Background
Grammy's memoirs is written so that my grandchildren will know who I am and who I was. (This particular chapter will be left out for quite some time.)
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Shallow breaths as she lays as still as can be. Every minute or so, she reaches under the mattress to make sure she can still feel the butt. In her mind, she can picture the steel. She starts with the point, past the tip to the edge. Turning it over, she handles the spine and caresses the heel before she grabs hold of the tang past the bolster. With this in her hand, she feels safe. She can stop him. She will stop him cold.
Sometimes I think the late sixties were the worst years of my life, but that's because I try to block out the early seventies. You see, in 1971, my mother let a monster in the house. And when he came to stay, my life irrevocably changed.
My brother's wedding had gone well in December of 1970, and my mother, sister and I settled into our own routine. It certainly wasn't easy having three women under one roof, but my sister and I had been raised to respect our mother, and we listened, did chores, and maintained a sense of home.
My mother was dating, and while it felt a bit weird, I didn't really mind the friends she would bring home. One of her 'friends' was the owner and racer of several pacers. I used to love to go to the stables and groom the horses, and watch the races. I wasn't old enough to bet, but I would urge my mother to put money down on one horse or another, and I usually made enough to buy us a nice lunch or dinner.
I babysat on most weekends, and so when my mother began to go out each weekend night, it really didn't bother me. I wasn't at home anyway. Sometime in March, she started to come home later, or early in the morning on Saturday and Sunday, and she started to bring this guy, Jim, with her.
Don't ask me why, but I didn't like him. He made my skin crawl. The hairs on the back of my neck tingled, and he gave me a funny feeling in my stomach. I didn't like the way he looked at my mother. I didn't like the way he looked at my sister, and I couldn't stand for him to look at me. You see, Jim was the monster.
I was twelve. The kind of twelve that was quickly developing and leaving the brain behind. I couldn't understand the way men looked at me, and I wasn't thrilled with the new developments. Clothes fit weird, and I didn't feel like myself.
When he looked at me, it was as if he knew all of that, and wanted to offer me answers. His eyes were too knowing, and when he stared at me through the haze of cigarette smoke that now filled our house, he winked whenever he talked to me.
After about four weeks, it was Father's Day. The first Father's Day since my Dad left, and I offered to take my mother out to breakfast.
"Hey, Mom. Let's go out to breakfast. It will be fun. You deserve to celebrate this day; after all, you are both mother and father to me."
She smiled and said, "Wait, let's wake up Jim."
"No, he's not my father. I want it to be just us."
She didn't look exactly happy, but she acquiesced.
We went to the local International House of Pancakes; a place where she used to work. We ordered and I made sure to tell the waitress to give me the check. I was feeling very grown up and very capable.
"So, Mom, how much longer do you think this Jim guy is gonna be hanging around?" I asked after swallowing a piece of pancake. I quickly grabbed my glass of milk to consider while she answered.
"Funny you should ask that, Pat. I was going to tell you that Jim is going to be moving in at the end of the week."
My heart stopped. Stunned, I could barely find the next words. "Really? But, are you guys gonna get married?"
"No. Really, Pat. You don't understand these things. You're just a little girl. But, you will be nice to him. Remember, I'm telling you to be."
I was getting back some blood to my brain, and I sputtered, "But, I don't want him there. He's weird and icky."
Stern dark eyes looked at me. She slowly lit another cigarette and considered my face. Finally, she spoke, "Like I said, you aren't old enough to understand these things and this is NOT your house. You don't pay any rent. I do, and I get to say who will live in the house."
Clearly, I was not going to win, so I backed down. My spirit damaged, I felt uncomfortable, but I knew I had nowhere else to go.
Not surprisingly, my sister decided to move out within two weeks of Jim coming to live in our apartment. I begged her to take me with her, but she said Mom would never go for that. She just told me to be careful.
The summer went on and for some reason, there was suddenly enough money to send me to Girl Scout Camp. I had asked for three years in a row, and there was never enough cash, but now, I was going for two full weeks. My mother kissed me goodbye, and I had two great weeks in the country learning to ride horses.
My return home was surreal. Since my sister had moved out, I now had my very own room. Jim had painted it a sunny yellow and all new bedding was bought. My mother continually reminded me to thank Jim for all he had done for me. The cynic in me knew there was a catch.
Holding my breath, and waiting for that cinch gave me a nervous stomach and the start of an ulcer. Finally, in early 1972, my sister told me she had heard Jim was telling all his friends that my 'cherry' was his. I wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but I was scared. I made my sister tell me what all was involved and I came to a decision.
I bought myself a kitchen knife. I placed it under the mattress with the butt just under the edge. Reaching down I could feel it, and I knew I would use it. The knife made me feel more in control. I was no longer nervous. I had a plan.
On an early morning in 1974, I felt someone climb into my bed. My fifteen-year-old eyes popped open and my hand moved towards the edge of the bed. I stopped breathing and I didn't make a sound. His hand cupped my bottom and then moved upwards to grab my breast.
Before he could touch me again, I sprang to my side with the knife held over my head. "Go ahead, you stupid bastard. I've been waiting for you."
His eyes opened wide and he slid off the bed and took his skinny ass out of my room. I heard my mother screaming at him in their room. In about thirty minutes, he had packed his clothes and left.
My mother's only words to me that morning were; "You really are crazy and someday, you're gonna kill somebody."
