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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.

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....