“Those who do not move, do not notice their chains” – Rosa Luxemburg
***
The month is January, the time is 6:34 pm and the winter evening is chilly as ice. I know not what year it is, for I stopped counting a long time ago. Neither do I bother with the date of the month, for it had now become inconsequential to me. All that mattered at the moment is that I have been rudely awakened by the annoying and persistent chatters of some street urchins. What irks me is that their rambunctious chatters have now reenacted my earliest childhood memories, and thus evoked a painful yearning in me. Even worse, it has also distressingly reminded me of the pristine innocence that was now lost to me.
Suddenly, a sharp knock startled me back to the painful present and its unsavory reality. The knock harshly reminded me that losing myself to retrospections wouldn’t put food on my table. So the nocturnal spawn in me strove to be up and about, but she was in an excruciating pain that could only be conquered if we relived a greater pain through my peccant memories. For us to conquer this coming darkness, we needed to prevail over the memories of a greater threat posed by the Cimmerian nature of my past.
But I struggled rather than concede defeat by quietly giving in to the inevitable anguish this reminiscence presented. I resisted because the unfortunate life, we the unholy spawns of the night are forced to live, now urgently beckoned. I resisted because I longed to be forever free from the lingering taints such memories left in my soul. So I rose to open the door, but a thousand searing pain in my head, sent me spiraling down into a fitful fever which had been created by the gloomy memories of my childhood.
*
The simple concept behind the word ‘Childhood’, and the soothing appeal generated by it, had already been lost to me by the age of eleven. Firstly, helping Mammy with her work, and being exposed to Pappy’s malignant sides, showed me the morbid reality of life. Secondly, being exposed to the mortifying abuses Mammy was always subjected to by Pappy and her customers opened my eyes to the prejudice women faced in the society. Finally, being exposed to the appalling manner in which Mammy was resigned to her fate, made my curse the fact that I will be forever stereotyped as the weaker gender; a woman.
But there was a time before then, when my childhood memories were almost fond and devoid of worries. Even when the other kids made fun of my paralyzed arm which had been stricken by polio, I never worried. But for my elder brothers, and the unsavory in natured creatures that’d birthed me, it was a totally different case. The man I called Pappy, who’d been a scruffy factory worker, and my Mammy who’d owned a local Bodega which dealt solely on illicit and locally distilled moonshine, were always at each other’s throat.
Between the chaos of my parent’s argument and my brother’s vicious brawls, I managed to create a peaceful world in-between. A world devoid of the kind of prejudice subjected to our Hispanic immigrant community. A world devoid of the worse form of poverty, abuse, discrimination and neglect; a world where I and my people weren’t perceived as dirt and treated as such; an illusory world only troubled little children possessed the power to invoke.
My parent’s arguments always stemmed from money, Pappy’s drinking and Mammy’s solicitations. During those arguments, Pappy would angrily call Mammy a Puta’, because It had been no secret that she performed extra services for her customers just to make some extra cash. Likewise, it had also been no secret that the man I called Pappy, may not have been my biological father. Whenever he called her that, a violent struggle always ensued between them. That is when I’d withdraw into my illusions, completely oblivious of my surroundings, while my brothers would weep as Mammy got pummeled and raped.
That was the kind life we were subjected to, and it later defined our future paths. Like Mammy, I grew to be a subdued and meek person who terribly feared Pappy, while my brothers grew older, joined the notorious ‘Latin King’ which terrorized the community. Soon they began to stand up to Pappy and wrestle him down on drunken nights; once, they even broke his arm for good measures. Those were dark times we wished had never occurred. Those were dark times which would have been completely etched in our memories for all eternity.
Their initiation into the ‘Latin Kings’ came as no surprise, because the average Hispanic immigrant boy is an aspiring gangbanger. Moreover, it hadn’t been a hard transition for them, because they’d always had this violent streak, and Pappy in his younger days had been a gangbanger too. After a time, they began to make a name for themselves in the gang as enforcers. Soon the names, Alejandro & Alberto struck terror in the hearts of their rival gangs and everyone in our Hispanic community.
The highlight of their association with the gang had been when they’d sent six guys to the emergency ward for calling Mammy a ‘Puta’. The joy that had emanated from Mammy’s face had been priceless. Her honor had been defended and her boys had finally done her proud. It was supposed to be glorious moment in our life, but it unfortunately was cut short when a few months later, they were killed in a gang related war. They’d been cut down right before our very eyes. They’d been butchered with machetes right in front of our front porch.
Till this day, their tormented screams still haunt my sleep and waking hours!
The event following their deaths, proved decisive in what I am today, because everything went downhill after. Mammy became a bitter and heartbroken woman who’d been completely torn by a despair she never recovered from. Eventually, she withdrew from everyone and escaped into a place I hoped she found succor in. Pappy on the other hand, began to drink heavily again, and soon became more vicious without Alejandro & Alberto to keep him in check.
I had been fourteen years old and ill equipped to deal with a broken Mother and a highly volatile Father. I had been completely left to my own device, and I knew not what to make of it. Several times, I contemplated running away, other times, I contemplated suicide. Only the thought of leaving Mammy alone stopped me, so I stayed and nursed her till she passed on in her sleep a year later.
Mammy’s passing left me with little reason to mourn, if anything, I had been relieved. My only regret was that she never taught me the things I need to know as I neared the threshold of womanhood. I mostly blundered during this learning period of my life. Lord knows that words cannot begin to explain the confusion and horror I felt when I began to see changes in my body. Feelings like the unadulterated terror I experienced when blood first trickled down my legs, to the mild fascination which coursed through me when my breast and hips began to grow, and finally, the sense of trepidation which washed over me when Pappy began to steal lewd glances my way.
I had been too naive to fully grasp the direness of my situation. I had been too young to understand, until the night he came back home drunk and violated me. The terror and pain I felt had been unbearable. That night, something in me died and gave way to something more sinister. After his abominable deed, Pappy threatened to kill me if I breathed a word to anybody. It was a threat I took seriously; it was a threat which began an abominable cycle that went on for too long. For years, I was desecrated without respect and pity; for years I bore the pain silently, till the day I turned nineteen and decided to rebel.
That was the night I attempted my first bold step and noticed the invincible shackles; that was the day I was finally liberated. It was then I realized that even though I will be forever scarred by my experience, I could now start afresh on my own terms. It was then I realized that even though my psyche may have been irreparably damaged, I was now not alone to shoulder the damage. It was then I first became aware of the fact that there may exist another in me; one spawned from my very terror, pain and sorrow. One who only wished to share the heavy burden I endured alone in this world.
The memory of that night is still completely fragmented. I fear the missing pieces may be scattered all over my subconscious. All I remember is that when Pappy came to me, I resisted and threatened to hurt him. First he’d been amused, and then astonishment briefly flittered across his countenance, before it was replaced with blind fury. He’d been furious because the docile girl he’d perceived me to be, had finally stood up to him. He couldn’t have such insubordination from me, so he’d raised his fist, struck me on the face and I blacked out.
Next time I opened my eyes, forty five minutes had lapsed and Pappy was on the floor with a bloodied head. I was so shocked to see him in such state, so I rushed towards him, but Pappy cowered and whimpered like a baby as he mumbled pleas of mercy towards me. Till this day, I have no memory of what had happened. Whatever had transpired that night, forever changed him into a drooling and feebleminded man. Now all I do is to regularly drown him in his beloved alcohol, as continually punished for the pain he’d put me through all those years.
Voila! The tables have turned.
Finally my fever broke, and I was freed from the crutches of my festering memories. I glanced at my digital display and realized that I had been out for the better part of an hour, so I got up and began to dress. A few minutes later, there was another knock on my door. When I opened the door, my heart skipped a beat, but before I could utter a word, I was quickly shoved back into my room.
Thirty minutes later, I lay naked, curled up and purring with pleasure as his kisses gently assaulted the nape of my neck. I felt completely safe and at peace, now that I am in his arms. Although, feeling at peace in his arms felt awkward, considering he is a man I knew very little about. Also, feeling safe felt very strange considering the circumstances of how we’d met.
I‘d been standing along Broadway & Finbarrs one evening, when a Chevy Impala drove up to where I’d been standing. When the window on the driver’s side rolled down, a baritone voice politely asked for my name. After a few minutes of exchanging pleasantries, I entered his car and we drove down to my place, where he made passionate love to me all night. In the morning, he handed me a couple of fifties as agreed, but I couldn’t bring myself to accept it, because I’d fallen in love with this very sweet man.
That was three months ago. Now he visits thrice a week, each time, he’d come bearing little gifts; each time, the butterflies in my belly go topsy-turvy. On warm nights, I’d shed tears of joy because, even though I may have followed in Mammy’s path, it hadn’t rendered me devoid of the capacity to love a man or be loved by one. On cold nights, I’d weep bitterly because this euphoria I felt was short lived, because he had a wife. On hot nights, I’d weep bitterly because the broken heart he was sure to leave behind was already grieving in wretched anticipation.
On rough nights, I’d weep because I fear he may be the first and last man who would ever truly love me. On lonely nights, I’d weep because for the first time, she approved of a man for my companion. She approved because, unlike most of my John’s, he was a gentle, respectful and passionate man who really cared about me. She approved because, he’d have long ended up brutally murdered, like all the other John’s who’d hit me in the past.
When I turned to look at his handsome face, I realized he was fast asleep, so I nuzzled closer to him and tried to sleep too. But before I drifted off, I remembered to be thankful because the lives of some others are by far worse than mine. I also remembered to be grateful because I have been told that some lives had to be a tragedy, just to serve as a constant reminder to others to be appreciative of the little they possess. Finally, I remembered to be hopeful because I am alive, free, in love and have audaciously stood the harrowing test of time.
My Dark School Of Thoughts 
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