Sing For Me. Betsy Jiron

received. I felt loved and needed.

      The family never went anywhere together, not dinners, not vacations, no nothin'. Nancy took a vacation…once. She had gone to Virginia to visit her parents. For whatever reason, her vacation was cut short and all hell broke loose.

      Marissa and I were upstairs with Niko sound asleep. The laughter coming from the basement was loud enough to wake the dead. Happiness was an unfamiliar emotion in that house so the curiosity of what was going on down there was eating me alive.

      Dad's party was cut short when Nancy walked through the front door. I watched her from the balcony as she crept downstairs toward the laughing and clanking of glasses. Seconds later, there was the sound of stomping feet running up the stairs and out the front door.

      When Dad's company left, the screaming began. All I heard was banging and yelling. Then, Yelps were cut short from Nancy being slapped in the face.

      My first reaction was to hide. I was terrified and my ears were ringing. I prayed dad wouldn't come upstairs and unleash on me the way he was on Nancy. I peeked out of my closet door to find an empty room. My sister was gone. She had snuck downstairs while I was looking for somewhere to hide.

      I crept out of my closet and peered over the balcony. Marissa was hiding between the family room couch and the wall. I could hear Nancy crying and sniffling in the kitchen. I didn't feel bad for her nor did I care to know what did ad done to her. All I cared about was getting my sister's attention and bringing her back to safety.

      Normally, dad would have gone straight to bed after a blowout but tonight, his bedtime was cut short by the doorbell. My very large bodybuilder father answered the door to two very thin and somewhat frightened police officers. I quickly ran back to my closet.

      I could hear the stomping of their boots throughout the house but couldn't make out what they were reporting back to each other.

      The tension in the air was thick and unnerving. I was afraid for my sister who was still downstairs. When the officer's voices quieted down and their radios weren't blaring, I snuck out of my hiding place once again to check on my sister. She was curled up in a ball still beside the couch. I watched an officer approach her slowly. She didn't move. Much like a doll, she pretended to not be alive. The officer wasn't fooled by this. He asked her a few questions that I couldn't heart. Marissa just shook her head “yes” or “no” a few times. I prayed the officers would arrest my father and we could all sleep in peace. They didn't.

      After the cops left, more crying began. Marissa came upstairs and curled up beside me in her normal position with her “mepo.”

      No one spoke the next morning. No one mentioned the night before nor, did anyone speak to each other.

      Those of us that were old enough to play sports did so to stay away as much as possible. By the time we got home from games and practices, we were generally too tired to care at what was being said or done around us. Weekends would just come and go as well. The only things that changed around there were the seasons.

      Months would pass before I felt the comfort of the Andrews' house. The days were slow and depressing and that only got worse when the custody battle between my biological mother and my father began. Mom had decided to take a teaching job in South Carolina and dad wasn't about to let us go. Nor had he planned to make this easier on any of us.

      During the few months of going back and forth to court, the judge had asked my brothers where they wanted to live. I don't know what they said, but when it came to me, all I could say was, “I want to stay with my siblings.”

      My father was granted full custody by default since my mom had to leave the state before the custody battle was over to get her classroom ready. The courts considered this as “abandonment” consequently making her lose custody. The fiery pit of hell at my father's would now be seven days a week instead of only the weekends. There was really no escape at this point.

      Mom was awarded summer vacations with us. It was the best time of my life. Waiting for June every year was like looking forward to Christmas morning. Mom had moved to Surfside Beach, South Carolina. It was heaven.

      Three months of nothing but peace and the calming effects from wave crashes of the ocean soothed my bleeding life. I never wanted it to end. Summers went by too quickly and my anger and rage grew stronger. By the end of each summer, I returned to the empty dark shell God gave me. I didn't even feel alive anymore. I had been dead in my heart as well as my mind…just waiting for death to save me from life.

      I needed help. And I needed it quickly.

       Touch

      Swollen broken and bleeding

      Holding my face with my hands

      Begging and pleading

      Please God just kill me

      I want him to stop touching me

      Stay away from me

      I can always hear him breathing.

      Just take me somewhere safe

      Let's watch it rain together

      Not the blood from my wrists

      But the water from the sky

      Chase rainbows with me

      Say you love me before I die.

      CHAPTER 3

       The Move

      Visiting my mother at the beach was the only Band-Aid I had for the other 10 months of the year. As the end of every summer neared, I feared going back to that hell at my father's with no other options.

      Every day I felt more and more like a tornado entering a Volcano. The step-monster had a problem with everything I did. The way I dressed, did my hair, walked, and talked. There was no pleasing her. “You're a whore like your mother” and “You're a worthless piece of shit” had become her way of saying “Hi” and “Have a good day.” Eventually the “I hate you” statements started and that was my snapping point.

      My brothers and I couldn't get along for shit either. The fighting was constant. One night the bickering had gotten completely out of control. Dad was asleep and we all knew what would happen if we woke him. I didn't care about the repercussions anymore. A person can only get so many black eyes and bloody noses before it doesn't hurt anymore.

      Nancy came downstairs to tell us to shut the fuck up, but by then it was too late. Dad was right behind her with both fists balled up and veins ready to blow through the sides of his neck. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I ran and so did Ryan and Jim. They were friends of mine that I hung out with regularly and they were well aware of my father's temper. “SHUT THE FUCK UP” was the last thing I heard before slamming the door behind me.

      Jim lived ten blocks or so from me, so that's where we were headed. I explained to his mom what had happened and pleaded with her not to send me home. She agreed to let me stay with a pitiful sympathetic look on her face. It made me feel like a horrible person for bringing my family problems in to her house. I thought for sure she was going to cry.

      The three of us went downstairs to Jim's room. Ryan had a joint in his pocket and I couldn't think of a better time to light it. This was my first experience with weed. I took one drag and about coughed my lungs up. It smelled horrible and made me feel like the blood from my brain would blow out from my ears. I hated it.

      The initial shock from what happened at my dad's had finally hit me and I started to shake. I was cold and scared to death of having to go back. I had a vision of him coming to Jim's and beating the life out of me in front of his mom.

      After a few hours, Jim's mom came downstairs to tell me the step-monster called and I was supposed to come home. Tears welted in my eyes and my face felt like it was on fire. With my heart in my guts, I thanked Jim's mom and apologized for the inconvenience. She looked as bad as I felt. If it were up to her, I would have never had to leave.

      I