16-year-old who returned.

I confronted her and said, "Really? You're not going to do anything?"

She told me the same thing she told my sister.  It was too late. 

"She's telling you now!" Raising my voice a bit.

"Don't talk to me like that!" She yelled.

I said "Wow" and walked away.

My dinner that night was a knuckle sandwich for daring to raise my voice.

"We have got to get out of here." I thought. I began to sift through my brain, like a homeless person would go to a garbage bin, looking for some clue that I might have thrown away or dismissed that would help us. I let these thoughts consume me while my stomach growled. A solution to all this would give me something to hang onto. Something to move toward.

In my mind at the time, it was over for both my mother and him. They were and are the enemy, and this is a triage situation.

Author Notes This story is part of an auto-bio called Ghost. It can be found in my, portfolio. Feel free to read. A small note of caution. Some chapters are hard to read. Reader discretion is advised.
***Picture by IStock***


Chapter 47
Pressure

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The barrage of messages has beaten down the door of my poor Messenger account.
 
If I were a Messenger account, I would demand a raise!
I think the woman who sends them should be the one to pay. But that's just me.
 
They are from my mother and her boyfriend of one year. 
She's feeling the pressure you see. The more I write, the more nervous she gets.
 
Today it was, "Quit whining. You're an idiot. Fuck off."
 
Her boyfriend pipes in with "You don't know your mother. You and your sisters need to get over it." Then he expressed his disappointment. 
 
Who's this guy? Who is he to me? I don't know my mother. 
 
I received random messages from uneducated people telling me I should be ashamed of myself for putting my mother in danger. 
 
Huh?
 
To all this, I can only say,
 
"Sorry, I can't hear you."
 
They're just pissin' in the wind...
 
*****************************
 

I knew it was morning. I could feel the sunlight slice across my eyelids while the day demanded consciousness.

"But what if I don't want to? I thought. I sighed, flipped the blanket over and slid my legs over the side of the bed.

The house was unusually quiet. But quiet doesn't necessarily mean it's safe. I opted to look around corners instead. One of the things my stepfather liked to do was pretend to hit us, make us cower, and pull back his punch just before connection laughing while he did it. I learned to avoid it if I could. Coming to the top of the stairs, I could hear my mother on the phone.

"...Oh no she'll be fine, she'll clean up after herself...just until the school year ends."

I could hear the click of the phone being returned to the cradle then a pause followed by the sound of both my parents talking so I drew a little closer.

"She can't take both of them." Mother said, "She's probably going to want to be paid."

Tell the little witches they're gonna have to earn their keep." My stepfather said.

"Only one can go, I told you that."

"Then send the younger one. Worry about the older one later...and make sure she knows the rules."

The thundering buzz was all I could hear while my heart ran away with itself.  Desperation quickly followed.

"What are they doing with my sister? And me?" I wondered.  "Whatever it was, I would not comply. I'm 16 and I'll decide for myself.  But where and how? 

Always that...

I needed to think.  "Who is this person mother was talking to? What are they trying to do?"  What crime have we committed this time?"

Every time my parents did something to hurt us, we would look at each other and say, "We'll give them one more chance."

Every time I have to force myself to find a reason to love them.

I look inside of myself now and there's nothing... nothing but anger, fear, bewilderment, disgust and even hatred.

"I'll get a job." I thought.  I'll rent my place, do my own thing..." With my thoughts taking a train ride, I retreated to my room.

After a while, I heard my mother call my name...

"Come up here, your Dad wants to talk to you."

Heart jumping, I complied...

*****************************
 
I feel a sense of exhaustion today, like a well running dry, a battery losing power.  My emotions flat-lining somewhat in the clearing of crap renting space in my head. 
 
It's not a bad thing...more like a hard workout or a marathon run. 
 
New running shoes...coming up!
 

Author Notes Autobio called "Ghost" can be found in my portfolio. Should you wish to read free one word of caution some chapters are hard to read, and reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 48
Unglued

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

I gave my weary mind the break it needed.
Sometimes, I overestimate my stamina.
It's not like this is something I have done before or ever will again. I would certainly not choose to live it over or wish it on another. 
The repercussions of it could ve exponential, and I feel the pressure of it now.
Although I have blocked her attempts to reach me through my phone, she simply navigated around that and called the person who owns my home.  The person also happens to be my Uncle.
 
"How's it going with my daughter there?" she asks.
 
"She does her thing and I do mine." Uncle responds.
 
"Well, be careful, she's on her thing again.  She's dangerous." Said mother.
 
I'm sitting here now in the quiet of my room, my resolve becoming stronger with every blow she strikes. 
I don't even know what to call this kind of behaviour. Diabolical?
She already played a large part in the taking of my home and my car. Then, the attempt to discredit me.
 
I say, good luck with that...
 
*****************************
 

I didn't want to go up there. I didn't want to hear what he had to say. It usually meant more things to worry about, and I was on the edge already.  Sitting at the limit of what I could handle.

I heard my name called again and then a loud,

"Get up here!" I went upstairs and stood before them, careful to keep my expression blank while my insides were whirling.

"We've decided to send your sister to your aunts in the valley. She's having trouble here at school." My stepfather said.

My blood boiling, I  raised an eyebrow at him and repeated "At school?"

"Don't get smart with me or I'll thump ya!" He barked.

"Which aunt?" I asked.

"None of your godamn business!" He yelled and thumped me on the head. 

That was it. All the rage, all the anger, all the cruelty, all the betrayal came ripping out of my mouth!

"Keep your fucken  hands to your fucken self you Jap fuck!!! Never hit me ever again, you piece of shit!!!" I was not backing down. "Where is my fucken sister!! Would did you do to her!? Tell me where she is!! Tell me, damn it!! Where is she!!  Where is she!! Where is she!! You killed her!! You killed her!!"

I lost my grip on myself. I stomped my feet, waived my arms in the air yelled, and screamed at the top of my lungs.

"Shut her up or I'll do it!" He growled. Something popped into my head like an electrical shock. It felt like an out-of-body experience. When I awoke, my mother they're looking down at me. 

"That's enough now." She said. "You need to go to bed." She followed me down the stairs to my room holding the wall. My legs felt like spaghetti noodles.

"Where is she?"I asked. She told me which Aunt which gave me some relief. She was my Uncle's first ex-wife, a nice lady who would hopefully treat her well.

For the next twelve hours, I saw nothing but blackness.  When I awoke it was with a new trepidation.

My next move.

*****************************
 
 So now wrapping up this chapter with the thought of moving on and away from this part of my life.
Battles to fight as a child and battles to fight as an adult.  I look forward to the day when there are no more battles to fight. 
When the only thing I have to think about is living in peace.

Author Notes This chapter is part of an auto bio called "Ghost." It can be found in my portfolio. Should you wish to read. One note of caution, some chapters are hard to get through reader discretion is advised.
***picture from iStock***


Chapter 49
Paralyzed

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Waking up to a new day, I can see the sunlight wrestling with the shadows in my room.  Watching a delightful shifting of reflected leaves upon my wall, I let out a long yawn. 
Internal check tells me that I'm so far, so good. A long night's rest was helpful.
It's not a body tired, it is a mental tired and I must listen to those cues when they happen.  A big sigh and stretch brought me to my feet and out to the coffee pot.
 
Oh good, a cup left just for me.
Holding a warm cup of coffee with my hands wrapped dutifully around it, I looked around and saw once again, like a beacon, my PC shining its intelligent digital grin and saying,
 
"Come now.  It's time to write...."
 
*****************************

Thundering on the roof, the rain danced with abandon attempting to create a swimming pool rather than the house that it was.

"Get up." Mother said.

" In case you didn't know, you are his favourite. He said that girl's got spunk.  He wants to talk this time. No fighting."

"What?!" I thought. "Shit! I couldn't handle another one of those sessions, not now."

My body went to comply with the command but my mind would not allow it to do so.

"I can't move," I said.

"What do you mean you can't move?" She asked.

"Like I said I can't move," I said.

I suggest you get your ass outta that bed right now before your father gets angry!" She hissed.

"He's not my father," I responded.

"You know what I'm talking about." She said. 

Again exploding from my mouth. "I can't fucking move! Do you understand English?! Leave me alone! Get out! Get out! GET OUT!!!" My mother scurried out and it wasn't long before I heard the bang and shuffle of his booted feet on the stairs. The door scraped and banged against the wall. There he stood in his work uniform, his face purple with rage.

"You had better be outta this bed by the time I get home from work and your chores done too! Do you understand me?!"

Refusing to look at him I mumbled, "Yes."

"I can't hear you!" He said with gritted teeth.

"Yes!" I said louder.

He glared at me for a few more seconds, then walked out and the door slammed. I then heard his vehicle start, then fade away.

I never awoke that day to do my chores. I didn't wake up the next day either, Not until it was night again.

I vaguely remember someone pulling on me, trying to get me to move. Then someone tried to give me water but, I couldn't even rise to the surface. When I finally did wake, I was completely confused, disoriented and not sure of my whereabouts. Slowly, I recognized the room around me and where I was. The events just prior also barged their way back into my memory.

Panic returned and weakened my knees when I tried to stand. I had to force myself to calm down by breathing into my nose and out my mouth steadily, as best as I could. 

My heart settled down and I was able to walk to the bathroom. There I had the longest pee of my life. I swear I sat there for a good half hour.

Carefully, quietly I made my way upstairs to the kitchen. The house was dead quiet and dark. I noticed the time. 1:46 AM. 

Straight to the kitchen I went.  I opened the fridge door grabbed the bottle of milk, upended the bottle into my mouth and drank until I could drink no more. With shaking legs, I made myself some toast and then,  quickly inhaled it along with a little more milk.

Feeling a slight bit better, I returned to my room and lay down again. It wasn't long before a normal restful sleep took me. It was opposite to the deep, almost coma-like, sleep I had prior.

My brain had had enough you see. The demand on my mind was rough and took its toll. My brain's outright refusal to go on, until and unless, it could shut down for a time.

Back to my corner of the ring, adjust my gloves, and lick my wounds to come back fighting one more time.

For now...it's lights out.

*****************************
Looking up from writing this chapter, I noticed the time was exactly 1:46 PM. The same time I woke up years ago except it was the wee hours and not the afternoon like today.
A funky and weird coincidence...hmm...

Author Notes This chapter is part of an auto bio called "Ghost", it can be found in my portfolio if you wish to read. Please note, some of it can be hard to get through reader discretion is advised.
***Picture by Lea Tonin***


Chapter 50
Cuts

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

It seems I require more sleep these days. I'm sure it has something to do with the mental unloading of crap.
It's like an abscess that's finally draining. 
It's not a bad thing.
Simply mud-wading steps towards wellness.
 
I have many things that I believe should be exposed.
It's like breaking an old curse, dispersing its spell and unravel the tangled mess that's left behind.
I feel grateful too, for the people on this site who have offered such wonderful support, compassion and empathy.  Your kind words encourage me to continue. 
 
My PC looks like it's nodding at me as if in complete agreement.
 
To my friends here on Fanstory, I humbly thank you. 
 
*****************************
 

Opening my eyes that morning I could see out the window to a grey and shadowy day. Like the chambers of my heart, wanted to gather together for safety hoping for a stronger force to dissipate the darkness.

The alternative was to come out and bleed.

I felt very strange. A fuzzy, surreal sensation as if I were half in and half out. It was difficult to pinpoint but I attributed it to not wanting to be there.

Still, I permitted a part of myself to face the day...again feeling half in, half out.

The other part of my mind, inside my panic room, was busy calculating, anticipating, looking for, and planning to escape. Always an escape.

Testing my legs, I rose, then slowly added my weight to my trembling limbs.

Success! I was standing, albeit a bit wobbly. Still standing nonetheless.

That buzz in my head was back. It sped up a little bit as the world grayed out. Slowly my surroundings came back into view.

I knew I had to get some food inside of me and something to drink. Slowly, I made my way up the stairs again and immediately saw my stepfather sitting in his chair reading his newspaper.

"I hope you had a good long rest, ge something to eat them get dressed. You've got work to do." He paused. "You're lucky you were sick instead of fakin' it."

There was no strength in me to do or say anything in response. I simply followed his commands like an automaton.

Taking small steps and wobbling a bit, I went to the kitchen.

I could hear him behind me. "Careful now. You don't want to keep putting it on. Smarten up and walk properly." I tried and with some difficulty succeeded. After a bowl of cereal and a cup of juice, I began to feel some strength flow back into my limbs even my head cleared of some of its fuzz.

I washed and dried the dishes then stood before him once again.

"Get down there and get dressed. I want those weeds pulled along the front of the house, all of them. When you're done that you can do the sides of the house too." 

"We don't have a shovel or gloves." I told him.

"Use your hands," he said.

"My hands? How effective is that gonna be." I thought.

My frustration rose to the surface. "That will take a long time doing it that way," I said with gritted teeth.

"Then you better get started." he retorted and returned to reading his paper.

I was angry, and quicker to it now I noticed, as my ability to endure more was at almost zero.

Furious tears welled up in my eyes. I turned and watchful navigated the stairs. Entering my room, I let the tears fall as they may. Sadness, fear, anger, frustration. All of those emotions came pouring out in my tears.

Finally, I hiccuped a couple of times and began to dress. Shoes, thin jackets I walked out the front door, turned and stared at the house.  Weeds of all sizes, types and shapes prowl up against the cement foundation. On the left side, where the septic tank was, was overflowing. With that overflow, it created huge weeds that you can't imagine. And I was expected to go there and pull them out while my feet sank into the sludge. 

"How about they drain the septic tank instead, imagine that." my sarcasm, frustration and my generally pissed-off attitude threatened to come forth. Pull the weeds or get my skull reshaped so I pulled the weeds.

The first clump I grabbed in my hand sliced across my palm.

The first of many to follow as the weeds fell at my pull, while my shoes filled with dirty water the awful odors lining up in my nose.

In my head, the same lines danced across the backs of my eyes. "I have to get out. I've got to get out, I'm gonna get out." while my mind formed plans, my automaton continued to pull weeds.

"Watch me go..."  I whispered.

*****************************
 
Thinking about that day has me recalling the steely determination I had in my mind at that time and that same determination still exists within me today. I'm using it this very minute. I will continue to use it until this is done. Thank you again, my friends for reading and hanging in there with me on this journey through my life.
All the best to everyone!

Author Notes Called "Ghost, it can be found in my portfolio should you wish to read it a word of caution. Some chapters are difficult to read. Reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 51
Nemesis

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Another day greets me yet again with another surprise. Today life is full of surprises, things I never thought possible coming to light. There is gold in some people out there in the world, which is a great relief to me. 
For a while, it seemed as if the whole world was one big dark void.  I remain diligently watchful but a hopeful watch rather than a wary one. It's progress!  
My little pom blinks at me after having kicked me in the face for giving her a raspberry. She does it every time. I give her a raspberry thwap!  Right in my face...lol.  it's a game we play. 
Fanstory has graced this work once again with second place and I thank everyone for this and your support! Without all of you, it would not happen!
 
But, I can no longer ignore my smiling PC, coaxing me with promises of more relief to come in writing. 
 
Off I go...a battle soon comes with every click of my keyboard.
 
Just simmering below the surface...
 
*****************************
 

Two days...two crappy days, I mean that literally, I pulled those weeds. My hands looked like Michelin man's hands so puffy they were. Multiple cuts scored the surface of my palms and between my fingers.  Touching anything was out of the question. I couldn't close my fingers.

I showed my stepfather after the first day, the damage it was doing to my hands. He told me, "You're not doing It right. Try again, get your ass out there!"

God how I hated him and her too.  But then I hated feeling hate for them as well.  Most kids, I don't think, feel that way toward their parents. The second day I was out there pulling weeds. I wore a long-sleeved shirt, folded it over the end of my fingers and pulled the weeds. That was better, but still very painful. I was running out of strength quicker than I had been. I could feel my body was run down. My limbs felt like rubber and I had to fight the grey which threatened to overwhelm me.

I told my parents my runners were ruined. They were almost gone before I even stepped into that quagmire. They told me to dry them out, they'll be fine. I couldn't believe they wanted me to keep wearing those things. They stunk like shit just like the rest of me did. I threw them out. Be damned the consequences. They wouldn't let me have a bath either until they inspected the job I did. 

All I heard was, "Not bad." From him.

I was blessed that I could have the tub to myself to wash.  I'll explain:

My mother would fill the tub and have her leisure bath reading her romance novels. After a while, my stepfather would join her. When they both exited the bathtub, it was my turn to use the tub but I had to use the same bathwater. I wasn't allowed to add any extra warm water. Then it was my sister who got the water to wash.

Following that, it was my youngest sister and the water was stone cold and very dirty.

By the time it got to me, the water was lukewarm and when I was done, it was cold and it just got dirtier and dirtier with each successive use.

So I was extra grateful to have the tub to myself this time. I did however ask them if they'd like the water when I was done.  To which they angrily declined.

I was building up my courage and with each successive barb, I gained a little bit more courage.

I knew what was coming and it was inevitable. We would be head to head sooner rather than later.  While I was gaining courage, he was gaining anger. I sensed it.

I could feel the tension in the air as if I could grab it like a rope and in the grabbing a message telling me clearly, "It's only a matter of time."

I ran the tub hot even though I knew it would hurt my hands.  It just couldn't be helped. My skin was crawling with the stench of the septic tank.  The mud, the yuck that was all over the bottom half of my body. Wrecked clothes on the floor rotting into themselves, a toxic scent filling the air. The humiliation was great this time and not a friend to self-esteem at all. He might be gathering anger but, I was pissed off too and I planned on using it.

First things first, get a job. I'm old enough, it's time.

Gingerly, I picked up the cloth and the soap I forced my hands to close enough to be able to wash. They stung like angry bees, enough to keep me alert and washing. I thought it was to keep Status quo as much as possible while I'm here. If I want to keep eating that is.

A plan was forming.  I was just praying that he doesn't explode before I can leave but, a plan was forming anyway.

It was something to hang my sanity on, some light at the end of the tunnel...some light.

************************
I feel my heart slamming in my chest. Remembering that day, even just a little bit of remembered moments sets my heart thumping.
 
I know what's coming. She doesn't. So I need to be there for her when it does...I'll see you all there...

Author Notes This chapter is part of an autobile called"Ghost" it can be found in my portfolio should you wish to read it. You are welcome to do so. A word of caution. Some chapters are hard to read. Reader discretion advised.


Chapter 52
The Noose

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

 
 
 
 
 
 
It's evening now. I'm looking up at the crescent moon and watching the clouds skid by like tomb raiders in the night.
 
How simple and how great beauty can be all at the same time. Smelling the clean grass while watching autumn leaves waving in the wind I contemplate this next chapter.
 
I wish to convey the urgency of it but also be factual from a bit of a distance at the same time. It can be a bit tricky this delicate balance.
Level out most emotions and yet provide the feelings that were there at the time. 
Turning around to look at the night sky and breathe in the air. I give it one more appreciative glance and head toward my PC.
If PCs could have true expressions, this one would have a slightly angry look, we must work together to write these next words. 
It's not pretty but it's part of the story and needs to be written all the same.
Staring at a peaceful sight like that beautiful night sky and autumn leaves is the best we've got for now...I'll take it.
 
*****************************

Stars...blinding stars.  Staggering to remain upright. "I told you to dry those godamn runners out!" Growled my stepfather.

"I can't stick my feet in shitty runners! They have germs!" I yelled back.

"Then walk in bare feet, you witch! You're not wearing winter boots in summer!" He barked back.

"Fine then! I'll go barefoot!" I hissed.

Black rage moved across his face and I knew I said too much. I spun on my heels, ran down the stairwell into my room and locked the door.

"Open the goddamn door! If I have to break it in it's going to be a lot worse!"

I could hear the menace in his voice and I was unsure which way to turn. There's no way for me to get out of this room. I was gonna get it either way, there was no difference. I opened the door, backed off and sat on the bed. He came in the door, black eyes filled with rage.

Pulling the belt out from his pants. He told me to drop my pants and bend over the bed. 

"Fuck you! Not doing It!" I figured I was gonna get it anyway until I got my money's worth. It was carried at the same time knowing what was in store. I backed off bumping up to the headboard screaming "No!!" at the top of my lungs.

He grabbed me by the arm pulled me off the bed forced me to bend over the side.  With the buckle out the long, thin prong of buckle sticking out, he began to walk on my back, my butt, and the tops of my legs. Each time the buckle connected a new welt and puncture mark appeared. "Move one more time you'll get more!" I don't know how many more times he hit me with that belt.  Only the fire on my backside registered life. "Don't come out of this room until I say so. Do you understand?!" His face is close to mine. 

"Yes." I wanted him to just get the fuck out. Just leave.

I didn't move for I don't know how long after he left but when I tried stinging pain made it difficult. I stripped my clothes off gently and grabbed a light nightgown. Before I put on the gown I took a look at my back. 

Square, belt buckle shaped, bruises getting darker by the minute. Red dots were in and around those bruises and some spots were bleeding having pierced the skin. I could see on my clothes spots of blood here and there.

My fury boiled up to the surface. All the things I wish I could do to him that I knew I couldn't. But the rage was there nonetheless, and so was the want.

It was a few days before I could stand clothes that weren't loose. At that point, I just lay on my tummy waiting for the pain to subside. I moved up the timeline for my exit.  I can't take another one of these.  Unless by some miracle I could be taken away, leaving quickly must be so. I had nothing but time to contemplate that. While my backside healed, nothing but time to imagine much. But it will...timeline is officially bumped up.

*****************************
 
Remembering that day, so many difficult days really, but 
remembering that one, I didn't want to do.   I could not though, disclude the catalyst that got me moving...
A glass of Canadian Sherri is now on order. I think I shall enjoy looking at the beauty of the night sky once again.
Little pinpoints of starlight. Gazing at the moon's curve In its crescent smile and wondering If there was a little fairy sitting on the end, dangling her legs over the side. 
 
Wouldn't that be something?

Author Notes This chapter is part of a auto bio called Ghost. It can be found in my. Portfolio should be wished to read, please note. Some chapters are difficult, reader discretion is advised.
***Picture by Instagram***


Chapter 53
The Cry

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I feel somewhat emotionless, and a bit flat this morning.  I suppose it's to be expected when one writes of a difficult event.
How do I know though? This is my first time.  I don't have any hindsight on the issue but, it seems reasonable to me.
 
Someone told me once, "Write what you know." 
I pondered that for a while.
What is it that I do know? What is it that we all know? 
Our lives, of course, we know our own lives and the course that it's taken and where we're at now. 
 
The future...there's the trick.
 
*****************************
 

I didn't want to move. I couldn't move.  Every muscle in my body screamed, my skin stung. Every part of my back and legs is tender. You wouldn't even have to breathe on it without it hurting.

I was lying on my stomach, the only possible position I could lay.  I edged myself closer to the side of the bed using my arms and pushed myself up and onto my feet. Stiffly walking, I headed to the washroom.

I dreaded having to sit down on the toilet so I opted to hover over it. It was doomed to failure. Washing myself as best I could I wondered if I dared go upstairs. 

It was a weekend so my stepfather was there or out with my mother. I heard nothing so I peeked out the window.  Mother's Rambler was there but my stepfather's Celica was gone. 

I may have a chance to eat so up the stairs I went and walked quietly, each step brought a new world of pain.

"I have to get help." But who?" I thought.

No family member could I turn to. The one aunt who gave me clothes and the only one to respond to my letter, said she knows but, cannot involve herself or her immediate family, that it has nothing to do with her. That was the general attitude of the day with all my family or they'll say they didn't know.  My grandmother ran the family with an iron fist.  Her way or the highway. She was the all-seeing the all-knowing eye of the family. Nothing went down that she didn't know about.

"So who then?"

Looking around upstairs, I could see no one about. The bedroom door was open. Nobody was in there, I was alone.

I took another peek out the window to make sure they hadn't miraculously shown up.

I quickly grabbed what I could. An apple, a piece of bologna on a slice of bread and a glass of milk.

As I exited the kitchen, I could see a note on the dining room table, written with my mother's hand which said,

"Make yourself something to eat.  After that, you've got chores to do. I want that kitchen clean before I get home. Start the laundry and the carpet needs vacuuming. We'll be home by midnight.  You've been ill, 9 o'clock bedtime for you." 

Whenever she started handing out orders to clean, I would think to myself.

"What do you do all day long? Shop, play cards, go bowling, socialize, lie and smoke your brains out?" 

I sat down at the dining room table since there was no point hiding it.  

I started to fill up the sink with water and dishes. Looking at my hands to examine the cuts from grass pulling, I saw they had healed enough for the cuts to scab over and most of the pain had subsided. But the pain in my backside was excruciating. I needed something to help with the pain if I was expected to clean. I went into the bathroom and found myself some aspirin in the cabinet, I took a couple. Then it struck me. In Army Cadets I had a friend, more like an acquaintance. We at least talk to each other friendly enough?

Maybe I can approach her, Maybe she knows something I don't. Maybe she can keep secret. If I'm grasping at straws I'll know it soon enough.  I have to try. If not, then I'll have to bolt.

That man is gonna end my life one of these times.

I don't know if I'll make it to eighteen under this roof.  I knew, in no uncertain terms, that I wouldn't.

I know now my threshold is low. I will explode again. I could not allow the momentary relief of yelling, in exchange for my life. It just doesn't balance.

Fight or flight one way or the other. Those are the two choices.

I choose to fight...

************************
I'm laying back on my bed,  reading what I've just written not only to check for the usual edits but to know that I've conveyed the feeling of the time, and talked about the actions and the why of it. I want to make sure that everything I say is truthful, not inflated, and above board and that it may carry a lesson for all who wish to read.
I never expected that my words would impact so many. I'm gratified to have been surprised by the goodness and support of people out there when I gave up.  
If I am emotionally flat today, there is one emotion that still sticks out regularly twenty-four-seven...gratitude.
My heart lifts my soul rises and with every page I write it frees my mind a little bit more.
 
This path is true...

Author Notes This story is part auto bio called Ghost. It can be found on my portfolio if you wish to read. Please note, some chapters are hard to absorb reader discretion is advised


Chapter 54
The Chance

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

 
 
 
 
I'm listening to a song called Silent Lucidity it's from a band called Queensryche. The song always spoke to me as if to say,
"Watch in silence, learn in silence and silence gain lucidity."
Or simply put, "Don't talk so much...listen to what's being told to you."
 
Music is a fine conduit for sensitivity. Especially those with an extra sense. Music always pulled me, like the Shaman to the drums, and I gravitate toward music. Other things have an equal pull on like natural stones, forests, creeks, wildlife, the beauty of a waterfall, and the night's star bursting on a high plateau.
These sites draw me as well.  Ancient civilizations, especially the land of Egypt. Even Atlantis and Lemuria. Anything old, anything natural and anything spiritual fascinates me.
I've always known that this life is just a ripple in a pond, a ring in a tree, a day in school and the bell rings at three.
We come designed to learn certain things. We come to the boot camp of souls to learn our lessons as quickly as we can and then go home.  It takes a brave soul to live a life here. The most negative planet in god's universe.
Any people living or have lived, know that every one of you carries a warrior soul.
 
It works for me anyhow...but my younger self waits so let's bring her some of that light. 
 
Shall we?
 
*****************************
 
I heard the front door click. My mother laughing, and my stepfather talking to voices I didn't recognize. The talking and laughter drifted upstairs several feet and walked across the floor.
Then I heard mother's eight-track player, as loud as she could make it, playing Elvis, "You ain't nothin' but a hound dog".
 
Wouldn't do me any good to ask them to turn it down. The last time I did, earned me a new lump on my head.
How to be selfish in one easy lesson. Meet my parents!  
My frustration, fury and general disappointment in them as people never mind parents, had given me a sarcastic inner voice.
I've been relying on that voice lately whenever things get too dicey...I think of something sarcastic abs sometimes get an internal chuckle. Not always but in the interim, it helps.
When the racket finally calmed down It wasn't music I was hearing anymore. It was the moan of a man and the cry of a woman.
But not in a painful way. So I stuffed my head under my pillow and held it there until I heard the front door shut. Then all was silent. Finally, I could rest...it was only three a.m. after all.
While sleep took me painfully the thought occurred to me, "Just as soon as I can walk properly or I'm at Cadets, whichever comes first, I will talk to my friend/acquaintance...test the waters.  Hopefully, it's warm.
When I woke the next morning, I was on my side which I couldn't do the day before...progress. I also knew that if I tried to move
pain would surely follow. So I turned on my tummy. I slid to the side again like I did the day prior and used my arms to push myself up and on my feet. Of course, the searing, stinging pain came pounding on my backside. I had to go examine my backside and then my wounds. I think it will be another day of baggy clothes.
Stepping into the bathroom I locked the door and pulled my nighty around my neck then looked.  I was horrified! So bruised I was black in places.  Some punctures still oozing.  I was yellow to black. The darkest parts are in the shape of a belt buckle.
I couldn't hold back the tears anymore staring at myself and wondering still why.  I didn't know why.  It's just a world of bewilderment wishing I was never born. 
That thought went to places I just didn't want to go.  I let the tears fall anyway because there was no choice. They were coming whether I liked it or not.
I don't know how long I stood there like that crying.  Mad at myself that I was crying when I just wanted to be mad.  
Mad was better than sad. It gave energy, impedes to keep going! Sad you just stand there drooping like a thirsty flower. At the top of her lungs, "Coffee". I made it to the kitchen gingerly and made a pot of coffee. 
I waited for the pot to finish I poured down their coffee and brought it to them. I started walking away when I heard my stepfather say, "How come you're walking so slow?" Then I heard him chuckle as I kept walking out their door.  FURY!!  "Thank you Asshole!" I thought.
 
Not sad anymore...
 
************************
I remember the anger. I remember the pain. I remember the hatred. I remember it all and it is the reason I'm able to write this. My anger and my annoyance that I remember all of it.
I am the family librarian it seems.  My sister can count her memories on her hand.  Sometimes I think maybe it's the better way.
 
Who's to say?

Author Notes The story is part of an auto bio called Ghost. It can be found on my portfolio. If you wish to read. To digest reader discretion is advised.
***Image from IStock***


Chapter 55
The Fear Circle

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

  






That first coffee of the morning is the nectar of the gods I swear!  The first cup in the wee hours in a quiet house. Sometimes that's just what the doctor ordered.  I woke up thinking about some of the questions people have asked.
One of the main ones was why we did not go to the police.  I will try to explain the mentality and circumstances of the time.
I have two family members, an uncle and a grandmother higher up in social services. They had enough power to divert the placement of children and to change, make or manipulate an outcome of a social service investigation and/or manipulate or change the documentation. 
On two separate occasions, we had reached out to social services, at the time called Zenith1234, once our school did as well.  Each of these times was interrupted and intercepted by my grandmother and as a favour to her, they redirected us to her home.
My mother directed us to lie to social services by using guilt. She said to us," If you tell them what he does, who's going to pay the bills?" 
My grandmother was mostly concerned with her reputation. It was a very public job and she attended public ceremonies and banquets in her honor.  She entertained politicians from parliament in her home.  Grand meals and conversations she was privy to.
She and the family fled Europe to come to Canada to create a new life and a new reputation. She was quite "popular" before they all came to Canada. She had nine children most of which do not belong to my grandfather and refused to tell her children (my aunts & uncles) the truth. She wanted nothing of her past to tarnish what was currently going on.
She was also quite a prominent member of her church.
She did not want that to be tarnished either. She would have the Deacon over for dinner.  She maintained a certain image so any whisper of us in a public complaint to social services would not be good for her, for the abuser or for certain family members who work in the public eye. What we would say could potentially ruin the careers and the families of the people with those careers.  Anything we said would potentially blow the whole persona apart.
For this reason, she diverted any incidences of abuse ultimately diverting an investigation into herself. 
This was the one major way my stepfather was able to continue to abuse us. 
The fear circle was born. We or another would call social services. They in turn were alerted and/or started a file of abuse.  Our case kept getting diverted back to my grandmother. In the background, my mother was calling my grandmother and saying. 
"They did it again. They called social services now they want to put them in care." My grandmother would make one phone call and we were diverted to her home. She keeps us for a while and sends us back.  We get abused again we complain another file is started. My grandmother diverts it and we're back to her house. And round and round it goes with no exit in sight.
At the time I was a child. I didn't understand the logistics of the thing or what the adults
were doing. It was all unknown to us.
But I did understand fear and pain, and I did understand and see the cycle we kept going through. 
For me, not knowing any of this at 16 years old, that each time we reached out, it failed time and time again. It was okay to treat children the way they did. That's the message I received.
Calling any one of these people in authority would eventually bring us back here. Every time it happened meant coming back again and we would ride that bucking pony all the way through.
In my mother's mind, she had to protect her source of income which was our stepfather, paying the bills. He let her do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. She was happy as a clam and wanted nothing to disturb that.
She knew she could call my grandmother and my grandmother would
take care of the matter to their satisfaction. Never to ours.
That's the reason my mother made us lie to social services. That's the reason for the interventions, to prevent my stepfather from getting arrested. He would go to jail and then my goodness, who would pay the bills? It was all a nice neat package designed with their best interest in mind.  They decided that their lives were more important than ours.
I asked my mother once what the deal was when we were at our grandmother's, and she said to me.
"Your grandmother stole you girls from me and decided not to bring you back." 
What a load of horse hockey! 
Knowing what I know now, of course, it would've been a lot different as a child had I known then.
All I knew was, that wherever we turned the door was closed and the other thing we knew was to call the authorities and it got worse. 
There's only one way to get out, and that is to get ourselves out.
That was our fear circle. From the abuser to the phone call from the mother. From mother to grandmother. Back to the abuser, to the phone call from the mother, to the grandmother and back to the abuser. Round and round it went. 
When I think back to all the times we could have lost our lives. How many times we came close to abduction and how many times were molested by different people growing up? After all the times our stepfather laid his hands on us, one wrong punch could have killed us.
When you're a child a grown man's fist looks like a mountain. It wasn't a matter of courage to protect ourselves and to get out.
It was a matter of do I wanted to live or not.
That's all it was...as simple as that.
I hope that these words help those who have questions and understand what comes. 
I have to go back to her now... That 16-year-old girl is in pain. Bruises like a checkerboard on her backside and cut hands.
I have to give her something she needs.
A boost to her will to live and the courage to flee...

Author Notes This chapter is part of an auto bio called Ghost. It can be found in my portfolio. You're welcome to read if you wish, please note. Some chapters are hard to digest. Reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 56
The Fury P1

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

*****************************
SUBLIME
 
TWISTED SNARL RED
 
SPARE THE BEAUTY SHE BINDS
 
THE NIGHTMARE
 
IN HER JEALOUS BED 
 
DIVINE
 
***Lea Tonin***
 
*****************************
Once again I sit and ponder these next words. To do it justice, I must again provide enough emotion from the time and yet not be emotionally involved. A difficult and tricky endeavor as it's an impossible task.
Memory crosses the front of my mind like splashes on a clean canvas.  The scene is playing out in fast forward as they happened one reel at a time.
I feel my heart picking up speed, perspiration forms on my upper lip.  I pace the floor eyeballing my PC while it wisely shows me a blank expression. 
This was the crux of the journey I must write about.  Shall I go left or shall I go right?
I know where straight leads me. More of the same. I already feel the memory of what's left behind.
 
The crossroads of my life where all directions conceal land mines. 
 
Pros and cons...always in the way.
 
*****************************

He pushed me through the front door and I fell down onto the steps. I rose to my feet and ran up the stairs into the living room I'd just cleaned.

Mother sitting there with a "what now" expression on her face.

My stepfather took off his boots, hung up his jacket and then came up into the living room. He sat down in his chair, picked up his newspaper and then looked at me.

He'd just shoved me onto the stairs. Stopped me from going. I was there in the living room trying not to quake wondering what the hell was going on. "Mom gave me permission!" I blurted out desperately.

"Well, your father's home now. He can decide that." Mother replied.

"Spineless woman. Always letting me down." I thought.

"What shoes were you wearing." he asked.

"My sisters flip flops."

I knew in that moment if I didn't get some separation from this man, I was going to explode. The fury in me was pushing on every door I had.

"I told you to dry out those runners. didn't I?" Looking at me. "Then you threw them out didn't you?" More of a statement rather then a question.

"Yes." I said.

"What did I say after that? He questioned.

"To find a way to replace them myself." I replied.

I was jumping on a trampoline...the rage causing me to bounce around inside myself.

"Then who's godamn shoes are those?!" He shouted.

"My sisters flip flops." I repeated.

"Exactly." he said angrily. "But you just do your own godamn thing don't you?" His voice rose. "Did you do anything to earn a new pair? What the hell did you do all day?"

That was it! I fucken snapped! I fucken lost it! I freaked out! I was spinning like a mexican top! "What? You can't see around you?! Are you that old you can't see?! ABSOLUTELY FUCKEN NOTHING!!! That's what I did today!  NOTHING!!!" He just stared at me while I struggled with my anger. " I suppose since I've done nothing today, I'll have to go to bed without supper. Is that right!? Then you'll be down later?! Is that it?! Fine then!! I stalked off with clenched fists. Down the stairs I barreled into my room slammed the door and boiled with rage. I listened for the sounds of the floor and the sounds of the steps that would tell me he was coming. 

Only two sounds I heard... The laughter of a man and the soft chatter of a woman.

***

Someone touched my shoulder. I shook off the hand that touched me, flew back against the head board with a startled look in my eyes then focused on my mother.

"Come upstairs and get some supper." She said.

I could already smell the burnt onions. My mother had this idea that burnt onions, macaroni noodles and Cheeze Wiz was a gourmet dinner. 

I didn't care I just wanted to eat.  I could have done without the burnt onions but, beggars can't be choosers. I followed her upstairs into the dining room and sat down at the table.

Of course there he sat with his ever-present newspaper pulling his hair over his bald spot. Isn't it funny, the older they get the closer to their ear their part becomes.

Without looking up from his newspaper, he said, "If you ever speak to me that way again, I'll thump you twice as hard. Do you understand?" Then he looked at me for my response.

This was really bad timing on his part. Since I'd already lost it once today. I was ever close to losing it again.

Gritting my teeth I replied, " I have done nothing wrong. I did everything you asked me to do today. Then I did extra chores and you wanna focus on how I talk to you?" THUMP! CRASH!

Lights out....

************************
 
That old age that was so familiar to me rose up within me while I wrote.  It never really goes away, you see, it just changes forms over time.  As if to say, "Ha ha, you thought I was gone didn't you? Well I've been here the whole time."
That old anger is a bit frightened though.  I found the antidote. I'm sitting in front of it right now.  My PC, my mind and my proverbial pen.
 
STRIKE!!
 

Author Notes This chapter is part of a auto bio that can be found in my portfolio. Feel free to read if you wish with one word of caution. Some chapters are difficult to digest Reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 57
The Fury PT2

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

 
 
 
 
Take that which shakes and bleeds
Clean the wounds no other sees
Grip the pain with constancy
Exsanguination family
 
Slip the noose the path I see
My sanity comes back with ease.
Tangled beast soon to bleed
With only husks left with need.
 
Take his rage that rips the hole 
Flail my bones in dust they roll
Falling feet, face takes the toll
Forever more in hell your soul.
 
***Lea Tonin***
 
*****************************
I must now write the hardest words I've ever written.  A confession of what was as best as I remember it. 
All of what I did, all of what he did and what had to be done  for freedom. 
I've dreaded writing this. Dreaded writing about this battle between him and myself afraid to give it more life that it deserves. 
All I can do is lay it out before you, the perspective of those who lived "normal lives".
Not only was there fear of speaking out loud, but there was another fear. It was the shame attached to it. It was the fear of other people knowing what I lived with. The look in people's eyes, not empathy or understanding but wearing an expression of "That girl will never be right."
That's the hard part, putting who I am out there in the world. Afraid of that expression.  But I shall do it regardless.  Whoever feels shame for me that is their own.
I'll not sugar coat it one way or the other simply lay it out as it happened.  Take a look at the motivators on both sides. Take a look at his actions. Take a look at mine. Decide for yourself.  You decide. Is it right? Is it wrong? Is it in between? 
I don't know anymore. I just know I had to get out and far far away...
My prayer to God is for the last bit of strength remaining within me to write these next two chapters. A ball of pain, hate and shame. A chunk burning a hole in my soul with him at the center.
It's not all about me. It's not all about him, but all about the dynamics of abuse and how so many slip under the radar. How many children are seen and not heard?
I hope that there will be no more children enduring such things.
 
In a perfect world....
 
*****************************
 

I woke on the floor.

"Get off the floor and quit faking it." He growled

I coughed and coughed again and pulled myself upright. Weaving slightly, head still sending off little sparks, the side of my skull thumped louder than any congo drum you've ever heard.

"Get these damn dishes done and then get out of my site. I don't wanna see you.  Kapish?" He ordered.

"Yes." I said weaving still.

"Cut the crap!  I didn't hit you that hard!" He barked."

"I'm leaving here tonight. I thought. "Just as soon as they fall asleep i'm out the door."

I went through the dishes as best as I could still wobbling a bit. Thanking my stars that I had a counter to lean on or I surely would have fallen. Peering around the kitchen to see if I missed anything, I tuned in my ears and could hear their TV playing in their room.

"Ok." I thought."I'll wait for their TV to turn off then I can go."

Downstairs I crept pain zipping through my head and body. I moved as silently as possible.  My sisters flip flops beside the bed, my jacket hanging on the knob with my forgotten busfare inside the pocket, I waited.

But, with thumping head and drooping eyes I quickly succumbed to rest. 

***

The iron clamp upon my upper arm squeezing until there was no flesh left to flatten, hauled me out of my bed and out the door rug burn on my hip and thigh.

"What!!?? What the hell us going on!!?? Let go if me. LET ME GO!!!!"

Dropped on the linoleum staring at my mother's feet, I looked up and in her hands were two plastic containers.  She rubbed her fingers on them.

She said, 'They're greasy.  You can't put them in the cupboard like that. Now look your going to have to wash them all. What the hell is wrong with you?"

He pulled all the dishes out of the cupboards and dumped them in the sink. 

I'm trembling again. Shaking with rage fury, anger, frustration and the pure need for revenge boiled inside of me.  My control almost extinct.

"No." I said.

"What did you say to your mother?

" No." I repeated.

"You get your ass over here and start washing little girl or I'm gonna give you more of what I gave you last week so get moving!" He roared.

I just stood there and stared at him.  As if it had a mind if it's own, my voice box started bellowing, I'm hollering at the top of my lungs.

"I said NO!!!!!!" He came toward me like a bull.

I picked up a plate and hucked it at him frisbee style. It gave him a whiff of a haircut along his sideburns.  Fury added to the speed of the plate zipping by his head. I spun on my heel and ran for the bathroom.  Locking the door I opened the laundry shute and launched myself down the tube! In the quick second it took for me to sail down that tube. I knew he'd be waiting there on the bottom.  He knew what I was doing.

Landing on the laundry I saw his feet. With a precision kick he knocked the wind of me.  A football kick to the solar plexus.

The world shrunk around me once again....

*****************************
 
With shaking fingers I pull my hands away from the keyboard. Knowing it's time to end this particular chapter to move on to the next. 
 
Escape comes with a price....

Author Notes This chapter is part of an auto bio called ghost. It can be found in my portfolio. Feel free to read if you wish this one caution. Some chapters are hard to digest reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 58
The Fury Pt3

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Precipice
and the granite unmasked
 
Not my heart in immobility
 
Injustice
disguise of righteousness
 
Not my soul in perpetual quake
 
Punishment
that which he doled smiling
 
My body he forced, never will be...me.
 
***Lea Tonin***
 
************************************
The sky opened up today in bright watery brilliance.  The sun cut across the clouds, exposing diamonds in the air.  The clouds mine their own jewels and offer them up to the land below as sustenance for all things green. 
 
Conflict, it's been conflict between wanting to love and be loved by my parents and yet hating them for not giving it. Conflict.
It is a battle I despise within myself. I wish I didn't have to feel either way.
But that is the nature of the beast.  Like the sky opening up above me, so does my heart and mind.
It's time to pad over to my PC and let the deluge out.
 
Hang on girl...I'm coming.
 
*****************************
 

I came to in time to see my stepfather had advanced toward me. Purple in the face and neck from such high blood pressure while having yet another temper tantrum.  I could see it was about to blow out his ears very soon!

His eyes black as pitch. Flat with no feeling or warmth at all. Just flat, black, dangerous eyes.

On the floor beside me, lay the broom. I grabbed it and scrambled back holding the broom with the pointy end out towards my stepfather.

"Get away from me!! Stay back!! Don't come near me!!" 

I was hysterical with fear!  I shook like a leaf. The grey threatened to consume me! I had to do that trick inside my head. I had to wake the rage and let it take over while I shook in my shorts. Uncharacteristically he laughed for the second time.

"What are you going to do with that?" He chuckled.  

"I'm gonna hit you with it if you come near me!" I sputtered.

"Really...is that what you're going to do?" Chuckling a bit more.

"Yes! I'm gonna club you 'til you go down!!"

I could hear my Mother upstairs yelling. "You two stop arguing! Get up here! If I have to stay up all night there'll hell to pay!"

"Drop the broom and get up there." He said in a quiet menacing voice.

"FUCK YOU!!" I shouted gripping the broom tighter.

There it was.  My anger rising with my fear while I struggled for control. Adrenaline now rushing through my veins. The grey completely banished from me as a cure for what ailed me. But as my anger and fear rose, so did his rage.

His face filled up with blood once again turning his expression into a full facial bruise. There was that thick miasma in the air which indicated his irrational, illogical fury was soon to be released.

"At first I found your new attitude amusing. I don't any more. Drop this broom and get your ass up there. This is your last warning." Still in that menacing voice thick while his dark eyes bled black.

"No! I'm not doin' it! I'm getting my stuff and I'm leaving and your gonna let me!!"

I gripped the handle as tight as I could started to swing the broom handle back and forth to illiterate my point.

I knew I could not beat him in a physical fight. He was much stronger than I was. But, I also knew that I was much faster. With my adrenaline high my rage riding along with it, I was even faster still. 

He reached out in a flash, grabbed the end of the broom handle and wrenched it from me pulling me forward as he did. He made a fist extending his knuckles and smashed me in the forehead with them. The pain made me angrier which kept the blackness at bay.

I dropped down to all fours and shot past his hip as fast as I could! The pose was as if I was starting a race in the olympics and the gun had just fired.

This did not stop him from grabbing a fistful of my hair as I flew by.

I could not have stopped the momentum. If I stopped, I was dead.

So I let my light weight and speed carry me through but, leaving behind hair and roots in his grip.

"YOU LITTLE WITCH!!" He roared. "Get back here!"

"No fucken way." I thought as I launched myself toward the back door.

That door that lead to the carport, the septic field and freedom! He came towards me almost as fast as me but not quite...Not quite.

I got the door opened in the split second I had ahead of him. His arm reach out and gripped my shirt.  My momentum wasn't allowing that so I slipped from his grasp. I knew he wouldn't follow me over the septic field. So I aimed for that throwing myself through the car port and right across the center of the septic field.

I ran through it which gave me valuable seconds ahead of him. He could not catch me.

I ran like the wind, my speed almost making me fly.

Kitty corner to the house was a stretch of woods that ran about twelve blocks end to end.

I shot across the street and into the bush. I could feel blood trickling down my neck and over my back. My head was thumping from getting punched but I was out!

I actually did it!! I was out! I was free!!

The small stretch of wood was a place where kids built forts, ran around with their dogs. Pick up Gardner snakes and frogs. Not a place a girl could hide for long, but just long enough to stay free.

I went towards the fort my sister and I made and crawled inside.

"A couple more hours, the sun's up." I thought. "I'll stay in here until then head to my friends house after. She was now my only hope." 

Sitting on the stump inside, my heart slowed a bit and the adrenaline wore off.  My exhaustion hit me like a hammer. My mind was done the grey came as swiftly and as fast as the adrenaline did. I felt myself lean and then fall off the stump.

That was all...

*****************************
I took my left hand and I put it over my right shoulder. I took my right hand and I put it over my left shoulder and I squeezed. I gave myself the hug that I need.
Tears threaten behind my eyes for the old pain and the girl I once was.
I said to others that there is no one single, shiny AHA moment or answer for all of it. It comes instead in increments.  As the wisdom comes, so do the pieces fall together...
 
There goes that sky again...flashing those jewels....

Author Notes This chapter is part of a auto bio calls ghost which can be found in my portfolio. Should you wish to read please note some chapters are hard radar discretion is advised.
***Picture by Instagram***


Chapter 59
Backyard

By Lea Tonin1

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Fold back the page, lovers of old.
See the truth no fortunes told.
But for this act no evil unfolds.
Stop deceits perpetual hold.
This family base built so cold.
 
The house of pain fake love grows mold
A corpse of hate, warmths cuckold
Raise the home come forth be bold.
The auction block, three girls are sold.
 
***Lea Tonin***
 
*****************************
 
I see so much clearer and know so much more than I did before.  Part of that was much research into the family dynamic.
Beginning with my grandmother, such damage and pain one lie can cause. The trickle down effect over generations.
This lie spills out exponentially like an ever widening puddle of black ooze the deeper the lie, the longer the deception. The ever-present desperation to keep those secrets caused so much damage in this family.
It's an old path which created new paths that I see very clearly.
It stops with me. It has stopped with me and never went by me and it never will.
 
Let us begin shall we?
 
*****************************

It begins in the nineteen thirtys when my grandmother was a teenage girl....

Grandmother - Daughter to a strict Dutch religious family. Staunch Dutch Christian Reformed. My grandmother craved release from all that. She was to be a properly trained young lady with Christian ideals and never engage in sex prior to marriage.

She'd preferred to have fun, going to dance halls, smoking and meeting boys. So she did. 

Much to her parents chagrin, she became pregnant with what she thought could be my grandfather's baby. My grandfather believing he was the father of her child and believed her to be faithful to him, he married her.

With the advent of World War Two the German Army went to conquer and occupy Holland among other European countries, my grandfather went to war. 

In fact, before, during and after the war, even in Canada, she continued her affairs.

My grandfather would say around the dinner table something which we all thought was a joke when really he was dead serious.

"I take my pants off in Germany and my wife is pregnant in Holland." My grandmother's reputation became horrendous. She was shunned from her church and her family.  She pitched an idea to my Grandfather that they should leave the country and start a new life somewhere else where everything would be different. He agreed and they came to Canada. Unfortunately, my grandmother could not curtail her behavior and it carried on while in Canada.

This was the big lie. Cover it all up from the entire family, even the children involved. As for my aunts and uncles, for multiple reasons  my grandmother  kept mum.  Her children, on my grandmother's death bed, begged her to tell the truth. She refused.

She had created for herself, in Canada, this persona of perfection. The church going woman who gave to her church. The prominent social service lady responsible and fostered many children. One of which remained with our family.  This persona extended to hire up politicians, higher up social Service people. Any investigation by social services would soon connect the dots between her and us. Social Services would soon see our familial tie and in turn be investigated. There was no way she could up and start again in another country. So she fought tooth and nail to keep her secrets.

My grandmother had nine children, most of which do not belong to my grandfather. She had her favorites among her children, my mother was not one of them.

The collateral damage trickled down to her own children. Which brings me to my mother.

Mother - Born two months after World War Two ended. Likely my grandfather's daughter.

Female children my grandmother had trouble with.  Especially my mother. My grandmother was very hard on my mother, calling her unsavory names as if she was a loose woman which was perpetuated with me when I lived with her. My grandmother was convinced that girls were street sluts and my mother is no different and so she treated her accordingly. Even though she treated her other daughters better. That same dislike for my mother passed down to my mother's girl's, us. One story of my mother's childhood that sticks with me and told me who I was dealing with was.

Came a day when one of my grandmother's lovers was coming to take her away. She had my mother pack up the house to move while they waited for her lover. This lover never showed up. She had my mother unpack all the things and put them away again. When my grandfather returned home, he knew something was wrong and demanded answers. My mother fled to her room. My grandmother had  refused to answer any of his questions. So he followed my mother up and demanded from her the truth.

My mother was a girl and told him the truth and was never forgiven by her mother, my grandmother. So my mother did what my grandmother did and got pregnant with me all to escape her mother. If she  learned anything from my grandmother, it was get someone to pay the bills.  Then she learned how to manipulate people into thinking she's a paragon of honesty. A sweet woman who doesn't deserve to be treated so badly by her daughters. She had many convinced she's the most honest person that was ever born. Wow, that just gags me.

My mother's behavior is almost the same as my grandmother's. Except my mother has no ambition to do anything but have fun.

It was just dumb luck for my stepfather running into my mother and dumb luck for her that she ran into him. This Japanese man who did what she  wanted him to do so he could do what he wanted to do.

Every time we complained, we did not know that we would be railroaded. We we're just kids. 

With my mother's indifference and thinking she's done the right thing, effectively threw us to the wolves.  Living in her narcissistic world, her and he were laughing all the way. He knew he could do whatever he wanted to. She knew she could too. Complaints would be waylaid by my family members namely my grandmother and my mother.

He was laughing all the way to the end of his fist. Also, my grandmother can keep her lie secret. The results of such a generational lie is clear and more so with these results:

Three over achievers public people who are also indifferent to the feelings of others. 

Four alcoholic and/or drug addicted Uncles.

One alcoholic Aunt.

Three emotionally/physically and/or mentally abusive uncles.

Seven of nine aunts and uncles in multiple marriages my mother included.

Between six and twelve cousins Alcoholic and/or addicted to other substances.

Two male cousins that I know of are extremely abusive.

Multiple cousins left the family for various reasons never to come back.

Two male cousins death by suicide.

Then there's us three girls my stepfather got free tickets to mayhem.

All of this damage for one great lie. All of this pain for one woman's desire for secrecy then begat others who would do the same. Even though it ends with me, there are many, many cousins in this family and the damage continues to roll down hill.

I wish I could do away with the great lie and the  deceptions. In a perfect world we would all come together and we would all heal. 

Others now in the family take up the mantle. My mother, definitely one of them.

This is my way of showing the world we can be different. We do not have to be the Prince or Princess of pain. We do not have to perpetuate the lie. I have decided to continue to talk to anyone who will listen. Family member or no. 

Learn from our example of what not to do by all the damage I have listed and written about.

I pray for the end of the big pulsating nasty boil of the great lie...but I'll take peace for now.

*****************************
My 16 year old self is free!
It's so much different than tge existence my parents gave. So it shall be and is. 
I was wholly unprepared for the world. But even that was better than where I came from....
My mind and heart are weary but strangely contented too.
 
I'll take that....

Author Notes Please note this chapter is part of an autobio called Ghost and can be found in my portfolio should you wish to read it. Please note, there are some chapters that are difficult to read. Reader discretion is advised.

***Picture is myself with my dogs just this past summer***


Chapter 60
The Journey

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Deep in creeping woods and gloom I painted.
My brush glides through living color in waves. Blandness slides away with every stroke.
A new sky born of canvas and powder blue.
 
The velvety bright image beckons a welcome.
Come to my world the passage is clear.
My fingers descended to painted skies and whisper...
  
Do speak to me of quiet things or shout and ask indifferently. 
 
Into their world I slipped.
 
***Lea Tonin***
 
************************************
The hardest parts to write are now past.
But there will be no funeral for it like you would have when a loved one passes. Just a strong imprint of what shouldn't be.
 
There is yet one more task.
We must bring her out of the woods and into safety.  
With a deep shuddering sigh knowing the difficulty is over, I remained at my PC reflecting. Now my fingers gently type with none of the aggressive clacking I'd been doing in earlier writes.
 
Sitting down to write does seems much more comfortable...
Soon I can let her go, my younger self, knowing she'll be okay.
Knowing she will come out of this.
With some scars and not on unscathed but...
 
She comes out none the less....
 
*****************************
 

The smell of pine and the sound of songbirds warbling woke me slowly and gently like the rhythmic drift of a rocking chair.

So unlike the last few nights of rude awakenings.

I lifted my head to a deep throbbing pain in my scalp and on my forehead where I took the punch.  Needles, twigs and leaves stuck to the side of my face and the right side of my body. It seems I didn't move while I was asleep or out cold, whichever the case may be.

Slowly. I lifted myself back up onto the stump. I sat there for a few minutes, while I slowly gathered myself.

First thing I noticed, other than the pain, was being extremely thirsty. I don't know how long I was asleep but, I needed to get some water quick. I decided to take a quick peek out of the forest to see what I could see.

With a throbbing head, I slowly and methodically made my way to the edge of the bush.  I could see my house.  I looked toward the driveway and noticed my stepfather's car was gone. At work, I'm sure.

My mother's car was gone too. She most likely went bowling or met with one of her friends. Whatever it was, she did. 

It was usually just a, "I'm going out" statement. Not a lot of concern when I disappeared too I saw but, that was no surprise. 

I stayed inside the line of the bush as best as I could and looked around some more.

To make sure no one was staring in my direction, I scanned the area as best as I could.

It was early morning although I couldn't be 100% positive. I was sure I slept more than a couple hours.

One last scan of the area told me that all was quiet. I took the chance and sprinted across the street and down toward the house.

I leaned against the side of the house close to the living room window to listen for sounds of anyone inside.

All was silent. I moved down the carport to the back door where I knew a tap was. Like in forest days past, I guzzled the water. I drank  until I practically drowned myself.

Gingerly I put my head underneath the tap to wash out the back of my head. A tangled mess of pine needles, dirt, leaves and blood.

The Sting was excruciating when the water hit.  I couldn't help but let out a quiet yelp. I stopped to listen for more noise.

Nothing. Still clear.

I tried the knob on the back door and of course, it was locked which I expected. I also tried the back windows. Sealed as I knew they would be too. I did have one way and that was my bedroom window which I had recently kept unlocked for a an occasion just like this.

I put my palms gently on the window for a skin to glass seal and slid it down enough to put my fingers in which I used to slide it the rest of the way open. I stopped to listen for sounds in the house.

I heard none. All was silent. I put one leg through the window, then my torso and my other leg which landed me on my bed. Listening all the while I creaked my bedroom door open and looked around the corner.

No lights were on. No TV's were running. I could hear no footfalls on the floor. On the door my jacket hung still which I grabbed right away. Inside sat that all important bus fare, my main reason for coming. That and my sisters flip flops. Listening for sounds I took a peek up the stairwell. No lights on up there either.

I flew up the stairs lightfooted and as quiet as I could be and into the kitchen. Opening the fridge I just grabbed what was handy. Buns and jam. I scooped a thermos from the cupboard. A quick dash into the bathroom saw my tooth brush and hair brush in my pocket. I put the jar of jam in my other pocket and carried the bread under my arm. A quick bee line back to my room and out the wwindow.

I stopped only to fill my thermos with water and scan the area again. I was so scared my parents or someone would see me that I shook. So much so my thermos took twice as long to fill.  Quickly. I ran across the road back into the line of the Bush and to the small fort we had built.

I prayed that would be the last time I had to enter that house or deal with my parents. I also knew though, that prayer had to be accompanied with action.

I've acted. At great cost....

*****************************
I've written this chapter in the very small hours of the day. The quiet of the morning showed just the tips of the sun peaking over the horizon as I sip my coffee and witness the miracle.
We all need moments of peace. Sometimes we just get to grab little snippets of it along the way.
I Keep thinking of my younger self, she must have been nuts!
Perhaps I was, perhaps I still am.
 
Whatever it was...it kept me alive....
 

Author Notes This chapter is from an auto bio called ghost. It can be found in my portfolio. If he were shred, please note; Some chapters are hard to digest. Reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 61
Haven

By Lea Tonin1

One pull...one small tug

One move...one tangled shift.

Hem of my soul...drifts

***Lea Tonin***
 
***********************************
I cannot remember the last time if any, that I felt so light. I think it's the gift of being able to put it out there.
People listen and understand and some people know how it feels to release such a heavy burden.
Most good feelings will seem foreign to me as if I'm not allowed to allow myself that gift.
All the old programming comes up. I don't deserve it,  I am nothing, I am worthless.
 
That was the mantra of our home and after years of that I becamed conditioned.
I know it's old conditioning when the thought crosses my mind that I don't deserve anything.
That's the old talk, that's the old voice in my head repeating what he said.  We have picked up on certain ways of thinking and doing along the way from my parents. About how we should think and be, obviously very wrong...we now overcome by changing our thoughts but, the damage remained.
For instance, my younger sister, who was saved by her father, suffered from agoraphobia. Sometimes pills and a gambling addiction was present. Its been years now. She seems to happy and her life is going well. I'm very happy for her. Naturally, she still has very strong feelings about our stepfather and what he did. In the short time she was with us sometimes and when she visited he damaged her.
My middle sister has a hard relationship with food because she feels like once she sees food, she has to eat it right away for fear it will disappear. If it disappeared, she'd have nothing.  She also has serious control issues and prefers to be in charge in order to feel comfortable. Her growing up was so out of control she now needs control. She has, on occasion, displayed traits of my stepfather.  Learned behavior I'm sure although she too seems to have made some turn around in her life for which I am equally happy.
Although highly involved in a later incident, which I will explain at a future date she remains, for the most part, a decent person.  
As for myself. I suffer from a severe chemical depression as well as an emotional one. Trust is difficult. I seem to pick the wrong people and I do so by listening to their stories and I think that they need help or a leg up so I do and without fail, I get burned.
So none of us came out unscathed, we had and have our things we need to work on.  The point is to keep our minds open to ideas different than our own. This is how we expand.
This is how we invent, how we exchange information. To understand the dynamics of human behavior and relationships with clarity.  Understanding of some of the why without condoning the behavior.  
 
So now I'm light enough that if I flap my hands, I might fly up in the sky...
 
That's enough yacking....let's look in on her....
 
***************************** 

I sit in a little hut, a fort, a small space my sister and I put up together.  A little escape pod if you will. I listened to the loud silence crash all around me enveloping the great and huge relief within me.

I'm pouring shudders out in gratitude that I do not have to go back there.

I am my own woman now and no one will ever lift their hand to me again. God help them if they do!

I gobbled up two buns with jam and drank half the water in my thermos.

"Now it's time to get out of here. I thought. "I'll bolt through the woods to the bus stop on the other side." A street my parents don't normally drive.

First things first. I can't go to my friends house looking like this. I brushed my teeth without paste then pulled the brush out of my pocket. 

This was going to hurt.

I poured some water out of my thermos and carefully started to go through my hair. It was a job getting the pine needles, dirt leaves, and other debris out of my hair. When I got to the back of my head, there was more than just debris. There was a dried blood clump within my hair. I poured a little bit of water on the back of my scalp which again stung but, not as bad as the first time. I held my hand over the injured area of my scalp and began to slowly brush the debris out of my hair.

It was excruciating. I took the small part of my hair surrounding the wound. Flushed the hair clump as best I could with the little water I had left. 

I brushed it gently again and then took hair from the top of my head and combed it back as well. I didn't know how it looked but hopefully, much better than it was. Almost good enough to be seen.

No time like the present. I walked through the brush to the main path and began jogging along it toward the other side.

Mother would send me through here sometimes at night to go buy her cigarettes.

I'd say, "it's dark out."

She'd say, "Well, you'd better run then." 

There are words I could use...grrr.

I slowed my jog to a walk because it was making my head thump.  It was morning so I had time. Besides my mother wouldn't put one foot in these woods. I've yet to see my stepfather move from his chair. Except when it was time to cause pain.

I smelled the clean scent of pine and cedar drifting in the air. Squirrels were bopping about and a myriad of birds were flying from tree to tree and I thought,

"How wonderful to be so free...now I am too."

I just hope my friend will have me or know where I could go. I approached the bus stop, sat down on the bench to wait. I was a little nervous and a bit concerned but, it was night and day compared to where I came from.

A thought occurred to me again...I am free...no one can have me now.

*****************************
I remember the feeling that day sitting on the bench waiting for the bus.
I feel like I'm breaking out like a Phoenix.
I guess though, I'd make a funny looking bird.....

Author Notes This chapter's from an auto bio called Ghost. It's in my portfolio if you wish to read you are welcome. Please note; Some chapters are difficult to Absorb reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 62
Roller coaster

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

 
 
 
 
Rolled shoulders, the luggage of life.
Strike for the springy step once known.
Rip the emotional baggage, a tearing cast.
Unhinge guilt and shame, totes of demise.
 
And feather float....
 
*****************************
Today the beacon sun smiles on Autumn's beauty like lovers of old. Changing leaves, it's continued spin and wave, enjoying the seasons last. With the stunning loveliness surrounding one another in  beautiful azure skies and warm rays, how could one think of doing harm on days like this? 
 
My mother could...and does. 
I must confess to some pressure around here. My family actively seeks to discredit me once again.
She comes with both guns blazing!  Out to create another reputation that I am supposed to live down.
I believe, although I'm not completely sure, that it won"t be long before Social Services or the Ministry try to contact me for something other than the paperwork I've request. By that simple act of asking, red flags went up for them.
My mother now redoubles her efforts. 
I hear terrible things from others and am dealing with some awful comments.  One person said I should kill myself. 
 
Scumbag.
 
She will not stop me in any way shape or form. That is a promise. A promise to the people reading and a promise to all those that this writing may help. But most of all, a promise to myself to never go back there ever and never stop. 
BTW, if you're snooping mother, you can kiss my ass!  You should get started!  You got some ground to cover!
 
Question for my kind readers and perhaps some advise if you don't mind.
 
I have been advised by more than a few to go some place no one knows me.  Where I am anonymous until I've completed this story. 
It was also mentioned that there could be a physical altercation although it's heresay.
I'm not surprised by such things.  Anyone who wishes to raise a hand to me better be warned, I'm not the person to fuck with. I learned long ago how to take care of business! 
 
I know...I sounded so tough there eh?  "Eh" is the Canadian equivalent of "Huh" in the USA.
 
I'm leaning towards leaving. Mainly because I can't live down all these things that my mother keeps saying about me. Also because things are heating up as far as information coming out. Who knows what people will do with that?
I've learned to expect the worst as it quite often it is. 
 
What did you think folks?  
 
I always appreciate everyone's perspective. Because sometimes we just might hear something valuable or something that we just didn't know.
I look forward to those things that I don't know.
 
So while things heat up for me today things cool down for me yesterday... Let's see what shaken...yes?
 
****************************

That beautiful gorgeous bus showed up in minutes to take me away from this vicious yuck.

If that bus was a night in shining armor, it would be Lancelot! 

A twenty minute bus ride is all it took to make my day!  Just one worry now, only one thing concerns me. I hope they take me. I hope my friend and her parents will allow me to stay for a short time.

Just for now though, I'll take the gentle rocking of the bus.

I know where she lives. I've just never been there before. She comes from the other side of the city.

We converge together centrally for Army Cadets to meet. Soon the stop I needed came into view.

I pulled the cord to exit the bus. As I was about to get off, a lady asked me if I was OK. She said the back of my head looked sore. I thanked her for her concern. I gave her a bright smile and deboarded. Walking up the street I scanned the house numbers and there it was. One house up from the corner. But the grass was cut and the windows were clean.

I was beginning to feel a bit guilty. Maybe I would be a burden to these people.

There was nothing else could I do but ask. Maybe I could do chores or something in exchange.

Nervously I walked up to the door and knocked.  There was my friend "P" looking at me with a question on her face.

I said, "I'm sorry I didn't make it yesterday, my Dad was being a dick."

"That wasn't yesterday." P said."That was two days ago."

"Oh shit." I mumbled. "Was asleep for over a day!"

"Sorry?" P asked.

"Oh nothing. Missed a day I guess." I replied.

"Well, 'cmon. Don't just stand there, come in." She said. "Take your flip flops off or my mom will crap herself!"

I complied right away.

"What did you get into?" she asked. "You look like you ran into a pile of shit!" Her compunction for poo was different.

"Could I wash? I'll tell you everything right after?" I asked.

"Better do." P said. "Don't let my mom see you like that."

I gave her a grateful look. She said,"Don't look at me with love in your eyes...git!"

She waived me off. My eyes welled up with tears...I turned quickly and went where she pointed.

One look in the mirror told me I did need some attention.

I did sometimes yes...need attention. 

************************
Jack and Jill went up the hill each with a buck and a quarter jill came down with two fifty...that always made me chuckle. 
Sometimes humor is required to break the mood and bring some levity in.  I do it all the time.
People chuckle but, I do it for my own amusement.
 
Until we meet again....

Author Notes This chapter is from a auto bio called Ghost. It can be found in my portfolio. If you wish to read, please note some chapters are difficult to absorb reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 63
Months End

By Lea Tonin1

 
 
Confined my soul
 
Bursts free to frolic
 
Homes gate creates revelry
 
*****************************
It is clear and crystal this morning. Grass sheathed in shiny armor pointing to the sky.  It's sheen a quick demise flashes as the sun rises. They shake off their tiny green arms and once again greet the day.
 
Sometimes I think life should just be the same for a while.
 
I say to myself, "Don't look at the mountain to climb, look at your feet.
Put one foot in front of the other. One thing at a time, one task at a time.  Before you know it, you are at the top of the mountain."
 
It's a nice idea in theory, but life is rarely nice.
So we do what we can.
Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. 
 
Mayhem just likes hanging around me. I do however, think everyone could say that at least once in their lives.
 
There's a phrase I like.  It's called,
"Terminal Uniqueness".
It's the idea that nothing and no one can understand how we feel or where we've been.
If one is stuck on that premise, then we are not open to ideas that are different than our own.  We become narrow-minded, and that is the road to narcissism.
We must remain open to different ideas .  In this way, we continue to learn, continue to expand.  Yes, there are roadblocks along the way.
I say, bring some grenades.  Blast the shit outta those blocks here and now!
 
One more trip into the past...for now...
 
*****************************

"ZING!!" Said my  scalp when introduced to warm water. I watched the dirt, needles and blood  then drained it from my hair watching the porcelain whirlpool take away the flotsam. I washed my hands and my face,then gently brushed my hair again. Careful not to touch the back

I looked at my clothes and brushed the yuck off my pants.

Using the towel to wipe up after myself I then put it into their hamper turned to look one more time.

There was a woman girl or a girl woman in that mirror. It happens in that small space of time in between that offers only confusion. 

Deciding that I was at least presentable. I tucked my hair behind my ears and concluded that I was able to maintain some semblance of normalcy, I left the bathroom.

Their home, although very neat, contained furniture almost as old as the house. Chairs, a couch and a couple end tables were loosely spaced about the living room. An old chipped Formica table was set in the kitchen.  The "good ship lino pop" had peeled up from the  floor. They did their best to keep it clean same as the rest of the house.

"I can't go back there, I have no where to go." I said.

"No you cant. Your Dad sounds like a serious dick." P answered. Mom will be back soon, I'll ask her. Don't worry about it, we'll figure it out."

I couldn't help it. Tears came of their own volition. My friend looked awkward like she didn't know what to do.

She was rescued by the sound of a car in the driveway.

"Mom's here...let me talk to her first...maybe go in my room. Top of the stairs door on the left." She said.

I went up the stairs nervously and into her room.  Like the rest of the house, it was neat and clean which is kind of funny for a teenager. But I didn't think much of it at the time.

There's two beds in the room which looked to be an attic room but actually was insulated and had drywall and paint. I sat there fidgeting, my fingers dueling with eack other. I heard the sound of my friends voice, one of a woman and the deeper voice of a man. 

I wondered what would happen, what I would do if I couldn't stay.

It seemed like a conversation was going on for days. But really it was only about 1/2 an hour that I waited. But it was a nervous wait because my future was in the balance. I heard the sound of someone coming up the stairs and then P came through the door.

"They want to talk to you." She said. Her expression gave nothing away. I stood up and followed her down the stairs.

Walking into the living room I saw a big balding man with cherry cheeks and a smaller round woman who smiled at me and asked me to sit down.

"Goodness." the lady said. "You look like a deer in the head lights!" She looked at me with a kind expression.

"It's okay sweetie, you can stay here for a awhile."

"Yes, it's fine." P's Dad said.

Like a corkscrew, my boby began to unwind itself. I didn't realize I was so tensed up until I started to relax. The tears rolled again accompanied with deep exhaustion.

Then the light faded to black....

***********************
I remember that massive wave of relief...it rolls over me now as a residual sensation. 
 
Soon this part of the story will end.
 
And another begins....

Author Notes This chapter is part of an auto bio called Ghost. It can be found in my portfolio should you wish to read. A small note of caution, some chapters are hard to absorb. Reader discretion is advised.


Chapter 64
End

By Lea Tonin1

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Echoes of silent darkness

Permeating the air

My heart lives there too....

************************************
It was so chilly out this morning, so frosty. The last of the autumn leaves said to hell with this and left the scene, the cold sun said adios!
 
Every bush, building and field around me is covered in that white hoary jacket. Here, it is either bright and cold, or warm and wet. Usually the latter.
Today is a day I've never experienced before. I feel like there's a bunch of room in my head now for other stuff.
Like old furniture was moved out that once looked intimidating, now looks like trash.
I have decided that conclusions are not endings. It's just a stop over or an interlude for the next scenes.
 
I think every one of us envisions a nice home with a beautiful yard and dog, maybe a place to fish and camp with happy kids and a partner who loves you. I was no different.
 
I do have beautiful sons and a dog. I sometimes get to fly fish too.
 
But today that odd sensation seems to be perpetuating itself.
Like chucking all the files that are 7 years and older. As any office would.
But the gang plank in my brain was set down on a wharf designed to receive bullshit. A whole bunch of it came marching out.
 
Again, I feel this desire to be absolutely transparent as I have throughout this whole journey. But even more so now in this last piece.
 
I'll give my thoughts, my heart and head at the time as I knew it to be....
 
The vast network of Jungle vines, that was my mind and tangled within sit's the nugget of the girl I was born to be. 
 
The last part of myself I gave to no one and still do not...probably never will.
 
I'll see you on the other side....
 
*****************************

Curtains sliced the sun to a single ray traveling across my eyelids. Feeling warm and comfortable, I stretched with only a few aches and pains while allowing my eyes to open. 

"Hmm.' I thought.  "This is not familiar." Then it all came rushing back.

"Wow, you slept a long time!" P exclaimed. "No easy feat on that couch!"

"How long?" I croaked.

"Since yesterday around noon." She said. "You must be hungry. Moms got breakfast. Cmon."

In fact I was ravenous and incredibly thirsty. I could smell bacon coming from the kitchen.  I loved bacon.

Entering the kitchen a little shyly. I looked around and saw P's mother at the stove. She smiled at me.

"Sit down." she said. "How many eggs? She asked.

"Sorry? Oh eggs. Yes please, two. Thank you." I responded quietly.

A stack of toast a jug of juice peanut butter and jam appeared before me.

"Go ahead and have some toast and juice. Bacon and eggs coming up!"

Before she could finish the sentence, I had already gobbled up one piece. 

I couldn't swallow it fast enough. A glass of juice quickly followed. P's younger brother D and sister S came to the table followed by their Dad, all with hungry expressions.

"Pass the toast Buck Wheat."  Father said to his son. 

D scrunched up his nose, gave an annoyed expression and passed the toast.

"What about you Rastus? Gonna share that juice?" Offering me a wink as he did so. I passed him the juice.

P's mother started serving eggs out of the pan and placed a bowl of bacon on the table.

I watched the dynamics within my friend's family while I inhaled food. Smiled while they chatted back and forth. D chucked a piece of toast at S. S screeched and sent it back."

Did families actually do this? Not freak out about table manners or a chore that's not done? Laugh with one another?

I didn't know.

It was odd feeling but not bad one."P, after breakfast find something she can wear for now and show her where the bathtub is." P's mother said. 

My cheeks flushed red. I'm sure I looked and smelled amazing.

D snickered and P gave him a shot in the arm for it."What?" D said. "It's ok, I get it." I said smiling at D.

***

For the next few weeks, we settled into a routine. Wake, shower, meals and kitchen clean up.

I saw my name on the roster for chore duty (which made feel like I was contributing) then movie time, playing cards  together. At this time I was euphoric, I'd never known a family like this.

People actually loved each other gave each other hugs, kisses good night. Did I suddenly land on another planet? I could actually visit friends without being worried I'd be punished when I returned home.

It was one such night.  I'd just turned 17. I had a friend around the corner I went to school with. We sat around chit chatting, giggling about silly things, trying on make up and watching shows. It was fun! Something I didn't get a lot of. I breathed in the early summer sweetness feeling warm air surround me. The black blanket above with its pinprick holes of brilliance winking down upon me. The crisp moon turning everything to silver.

Another interesting feeling came over me I don't usually have...Peace...this gorgeous peace that never once graced my heart did now. I wanted nothing to change. Keep everything just the way it was. I could feel happiness that way.

Rounding the corner I saw the house and steps leading in. 

How odd...P's mother's car was gone. There was only a single light burning in the living room plus the flash of the TV. I walked into the house but the house was unusually dark. "That's strange." I thought.  I could hear the phone start to ring as I walked in the door.  I walked toward the living room to answer the phone just as I did. I looked over and I saw P's father with a bottle on the table and a little glass with two fingers of booze inside.

He looked up at me with a glazed, furious expression just as the receiver touched my ear. "Get a bag put some things in it quickly.  He's drinking." P said.

"Get the hell outta there! Don't come back!"

And now?

*****************************
It's hard to know how to feel when finishing something like this.
A childhood of meaningless mayhem.
 
Ask yourself...
 
What do you take away from this story?
 
I've laid my bones bare and given it to you true.  Never so vulnerable than now.
 
You decide what it means to you. Take what does and throw the rest away.
 
All I asked was to be heard and so I have....
 

Author Notes This story is part of an auto bio Called ghost it can be found in my portfolio for those who wish to read. Some chapters are hard to digest reader's discretion is advised.
****Watch our for book 2****
*******SPECTRE********


Chapter 65
Epilogue

By Lea Tonin1

It's a strange feeling coming to the end of this book.  A mixture of "not yet" and "it's done". I feel like I've written, as I have spent a lot of my life, stumbling around in the dark.
 
But...there is no stumbling.
 
There's just a girl inside those pages trying to stay alive.
 
I find myself taking a deep breaths regularily. I can do it now with some feeling of relief. That's the new part.
As a girl, my deep breaths came in fear.
It's funny the things we take for granted until it's not there or never experienced it.
 
Mysteries, questions, some answers....
 
Stuff of life....
 
*****************************
When I was growing up, we didn't have names, identities or the right to just be.
Like we weren't supposed to be born and using space not our own.
They made the best of it as they saw it.
We were used in almost every way possible and they considered us free slaves since they had to put up with us.
 
Oh, yes, I knew slavery. I knew the lay of the land and I knew the jailers too.
 
No personality or mistakes were allowed. 
At best we were small automatons to do their bidding.
 
As for identity, that had to be earned. 
 
I already knew what my name was....
 
GHOST
 
*****************************
 
That is not the end of her story.
 
Just the beginning of mine....
 
Join me again in Book 2
 
SPECTRE

Author Notes I want to take this time to thank everyone for reading along with me!
It was a difficult journey, both for the writer and the reader.
I clasp my hands together and bow to you all honored and humbled by all your amazing support!
Last but not least to Fanstory for providing the platform and the means in which to do so.
***Picture painted by Lea Tonin 2016***

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