On the way back to my new stepfather’s house, it was all sunshine and roses. They were laughing, so happy together. This was going to be such a fairy tale my mother told me…
The fighting resumed shortly thereafter. I got used to running. Every time I heard the hitting start, I made my plan to escape for help. After the second time, the preacher and his family stopped answering the door. I knew they were home, but they refused to help knowing that she’d just take him back again.
So I started knocking on other neighbor’s doors, but they stopped answering as well…
We lived very close to the road. On one of these nights, my mom and I managed to both get out of the house. We tried to flag down passing cars, but no one stopped…
During one particularly ugly fight, I stood in the middle of the road waving my arms, after several cars drove past me, but the car just swerved around me. My stepfather grabbed me and was dragging me back to the house, but still, the car did not stop.
Doesn’t that make you stop and think? Who sees a twelve-year-old, obviously panicked, trying to flag them down, and does nothing?
Maybe they were afraid to stop, afraid to get involved, okay…but couldn’t they have at least called the police and reported what they had seen?
The violence escalated, and since my midnight runs were failing to make any progress, it was up to me to stop him now.
This is an on-going story of my life and some of the childhood adversities that I faced. If you would like to start at the beginning of my tale, please read Four-year-old and Mother Survive Bludgeoning by River Rock, or go to the Childhood category and start at the bottom.
I would attempt to pull him off of her, yell at him, stand between them, anything to stop the fighting, then the violence started to turn toward me…
He didn’t hit me, he would shove me or push me away sometimes, but not overtly hit me. Then one night, he became so angry that he threw a mirror at my face…luckily I ducked just in time, and the mirror shattered against the wall behind me.
I think this was a wake-up call to my mother.
There was one more fight after that, and this time she wasn’t backing down. After the hitting stopped, my stepfather went to the barn to water the horses, and when he did she went for his gun.
It was always behind the seat of his truck, but when she lifted the seat- it was gone. That’s when he yelled are you looking for this? And held the gun up.
What would have happened if she would have gotten that gun? Thankfully we will never know.
We raced to the car as he ran towards us with that gun, backing out of the driveway in just the nick of time.
Luckily, that was enough for her to finally see the light, and we moved out.
There would be other things…but at least this was the last time I would have to see him beat her.
Would you drive by a panicked child trying to flag you down? Or refuse to answer your door to her?
Please read the next phase of my story: Sleeping in Your Car