First Run

Before all the dramatic moments of me started, there was a time where I knew I had to get away from that babysitter. I never wanted to run away from someone as I did that very day. I was only six years old going on my seventh year, living in Hawthorne, California. By 7, we had moved to Inglewood, I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t deal with the constant coldness of these people, my parents had left with us. The coldness from his wife was something I got used to. The coldness of her husband was more than I could bear. As a child, I was always looking for comfort, without crying for it. I just wanted the pain of being me, to disappear. I hated feeling dead inside. I was a kid and didn’t know much, I just knew I hated the feeling of dread. One day, my parents dropped me off at school like any other day. However, for me, this was a day I didn’t want to feel that agonizing pain, any more. I waited for them to drive away, before walking right back out of the schoolyard. I walked and walked until a corner looked familiar then I’d turn again. I did this until I got to the street that looked most familiar. It was the street we lived on. I knew I had been walking for a while because I was starving and thirsty. My feet started to get tired, but I knew I was almost home. I was a little anxious because I knew I was going to get spanked but I didn’t even care. I just knew that the spanking felt better than the pain of being at the babysitter’s residence. As soon as I got halfway down the street and closer to our home, I noticed blockage. There were people standing around. I was told by some kid playing on the street that they were filming a movie. I was a curious kid. I snuck in as close as I could. It was at this point, I forgot I had to get home. I found a walkway on the side and followed the pathway before me. I caught a glimpse of naked adults and it scared the shit out of me. It triggered that nauseated feeling I had when I was violated. I fell and got caught. A man from the crew yelled at me. I don’t even remember what he said, I just knew I had to get home. I ran home as fast as I could, just to see my parents arguing. When they saw me, dad got really angry with me. Mom, not so much, she was just happy to see me safe. I kept crying to my mom and begging her not to send me back. My dad kept asking me what happened. He was getting agitated because he knew something was wrong, he just needed to hear it straight from my mouth. I couldn’t tell them anything. My mouth was shut. I felt it was my fault anyway. I didn’t want my parents to see me as the body bag I already felt I was. I was so scared because of the aggression I had seen displayed by my father. My first recollection of my father losing his temper was in Idaho. I was a toddler but I remember this night like a nightmare playing over and over in my head. I remember a door broken and dad beating up a man. Later, I was told the story but as a child, this memory haunted me. I was scared of my dad. That fear went away as I got older and understood my father. Unfortunately, for me, at the time it was the same memory that kept me from saying what happened to me. I fought my mother as hard as a 7-year-old could, to see me. She did. Both her and my father saw I was hurt. They knew that until they could find a relative to babysit us, they needed to teach me how to be alone at home. To be safe at home without the supervision of that babysitter. I did stay home, watched TV, and waited for my parents. I never came close to the living room area because I understood that I was not supposed to be home alone. I could never let my parents get in trouble for trusting me alone. It didn’t take long before I started crying and throwing a fuss about my brothers going there. I kept telling my mom that they were mean to us, because the truth is our babysitter was not nice, not even to my toddler brother and I never felt she deserved to dote over my baby brother. She was a horrible human being to us. Her son and husband were just the nails, I felt on my coffin. I felt like I died so many times over, at that place. My parents heard my pleas, I left them no choice. My brothers never returned to that place. I learned how to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for my brother and me. I also learned how to warm pre-made formula bottles to feed our infant brother. We went on about our lives until we got a relative to babysit us. We never discussed this time, until now it, because we got through it. I said anything because even as a youngin, I never wanted my parents judged for what they did for me.