posted by Brandy on Dec 20
Okay…..up until now, I have always felt that my blogging should be humorous, witty and fun.
But now I have a story of my own to tell….
One that is dark, horrific and tainted with fear, pain and consuming anger.
I have just finished reading the most recent novel by Stephen King titled, “Lisey’s Story”. It is a haunting tale of abuse, strength, love and most importantly – a story of survival. One that reflects, like that within most of us, the fact that we all have demons of our own that live embedded within our souls.
I know that I do……
“Lisey’s Story” depicts a terrifying love saga that awoke my senses to the pain we, as humans, sometimes experience and to the many ways for which we learn to, not only cope with, but grow stronger from and then understand just how utterly fucking remarkable the human spirit is.
My demon arrived when I was 4. His name is Darold Crawford. My mom, now divorced nearly a year, had begun dating and before long, Darold was spending more and more time at our house. He was, supposedly a “nice” guy. An electrical engineer, with a good job and, as he was newly divorced, could be considered a “good catch”.
I was the youngest of three girls at the age of 4. My middle sister was 8 and my oldest sister…..11.
Now, I won’t drag out this narrative, as the only memory I hold is one…..of one balmy, warm summer evening…….and a single memory that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Mom was in the kitchen, preparing for an evening of good food, good conversation and a great movie. Darold had arrived, devoured his dinner and strolled into the living room , as my older sisters ventured downstairs to play Mom switched on the fancy Zenith “Techno chrome” T.V. and toggled it to channel 4 as “The Sound of Music”, with Julie Andrews, was about to begin. Darold then grabbed the “furry” brown blanket and asked me to sit down and watch the movie with him and my mom.
I began to cry.
I do not know why, but I sat there and sobbed until my mom comforted me and Darold insisted that I clamor onto the couch next to him. He sat in the middle, his long, bony, snakelike right arm draped around my mom, who was sitting on his right and me, assembled on his left. He flayed the blanket over the three of us, with most of the soft, fuzzy, brown cloth covering just the two of us. We then settled in and began watching the movie.
After a brief moment, it began……
It was a nightmare ……and it possessed the very demons that I would never be rid of. I could feel his cold, clammy hand, perspiring with a nervous, unsettling sweat, slither its way down, hidden under the brown blanket, around my waste, down my tummy and wrestle with my underwear, at which point, it then twitched its way into my genitalia. “Oh god??? What is this??!!” I was horrified. What was happening? Is this normal? What is happening? What do I do? What is happening? Do I say something? What is happening? Mom…..mom……mommy………help me. But no sound could escape my breath.
Oh my god, this is weird…..this is dreadful…..I hate it……I am frightened……
I feel his peculiar, foreign fingers begin to massage the lips of my crotch.
It is awful.
Out of the corner of my right eye, I see him glance over as to seek some sort of sick ‘validation’ from me for what he is doing. I don’t acknowledge it. I don’t acknowledge HIM. For I simply stare, with a vacant expression, straight forward and proceed to watch as Julie Andrews, so happily dances over a green hill of grass, singing……….
“Do, a dear, a female dear
Ra, drop of golden sun
Me, a name I call myself
Fa, a long, long way to run,
So, a needle pulling thread,
La, a note to follow so
Te, a drink with jam and bread,
That leads us back to do, do, do, doh”
The words slowly begin to melt into one another as I feel his emaciated fingers spread the lips of my tiny vagina apart, so he can insert his index finger into my innocence and move it around. “What is happening?” I beg for understanding……..
I am frozen in time, for what felt like an eternity, while this weak, asshole, perverted, chicken-shit, tiny dick, worthless, pitiful resemblance of a man snatched my innocence for the demented pleasure of his own, all the while sporting what I am sure was a small and insignificant “WOODY”.
As the movie ends and the credits began to roll, his bony fingers slowly crept out of my vagina, scaled back up my tummy and exited through the top of my pink, Barbie Doll pajamas.
The demon had ceased. He kissed my mom goodbye and as he nonchalantly waltzed out of our home, he hugged me farewell. My pale, pasty white skin crawled. He climbed into his car and drove away and as he disappeared into the thin air, I still wondered, “What happened?”
The demon had left. Had left our home and he left my sight, but, as I would later discover, he would never leave my existence.
Even now, at the age of 37, I am still not rid of Darold Crawford. He occasionally shows up when I am in a warm, dark bed, cuddled next to my dear, sweet husband, who would never do anything in the world to hurt me. He also appears, on my right, when I watch the news and hear of other children who have been sexually molested. He visits me in the darkest of my dreams (or, rather nightmares?) when all I know is that men are bad and they will hurt you and mutilate your soul. And on occasion, I sense his presence when I am out in public, eyeballing strangers who peer at my children with a strange attraction that is both unnatural and sickening.
It frightens me.
Will I ever be rid of Darold? Maybe……but maybe not. He distorted my ‘being’ forever and raped me of an innocence that I will never regain. He is the demon that will haunt me forever.
But, I am still here……..and I survived.
I prospered from the strength of my mother, who immediately jolted me ‘out of harms way’ the very moment she learned of what happened. And grew from the love for which I knew she held, unconditionally, for my sisters and I every day of our lives……and it is because of her, my two loving sisters, my husband and my beautiful children that I will keep on going, for that which did not kill me, made me stronger.
