Aimee Leah
I was six years old when my parents divorced. I still remember the day that my mom told me. She told me that my daddy still loved me but that we had to go live in a different place. I could still see him anytime that I wanted to though and if I would just stop crying she would buy me that Grease lunchbox that I had been asking her for. We moved out of our beautiful home with the picket fence (I kid you not) into a roach infested, dark and dingy, wrong side of the tracks, apartment. I went from having my own beautiful room to sharing a room with my mom where I had to kill all the creepy crawlies for her at night. I don’t remember seeing my dad much during this dark time. My mom went to school while I was in school. I walked a block home at the end of the school day and let myself in with the key that I kept tied around my neck with a piece of yarn.
She met Him on campus. He was “brilliant!” and “charismatic!” and “genius!” and any other kind of word that sounds good with a exclamation point. They married and we moved a couple of blocks down the street. Moving on up, baby! From the slums to the slightly less slums. The thing is… my daddy had money. He paid her child support every month and would have given her anything under the sun she asked for. But she wouldn’t ask and we continued to live in semi-squalor. She took me back and forth to my daddy’s house, never allowing him to come into the house where we lived. It was clean, just run down and in desperate need of repair.
I was trying to give the cat a bath. The cat was having none of it. He suggested that I take a bath with the cat, maybe she would like that better. But I’d better take off my pretty new clothes, don’t want to make Mommy mad at me. So, I did and he watched while I struggled with that poor cat. After the cat was long gone, he was nice enough to help me wash away the cat germs. Cat germs are stubborn, turns out. They require a lot of washing to get rid of.
He would come in my room at night and stare. For hours. And make movements that I didn’t understand. He would walk in on me while I was peeing or taking a bath.
We had a fish tank. I loved to just sit and look at it. It was peaceful and calming. I was a mermaid! I was a shark! I was a jelly fish! He saw that I liked it. He offered to tell me stories about the underwater princess. And how she liked for her step-daddy to give her private hugs and massages and how she never told anyone. He would tell me this stories while wearing a bathrobe and nothing else. His erection always came into view by the end of the stories. But I mustn’t tell Mommy. No! She would be jealous! She would try and take me away from him just like she took me away from my Daddy.
He had friends. They were always kind to me. I liked it when they were around because everyone would get drunk and pass out and not wake up until late the next morning. I could actually sleep when everyone was in the living room passed out and snoring. What a lovely sound! We would go to the friends’ apartments sometimes. I would be asked to go and play outside. I remember being outside for HOURS and just wishing they would let me come back in. They did eventually.
He moved us away. Away from my daddy, away from my grandparents, my school and my friends. We moved into a trailer park where all his other friends lived. My mom got a job and I rode the bus to and from school. One big memory about this trailer is that we never had any food. No meals were ever cooked, no takeout was every bought. I would come home from school and scour the cabinets for any little bite. Once the stale crackers were gone, there was nothing left. I don’t think my mom bought those crackers. I think they were left by the previous occupants. I had breakfast and lunch at school and that was it. I began to hoard food in my backpack when I was lucky enough to be allowed to go visit my grandparents or my daddy. I never got caught but it scared the shit out of me every time. To know there was food in my backpack that I had stolen from the people that I loved. Why did I steal it? They would have given it to me. They might even have investigated why I was stealing food. They may have taken me away from all the darkness!
One day I got off the bus and he was waiting for me. It was dark and dreary fall day. Leaves were blowing across the ground like little tornadoes. He took me to a graveyard. He told me to lay down. He got his penis out of his pants and laid down on top of me. I couldn’t breathe! Then I heard an angry shout!! The caretaker of the graveyard saw us. He was walking towards us, shaking his cane. I was thrown in the back of the car and taken home. “This never happened” were the only words uttered in the car. What? It did happen! I have leaves in my hair! My clothes are dirty! I left my jacket! It did happen!!!
I had some pen pals that I kept in touch with from my old school. We would write letters on pink and purple paper and talk about Betty Davis Eyes…what were those? Those letters stopped suddenly. I was so upset! Where were my friends?! Did they have the latest cherry smash lip gloss? Did they think Michael Jackson was cute? I was so upset, so I put pen to paper and wrote them a letter to give them a piece of my mind. I put a stamp on it, and walked out to the mail box. The next day he came into my room with the open letter. I shouldn’t talk to my friends this way. No wonder they don’t like me anymore. No wonder my mommy didn’t like me! No wonder my daddy didn’t like me! But he still liked me. In fact, he loved me. He would buy me new roller skates just as soon as he could find a ride.
Their arguments would keep me awake at night. They would last for hours. Screaming, and breaking things and people being thrown against the wall. I would go to school tired and hungry. And come home tired and hungry. Then he started visiting me at night. Naked. He would stand right beside my bed with his erection in his hand. Humming some creepy lullaby. He put his hand over my mouth and said if I woke Mommy up she would be SO mad at me. She might make me live in the shed outside! He took my clothes off and started touching me with his hands and mouth. He tried to insert himself inside of me, but I was so small. It hurt so badly and I couldn’t breathe with his hand over my mouth.
The next thing I remember is a pounding on the trailer door. It’s daylight, but just barely. Why is no one answering the door? Where is everyone? I look out my window and see two police officers. Something inside of me snaps. I run to the door and let them in. They ask me if he is home. I don’t know, I tell them. I get to sit in the pretty police car with their dog! He smells like the earth and safety. But I don’t tell the policeman what has been happening to me. When they take him out of the house he is so angry and crazy and loud…I’m afraid that they will ask him and he will say I’m lying. What if they take me to jail instead? So, they leave and I decide to tell my mom. We are sitting at the kitchen table and I say…Mommy, he touched me in bad places. She starts crying. Oh my baby, my baby, my poor baby. Then tells me not to tell my granddaddy. Or my daddy. They will get mad and try and do things to him. They might end up in jail! I need to pack my things as fast as possible.
I’m taken to my grandparents’ house where I will remain for the next five years. She goes back to the trailer and to him. The go on a cruise! They go to Florida! He sends me a silver spoon ring which I promptly crush and throw in the ditch. I never see him again. And my mother and I never, ever speak about him or that night again.
I was nine years old. Today I am 39. I don’t like cats, fish or stale crackers. My mother still has pictures of him in her home, of their cruise. She tried to give me the wedding ring that he had given her. I just turned and walked away without saying a word. I don’t trust people. I have a hard time showing affection and love…except to my children who are my world.
I have told only one person this story and I’ve been married to him for almost 20 years. Our relationship is not the best, but I feel safe.
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Comments
Thank you for sharing your story. I can not imagine how you as a little girl felt, finally telling and being told to be quiet about it some more. You are a brave soul. Continue to heal, continue to live and love, learn to trust and be good to you, your husband and kids.
Thank you for being so brave. For speaking out. I'm so sorry you had to live through this
Dear Aimee Leah, Thank you for sharing your story here, for speaking out, for breaking free from the silence. You are strong and courageous. I pray for your continued healing.
Aimee Leah, I am so sorry this happened to you: no little girl should have to go through this, and no woman should grow up unable to trust.
I am glad to hear that you feel safe now. I wish you much peace and healing, now and in the future.
Wow. That's one of the most heartbreaking stories I've ever heard. I am so, so sorry for all the terrible things that were done to you - for all the abuse and neglect that you suffered. I think you're an incredibly strong, brave, amazing woman for posting this here. It's so hard to tell these things, especially when you've told and had it disregarded. I believe every word you've written and I'm so angry. Your voice is so strong and clear. It has power in it, and beauty. I think there are incredible things inside you, things you might not even be aware of. I admire you so much for all you've come through and I truly believe there are great things ahead for you. You have a very hopeful and promising future and I wish you all the best in it.
Aimee Leah, you are so brave to come forward with your story. I hope that breaking your silence will continue to help you heal. Wishing you only the best.
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