Excerpt: I Remember

Note: A few months ago, I blogged about discovering some twenty-year-old journals in my attic and taking the time to read through them. I learned that, back then, I wrote a lot of fiction, and some of it still resonates with me. Just for fun, in the month of December, I’m going to post excerpts. If you like the work, please let me know! And feel free to share this link and invite others to read! This piece is very dark, and I warn you that it could be a trigger for anyone who has survived abuse. I wrote this piece in a writing workshop in 1993; the prompt was to begin with the words “I remember,” and repeat them any time my mind went blank.

“I remember the leaves were spiraling down, so it must’ve been fall. I remember I was scared. I thought I was dead or dying. I was on the ground in the woods, and I could see the sky. There were clouds drifting by over my head. I had no idea where I was. I was afraid to yell. I was afraid to cry. I was afraid he would come back and hurt me some more. I didn’t move.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking, ‘Where is my mom? Where is my dad?’ I was wondering when they would find me and take me home.”

“Go on.”

“A long time went by, and I could tell it was going to get dark soon, so I turned my head around looking for him, looking for his brown, ugly car. My head was pounding, and I was crying, quietly. I touched myself, here, near my eye, and I started crying more when I saw there was blood. I didn’t see him anywhere, so I started to get up. I was dizzy, and I fell. I remember seeing my underwear on my way back down to the ground. When I got up again, I found my clothes, and I put them back on. Some were caked with dirt. I started walking. I remember I was saying, Mommy mommy mommy in a long moan. I was so alone. I knew where I was when I came to a clearing and saw the back of the mall. I ran then, and I started calling for help.”

“Did you tell the police what happened?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to tell me now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you can try if you would like.”

“I remember playing out in my yard. I was pretending I was on a talent show, and I was singing. That was when his car came along. He called out to me, and I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure he was really calling to me. Then he honked his horn, and I walked over. He asked me, ‘Where is Fern Grove?’ And I started to say, “This is Fern Grove…”

“Go ahead. It’s okay Joan.”

“…But then he opened his door, and then he was there next to me, and he grabbed me, and then he drove off. I remember the tires made that squealing noise. He pushed my head down on the front seat, and he held it there, hard. I screamed. That was when he hit me first, and I cried. ‘Shut up,’ he said.”

“Do you want to continue?”

“Yes. No. … I don’t know. …He took me to that place, and he started touching me. He took off my clothes. I cried. He hit me a lot.”

“How old are you now?”

“Seventeen.”

“Do you still remember the details well?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to say more?”

“No. Just that I hate him.”