Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-28420405-20171027164457

First of all - I wanted to say hello to the community. I have been gone for about a year, but I have not stopped writing. Now that it's Halloween time, I thought I'd write something, and wanted to share with you all. - And, I suppose every story needs a start. Mine started with a girl named Marlene. Marlene was my mother, and she had me when she was only 16. Marlene knew she couldn’t care for me, so she turned to the only people she could – her parents. I know that you knew just what you were doing when you left me there in that cold and loveless place. I hate you, Marlene. I really, truly, and always will, hate you.

My first memory is darkness. Not the darkness from behind your eyelids. It was varying layers of gray and black and sepia smashed together into an incoherent mess. I remember a distinct smell. It was metallic, but also almost sickly sweet. My grandma, Jo, was humming her favorite tune. When the record was not looping in the downstairs player, there was still no escaping the song. Jo made sure I never forgot “You Was Born to Die” by Blind Willie McTell. It was always there. But in this memory, the record skipped with a loud thump, and for that moment there was peace. Maybe that’s why I hold onto this moment – it’s the last time I remember quiet.

I never realized just how honestly my grandparents lived their lives until now. My grandpa, Conrad, was never one to beat around the bush. When he brought me meals, he cut right to the chase. He never asked how I was doing, or if I needed anything. No, just the slamming of the plat on the ground. He’d turn on his heels, and shut the door behind him. The click of the lock was the starting gun to each meal time. I had exactly 10 minutes before he’d knock to let me know that I was done. When I was finished, I slid my plate back under the door. I had learned the hard way what happens when I did not finish by the time he came back. I was lucky to have a stub of a thumb remaining on both hands, a “courtesy” from Conrad. All the while, that song scratched at the back of my brain. Endlessly looping, dripping down my ear drums to settle in my brain like a sticky sap.

Jo and Conrad did their best to sequester me from the world. The frosted glass window caked in a layer of dust and cobwebs filtered in just enough of the outside world. I knew the vague look of our neighbors and their routines. I dreamed of walking down the sidewalk with the other children. It was those children who inspired me to finally make my move.

It was a normal day. I had returned my breakfast in a timely manner. A draft of cold autumn air blustered through the window. Brown light filtered into my dingy dungeon. The tired record was spinning under my feet, carrying Willie’s song throughout the house. Smoke was occasionally escaping from the first floor window, carrying tufts of a sweetly aluminum smelling clouds that floated down the sidewalk. A mother I affectionately called “Sue” and her daughter I had named “Beth”. Sue and Beth were hand in hand, walking towards the open window. I meekly made my way to the window and touched the tips of my fingers to the dusty glass panes. I quietly rapped my fingers on the glass in tune with Willie’s song. My missing thumbs moving in tune with the rest like a desperate phantoms.

It’s funny how the human mind works. I can’t tell you why I picked that day. Was it Sue and Beth and the warm look of their fluffy fall coats? Had the cold cream-of-wheat messed with my head? Had the torturous repetition of that old song finally caused me to snap? I know I should have the answer for you, but I just can’t tell you what it was. I guess it was all of it. It was finally enough. I balled my mangled hands into mismatching fists. As the neighbors approached my window I steeled my nerves.

They finally made their way directly below the old pane when I pounded the glass with all the power I could muster. The cold air made my skin sting and burn as I continued to pound on the glass. I watched the awestruck pair below me look up. I frantically slammed and screamed. I stomped and pressed myself against the glass. Sue’s grip on her daughter tightened as she turned tail back to her own house. Beth’s gaze never left me as she was dragged backwards. The record below was getting louder in an attempt to drown me out.

Conrad thundered up the stairs. The thick wooden door swung open and bounced against the wooden wall. I could feel heat radiating from the hallway. I could not be sure if it was my grandpa’s rage or heat from the house, but I felt warmth for the first time since the frost had rolled in that year. The overwhelming smell of smoke and metal filled in behind him. I clamored to the corner and doubled over myself. My back was hunched over and I tucked my head between my knees. I felt Conrad grab my hair and yanked my head back. Pinned down to the ground, I looked up into his dilated pupils – so black I thought they would swallow me whole. The twang of Willie’s guitar swam through my mind and his chorus echoed through my thoughts. “You was born to die”.

Conrad’s arm swung up in a jerky motion. His fists came barreling down in a storm of fury. The bones in my face cracked in time to the old country tune. Blood rushed into my mouth and a gurgled cry was all I could conjure. My eyes fluttered close and I took respite in the calming darkness of my own eyelids. As I began to drift into a hazy sleep, a faint siren started to build as a car encroached. I could feel pressure being lifted from my body. Slowly, my eyes fluttered open. I was greeted with the familiar darkness of ceiling above, and a sensation I had never encountered: silence. There was no hum from Jo or crooning from the old record. Twanged guitar chords did not echo through the house. For once in my life I could not hear those fated words: “You was born to die”.

The rest of the day passed in flashes. I remember being hoisted onto a thick long piece of plastic that was to metal rods that stood on wobbly wheels. Men and women dressed in matching outfits were hurriedly talking to each other. For the first time, I passed the threshold of that room. My mealtime plates had taken longer journeys than I had – only those plates and Conrad had the liberty to leave that room. The brightest light I’ve ever encountered hit my eyes. I can still feel my body recoiling from the sensation. I clenched my eyes tight and listened to the buzzing of words around me. Unfamiliar words were hanging in the air. “Paraphernalia”, “feral”, “condemned”, “cocaine”, “abuse” are the choice few I remember now.

I heard a woman’s voice approach me and I tried to shield my eyes from the blinding light. She wore an expression I had never seen. Her eyes furrowed and grew wet with tears. Her whole face seemed to turn downward and melt towards the ground. She reached for me, tried to coax me to speak. Our eyes met, and I spoke the only words that I could remember. “You was born to die”. Soon after our interaction, I fell into a deep sleep. The next time I woke I was in a bright white room. The windows were gleaming and clear, with plants adorning their sills. I pushed myself up to sit, but a shooting pain moved through my body. A man came in clad in thin cotton clothes, the same color as the sky. He had papers in his hands that he was reading. He was taken aback when I tried to turn towards him. He told me I was in a hospital, and someone would be meeting me later in the day to talk.

My life has been a whirlwind since. Moving between hospitals until finally settling into a home with other children my age. I can finally walk down the street with them, as I had always dreamed. I’ve learned to write so that I can tell my story, even if I don’t know much about it myself. Sometimes it’s hard for me to think about. There isn’t much to remember anyway, so I do my best to forget.

But, there is one thing I will never forget. It's the reason I've chosen to write this chronicle. I need to tell the world: I hate you, Marlene. I really, truly, and always will, hate you. 