The Beginning: Valerie Deschamps

Why write my story?

 In my mid thirties I began reliving many unprocessed traumatic memories from my childhood. My life unraveled before my eyes. I was vomiting daily. I lost 100lbs in less than a year without even trying. I couldn't understand how it was that I had "forgotten" all of these memories as they started coming up piece by piece. Some had me trembling in tears. Others left my limbs covered in bruises. Some left me dry heaving. Each memory fragment gave me a piece of the bigger picture to understanding why I am the way I am. Mostly I learned that the mental impact a situation has on a person is tied with their ability to understand and comprehend what is going on around them. I honestly didn't understand what was happening. Sometimes I wonder if I would be better off not knowing and other times I am glad I know as it helped me adjust my life towards living in a more supportive and positive environment. 

  I am writing about my experiences for me. I need to physically be able to pick them up and file them away. This is all this is. I am purging my soul of the stain that has been in my family for generations. I need to let it go and this is how I chose to do it.

**Edit**

When I first started wtiting, it was for me. I recently had brief contact with my baby brother. Through our email exchanges I realized that I'm not okay with no one knowing what my parents did to me. I'm not okay keeping this hidden. People should know. And now they will.

I would like to dedicate this to my brother Mathieu Deschamps who told me I should have kept it in the family and to my mother, Rachel Dostie, who refuses to even acknowledge the past. I have high hopes that some day they might read this. 

I loved my baby brother more than anything in this world. Mat, I protected you at my own expense. Your actions can't be fixed bro. 

Also, the Catholic religion and the Chapleau Residential School (St. John's) is not to blame here. Our father, acted of his on volition. Our father, Roger Deschamps, raped me. Repeatedly. From birth until age 18.

My name is Valérie Deschamps and this is my personal account of the first 24 years of my life. 

Court documents pertaining to my case can be found here:

https://www.ontariocourts.ca/decisions/2004/may/rdC40239.htm

For years I prayed for the truth to surface. It almost did but then my mother silenced me after I went to police. I wasn't allowed to discuss any abuse involving my brothers. I listened because she had a "procuration" on my bank account. In August 2019 I was finally able to remove her from my banking.

I'm finally free.  

**

Naked People, Purple Poms and Birthday Anxiety

A  2 bedroom basement unit in a 4-plex, was where we lived.

I had a hard time sleeping at night. My parents took turns staying up with me.  I don't think I've truly ever slept through an entire night my whole life. 

Nights with my mom; we cuddled on the couch. When I looked back at her, her eyes were often closed but I'd snuggle into her trying to push my body into hers. She pushed me back often but I kept trying anyway! She smelled the best! 

Nights with my father were different. My father watched a lot of tv. Most of the time he watched naked people. I couldn't understand all the giggling girls jumping on the bed naked and there was always one naked guy. My father would play with my belly button a lot. I don't know why but he often played with his car key in my belly button. I didn't like it and I could tell when he wanted to play with it because he always started by rubbing my belly. It burned sometimes.

Maybe it wasn't my belly button.

Our bathroom was purple. The purple shower curtains had pompoms on them. I reached out and grabbed one. My father slid his thumb up my palm to force my hand open. The pompom bounced out of my hand. He held me in his arms as we stood under the stream of water. My memory is foggy other than feeling burning and pressure. In an attempt to make me laugh, my father sat me on the top of his arm. We were almost to the kitchen when he started screaming.

My mother came flying out of the living room. She grabbed me under my arms and held me there. I started squirming because it hurt. She was holding me tightly under the arms. My father ran back to the shower. 

I asked my mother about this event at one point. I defecated on his arm. She was astonished I remembered as she stated I was only 9 or 10 months old at the time.

I remember bits and pieces of my first birthday. My grandparents, my parents and my Godparents huddled around me. There was a cake on the floor. It was on a board of some kind, coverred with tin foil. It was a bear. Brown and white. I looked down at it. "Go on! Sit in the cake!" Someone said. I looked up at my mother, fear in my eyes, thinking I was about to get scolded for getting dirty. I couldn't sit in the cake! She would hit me for getting dirty! My mother would always get upset with me for getting dirty. I inched my way towards the cake holding back tears, looking up at all the adults.

"Sit in the cake Valerie!"

I raised my foot over the cake looking at my grandparents. Here goes. I'm going to get hit.

**

The first memory

The sofa separated the dining room from the living room. It stood like a wall. Behind it, agaist the wall between the two basement windows, was a little table. It had metal legs made of bent poles spray painted blue. The top was made of thin board. That's where I ate. 

I was running. I didn't want to go with him. I ran around the dining room table. He reached me by that table. Behind the couch. 

He ripped my diaper off. 

He held me hard by the waist. 

He slowly lowered me and that when I felt this horrific pain ripping through me. My chest was burning. Everything felt hot. My chest hurt so badly. He couldn't catch my breath. 

The burning in my chest increased until everything disappeared. 

I heard him panick. Barely. 

He lay my naked little body down on the cement floor. In the coat closet. 

I could hear myself whimpering against the cold cement flooring. I was in so much pain. My little belly. My stomach. My chest. 

He opened the door. 

He looked scared as he picked me up. My little body trembled in his arms. 

He carried me to the couch. 

His hand touched my forehead. 

I was given medicine. 

I spent the next few days on the sofa. I was sick. My whole body hurt. 

My mother fed me droppers filled with red medicine. I lay there confused. 

So this is what being sick feels like. 

I would be sick often from that point on. 

Belly pain. 

Nausea. 

Constipation. 

Hemorrhoids by age 9.

Vaginal yeast infections. 

My father is a sickness that would follow me for nearly 20 years. 

***

Running Away

My little brother was born prematurely on September 22, 1980. I was 19 months old. He was beautiful. Better than any doll I had ever seen. He was my first friend. He was my best friend. I loved him more than anything. His first morning at home I watched him in his bouncy chair. He looked just like my dolls. Then he started crying. I knew he was hungry. I called for mom but my parents weren't coming. They were in their bedroom. He kept crying so I went to the cupboard where Mom kept my cereal. It's what I ate when I was hungry. My favourite cereal was rice crispies. I began feeding my brother cereal. Here's some for me! Here's some for you! Chew like this! See? Like this baby.

My parents came storming out of the room. My father's hand came flying at me. I fell back and started crying, choking on my half chewed cereal. "You never feed the baby! He could have choked! You could have killed him!"

I would sit in the magazine rack built into the tall wooden lamp and watch my mother rock him to sleep at night. It was okay that she didn't rock me anymore. I just watched him fall blissfully to sleep to our mother's voice. 

I followed him everywhere! He spent his first Christmas in the hospital. He had stopped breathing in his crib shortly after my birthday. My mother's unnatural sounding screams that night gave urgency to the situation. I was in my bedroom when I was grabbed, put in a red blanket, and picked up. It was my father. He tied the blanket with a tight knot. I was carried out of the house. I fell back onto the back seat of our car. My father drove this huge black Ford Thunderbird. The interior was a dark yellowish-beige. I heard the door close. I couldn't see much inside the blanket. I could hear my mother. The driver's side door opened and he got in. It was dark. I was terrified. I had no idea what was happening. The car stopped a few minutes later. By this point I was screaming and crying hysterically inside this red blanket. I was picked up and brought into a house. I recognized the smells and the sounds immediately. I started calming down. When the blanket opened up, there he was! My hero! My grandfather! I threw my arms around his neck!

I started school at age 3. My school was far away. You had to cross a bridge on the way to Louisbourg. We missed the bus often. My mother was angrily rushing, yelling at me to hurry as she threw things around cursing at me that we were late. When we missed the bus, my mother would walk me to school if it was warm; other days, we got a ride with the man across the street. He wore a hat like Edgar in the Aristocats movie. Big nose. Dark deep set eyes. I was always afraid he would kidnap us because he was scary just like Edgar. His little girl's name was Josée. Josée didn't like me. She picked on me at school. She made fun of me. She sat next to me, sullen look on her face, arms crossed as she whispered "I hate you!". I hated getting a ride to school with them. A few times my grandfather drove me. That was much better than the bus any day but it didn't happen often.

When I got home from school, my mom was at work I think. It was just me and my dad. He would bathe me when I got home from school. He would sit in the bath with me. We would play. 

Then something I couldn't understand happened. I felt this sudden pain. Burning. Searing type of pain. I screamed! It hurt so bad! I can't understand where the pain is coming from! It felt like my insides were being burned. Oh my God did it ever hurt! I don't understand. I looked down but couldn't recognize what I was looking at. Omigod the pain just seared right through me. I trembled in pain. Make it stop! Please make it stop! This God awful stretchy burning feeling. He grabbed me hard by the arms. "Arrêtte donc de brailler! Ça peut pas faire si mal que so, j'fait rienque rentrer le boutte!"

The pain stopped for a bit. I was starting to catch my breath. 

And out of nowhere again it started!

The pain was horrible! 

It just ripped through me. 

My little body trembled and shook as I screamed and cried in agony. I kept looking down. I don't understand. Make it stop! Dear God, please make it stop! Please! I'll be good! Make it stop! Please...

Please Daddy...

The baths kept happening almost every afternoon that school year. Before the end of the school year, my little brother had become an addition to these baths. I couldn't keep going through this. I made a plan. I told my little brother to keep "Boom Boom", his stuffed hippo, with him at all times. We were moving out!

The next morning I told my little brother my plan! "There is a park close enough to walk to that has log house play cabins, we are moving into a log house! You and me. You got Boom Boom?"

My little brother seemed uncertain about my plan.  

I tried my best to reassure him.

I held his hand as we walked down the side walk. I knew I had to go down to the river to find the trail that went to the park that had the log cabin houses big enough for us to live in! "Don't worry. It'll be okay. We'll be safer this way."

We found the trail without much effort. I held on to my brother's hand tightly to make sure he didn't run towards the water flowing mere feet away from us. Holding his hand, I made my way to the park. There were 4 play cabins. the park was busy with other kids running around. My brother wanted to move into the blue cabin. I decided to agree even though I liked the red one better. I wanted to make him feel comfortable. He was pointing out how we had no pillows or blankets to sleep on the benches inside when I heard adults talking loudly.

They found us. 

I told my brother to run into the bush. Just run! I decided to distract my father from getting to my little brother. I basically threw myself in his path. My father grabbed me and carried me back to the car as I watched my brother run. "Run! Run! Run! Don't look back! Keep running! Run!" I screamed as loud as my voice would go. His little 2 year old legs carried him through the field quickly.

I was hit hard. I was thrown into the backseat of the car. He just kept hitting me the whole time. Hard. Then he left to run after my little brother. My mother was standing in the way holding on to the car door, it was hard to see past her. I could see how far he had made it but he wasn't a match to our father's athletic abilities; it didn't take long for our father to catch up to him. He carried him back to the car, holding him under his left arm before he threw him into the back seat. He proceeded to take turns hitting and punching the both of us.

I was devastated.

Getting away wouldn't be easy, if at all possible.

**

The butterfly

"Tabarnak! T'es po capable de dessinée mieu que so! Argorre ben le papillion!" my father was screaming, slamming his hand against the counter. He was pointing at a picture in one of the many encyclopedias. His finger was hitting the book with enough force to make a sound and a small impression in the paper.

I looked down at my paper. I looked at my black lines.

I looked up at the book.

Maybe it needed more colours. 

No matter how hard I tried, my black lines didn't match the ones in the picture.

He wanted me to make a precise drawing of the monarch butterfly.

I was 4 years old.

I was in kindergarten. 

He grabbed me by the neck and dragged me to my bedroom.

I could see the carpet rushing past under my feet.

He threw my little body into the bedroom. 

I shared a room with my little brother. 

I landed on the floor between our single beds.

My head hit the box spring to my bed but it didn't really hurt. It did but it didn't. I was scared. I felt anxious. I got right back up on my feet without even realizing it.

"Quand tu vo être prête pis que t'arrête de niaiser pour desiner ton papillon comme du monde, tu pourra manger!" he was yelling.

I sat in my bedroom crying. Dinner came and went. In the evening, my little brother came in holding cookies. My mother followed him in. They gave me cookies and milk.

As my mother was leaving, my father got a glimpse and he saw that I was eating. This, sent him flying into a rage. My mother took the cookies out of my hands on her way out the door. My bedroom door slammed shut.

I could hear my father yelling at my mother. 

I remember being hungry.

All through the night.

My belly hurt. My stomach burned. I remember going back to work on that butterfly early the next day.

Everyone was in bed sleeping when I pulled out a stool to sit at the kitchen counter. I grabbed my paper.

I was starving. 

Today, every time I wait for my grades to come in, I am anxious. I think of the butterfly and how hard I worked trying to make my black lines match. 

I gave it my all.

I gave it everything I had.

**

Little Girls in China Sit Still

"You see this?".

My father held out an encyclopedia. "In China, little girls really listen to their dads. See how small their feet are?"

Head nod.

"They get to wear the same shoes their whole lives! Isn't great?!"

"I guess." I really had no interest in his story. I was busy playing.

"Come sit here." He tapped at the floor in front of our coat closet. I dropped my toy on the floor and sat down on the floor facing the closet door. He stood up. He opened the door, reached in, and grabbed something out of his leather jacket pocket. I could smell the wet basement smell coming from the closet just as he closed the door. In his hand, was a roll of white fabric tape.

He grabbed my right foot. "They start by bending the toes this way, under the foot." he says, as my four small toes were forced and bent back towards the palm of my foot, I started screaming and crying in pain. "See this shape? They call this a lotus." My father pointed to the foot in the encyclopedia. I couldn't see. My eyes were filled with tears. 

I didn't get to look at that book again after this.

The tape made its way around my foot keeping my four toes bent into the palm of my foot. He forced my toes towards my heel, essentially bending my foot in half. By this point I was frantic with pain. "Stop it! Daddy! Please stop! It hurts!" I cried and I pleaded as he grabbed my left foot and began bending all four smaller toes into the palm of my foot. I began to shake and tremble from the pain. It didn't take long before he was done. He walked away and left me there, in the hallway, in front of the closet door, screams and cries drowned out by his favourite new record on our sound system. "Eye of the Tiger" my father's favourite song, filled every bit of air in our basement apartment. It played over and over and over again. My screams went unheard for what felt like hours as I cried myself to sleep.

I'm not fully convinced it was sleep.

It was an odd type of sleep. My feet had gone numb but they still ached. Thoughts raced through my head. I couldn't make sense of what was happening. Then I twitched. A searing jolt had me cry out in pain. I could hear myself crying but I was sure I wasn't crying.

I didn't realize the cries came from me at the time. 

Eventually the pressure came off my feet and my sleep got deeper as the music faded into the background.

I awoke on the sofa. My mother was home. I tried to stand but couldn't.

My legs gave way and down I went onto the carpet.

I tried telling her what happened after he left. I was so scared of that closet! She reached into his pockets to find the tape. I was so scared I closed my eyes. But then she said there was no tape. I was sure she was hiding it behind her back. It was just there! Yet, there was no tape to be found.

It was then, at this moment, that I became a liar who made up stories.

And so, just like that, foot binding to keep an active child sedentary became a regular practice.

I've never fully regained feeling to my toes.

**

Bathroom Candy

When I was about 5 years old, the candy store had these plastic whistles with a thin yellow plastic string all rolled into a ball and held in place by a small rubber band and this tiny pouch containing small circular sugar candies that looked like tiny pills. I didn't get to go to the candy store very often at that point. The lady behind the counter knew my father. She was short, heavy set and wore really big glasses. She had a very loud scary laugh. I was very tentative around her; her loudness scared me. This one time, we had to go there with our father so he could fill out papers and she let my little brother and I pick out one of those plastic whistles! I was so excited! Clairette introduced herself as she held out a transparent plastic bin filled with these coveted plastic bird whistles! My little brother got the orange one and I got a pink one! I loved my whistle until the day it became lost! I was horrible at losing things. I lost my first stuffed animal playing outside. It was winter and my hands were cold. My mother sent me back outside to look for it, but I never found it just like I never found the whistle, it got lost in the snow like a lot of my favourite things. I really liked the tiny circle shaped candies. My little brother did too.

My little brother had this super cool plastic orange tractor with pedals. It had big wheels in the back like a real tractor! I really loved playing with it. It had a trailer too and I used it to carry things around the house! I would take my mother's lip gloss to grease the wheels on it, something I saw my grandfather do with his blue truck. I did pretend oil changes on it. It was my favourite toy to play with! I was trying to give my little brother a ride in the trailer when it flipped and he fell. He insisted he had an owie on his leg, so I went looking for bandaids. I looked in the hall closet where they kept a lot of stuff like blankets and towels. No. No bandaids. So I went into the bathroom. I climbed on the sink to open the medecine cabinet. There they were! Bandaids! I grabbed one from the box and hopped back down to the floor. I fastened the bandaid over my little brother's knee when he pointed to the counter and said "candy!". I looked up on the counter and between the decorative duck toothbrushes and the water cup, sat a rectangular thing with candies inside. There was numbers underneath the candy and an arrow at the top. I sat back up on the sink counter and grabbed the candy. My little brother pointed to the blue candies at the bottom. I was trying to figure out how to get the candies out when one popped out. It was brown. I took it and chewed it. "Oh! Yuk!!", I looked at my little brother, "This candy tastes funny." I got a few more candies out. I got some blue ones out for my little brother. I might have eaten 4 of those candies. I'm still not really sure.

We left the bathroom and resumed playing.

Later on during the day, my mother starts yelling for my father. She had discovered we had eaten some of her candy.

We were questioned. "Did you eat the pills?"

I couldn't understand. "That wasn't candy?".

The whole family piled into the car and drove to the emergency room. My parents faught and argued in the car on the way. My father knew the staff as he had recently started working for the hospital as an ambulance driver. He was embarrassed by what was happening. Somehow this was my mother's fault. 

Fern, the receptionist, checked us in and we sat in the waiting room waiting for our turn. I started feeling funny. 

My stomach hurt. 

My head hurt. 

I started throwing up. 

They brought me something to puke into. 

My father opened a utility closet in between the washrooms to grab a mop. My father was cleaning the floor in the waiting room. Tear streaming down my face, I kept dry heaving and vomitting into the container. 

We were eventually brought into the exam room. The nurse was familiar. She knew our names. She had kids our age. 

I was pretty sure I had seen her before. 

She brought me water. "How many pills did you eat?" she asked gently. I was trying to think. Some fell down the drain. "I think 3 or maybe 4 pills. I thought they were candy but they tasted funny."

The adults left the room to talk in the hall. 

I looked over at my little brother. "Why aren't you puking?". He just sat there shrugging with a grin on his face. "Tough guy." I said.

We started laughing a bit but I still wasn't feeling very well.

They ended up letting us go home.

I was told I would be okay since I threw up.

I never did see my mother's birth control laying around after this.

**

 A magical night out

I was getting ready in the purple bedroom. My mother was dressing me. She had bought me a new dress for the occasion. It was purple covered in big white dots. It had white colar at the neck and two purple buttons! Oh it was beautiful! I stood with my arms up as my mother lowered the dress over my body. She had just finished pulling at tugging at my nylons after putting them on me.

It felt like magic. 

Suddenly, I was transformed into a princess!

I met my grandfather, he was waiting for me by the side door.

He was dressed up too.

My grandfather had big hands. My little hand held on tightly as we walked down Alexandra street towards the arena.

In the arena parking lot, was a huge tent. It was red with white stripes.

I held his hand tighter as we walked inside.

My grandfather took me to the circus!

It was the first time I saw an elephant up close like that!

They look better in the books I think.

I found the elephants intimidating in real life.

The circus show was long and at times boring but I was just in awe that I was alone with my grandfather. He is my hero. So imagine going out alone with your biggest celebrity idol...it was kind of like that. It was like going out to the circus with Hulk Hogan.

But see, my grandfather, he was stronger than Hulk Hogan. 

So maybe it was more like going to the circus accompanied by André the Giant.

I kept looking over at him in awe.

When the show was finished, I was pretty tired. We walked back to his house to meet up with my parents. 

I'm really tired but I don't want the evening to end.

My little hand happily holding onto his big hand. 

Life couldn't possibly get any better than this.

**

The Purple Bedroom

My grandparents had a reasonably large house. They used to rent out bedrooms to nurses who worked at the hospital. They have also been known to take in foster children from time to time. There were eight bedrooms, three bathrooms, three living room areas and two full kitchens in that house. It was close to everything. It was also only two blocks from my school.

In 1984, when the Newaygo Sawmill shut down permanently, my father lost his job and my parents hit their first large financial road block. This is when he began studying to become an ambulance driver. His shoes needed regular polishing and could often be found hanging to dry after being sprayed with a shoe polish. Despite the new job, it became necessary to move in with my mother's parents. 

I was so excited!!!

Twenty four hours of access to my grandparents!

I got the purple bedroom! I was so excited!

A few of my things were all set up for me in the purple room. On the main floor, there were three bedrooms. One bedroom was painted purple, one was painted blue and the other belonged to my grandparents. The purple room was my grandfather's office. His desk sat under the window so he could look outside as he wrote cheques using this really cool machine. It had dials to turn the numbers, it had dollars and cents and it had a big handle you would pull down to stamp the numbers directly onto a cheque.

Next to his desk was an oak closet with four doors. My clothing was set up in the top left corner. The other 3 compartments still held my grandfather's things.

My new to me bed, was a double bed. It had a cool headboard with sliding doors where I could hide things. I absolutely loved it! 

I was happy. Life was good. My routine was solid. I bathed alone and my grandmother washed me.

I was happy. I felt safe. I felt loved.

I started sleeping through the night.

Life was pretty great!

Then my mother got a job as a custodian at the local town hall in our community.

It gave me more time with my grandparents which was amazing!

One morning I woke up to realize a lot of my things were missing. I asked my mother where my clothing was.

"It's all set up in your new bedroom!"

My heart sank.

**

The first communion ring

I lost a ring. I was 6 years old. My mother had gifted me this ring at my first communion. It was gold with two raised hearts and one blue topaz birth stone. The hearts had designs engraved into the surface. It shone very brightly. When I got home for dinner, my mother noticed it was missing from my finger. She was very angry. She started yelling at me. I was trying to remember where I had been. I was told that I wasn't allowed to come home until I found it. She took my bike. Told me I had lost it for the rest of the summer. My mother pointed at the darkening streets. Yelling at me to go find my ring.  

I had been biking around the neighborhood playing with my friend. She knew everyone. I had met several new kids that day. I had no idea where the ring would have fallen off. 

My friend had gone home for dinner as I searched frantically everywhere I had gotten off my bike to play that day. I went to see if she was done with her dinner a few times as I kept searching. It was getting dark. I was hungry. I was tired. I wanted to cry.

My friend wasn't allowed back out that night but she came out of her house holding food she had stashed in her shirt for me. I could hear her grandmother yelling at her to tell me to go home. She handed me some of her dinner and ran back in because her grandmother was coming outside. She came back and gave me a flashlight. "Good luck!" She said. I walked towards her shed to get her bike as I watched her physically push her grandmother back into the kitchen.

She reminded me that we had climbed this wood pile earlier that day. I took a bite of her dinner roll and started walking. I was going to check the wood pile. I flashed the light at it. I moved the logs as much as I could. They were pretty heavy. 

In the darkness I saw a glimmer reflect the light from my flashlight. I found my ring! 

I ran back to my friend's house to leave the flashlight on her back deck! By then her house was dark. Her father had turned off the television had had gone to bed too. I had seen the glow of the television through the side windows every time I had come by earlier. 

I didn't cut through the yard and hop over the fence. I took my time walking home. I was terrified to come home. It was late. It was dark. The long walk in the dark was nowhere as scary as what was waiting for me at home. I got to the driveway. My grandfather's car wasn't back yet. I really didn't want to go home. I held the ring securely in my hand as I tried to compose myself walking towards the door. I could see my mother by the door. I took a deep breath and walked towards her holding out the dumb ring and I gave it to her. 

I would never wear that ring or any other jewelry she gave me, out of the house, for fear that it would lead to me not being allowed to come home again in the future. I'm not a big fan of owning something that would cause me to experience such high levels of anxiety. I hate gold jewelry. 

Not for me. 

I prefer stainless steel now. 

Titanium is nice too.

Silver.

That friend, Faye, was always there for me. When my grandparents would go on vacation, I had no one to protect me and to make sure I was okay. Every time my parents neglected me, I would just tell Faye and she helped me. Those butterless dinner rolls she snuck me from her dinner plate. The times she loaned me her bike. She took care of me. I don't have many friends like her. People that step up to help me like that. My relatives were never there when I needed them the most. I will always love her for being there for me. 

She's one of a kind.

**

Walking Distance to Grandma's and Grandpa's House

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, in my new bedroom. I was taking inventory. My favourite doll was missing. She had brown pony tails, brown eyes, a white shirt and flower covered navy overalls. She used to sit on the shelving above one of my dressers. She was decorative. I wasn't allowed to play with her but I kept hoping and praying that some day I would be able to. But now, she was gone and I was sad. I never got the chance to play with her. A few more of my possessions, I discovered, my absolute favourite dolls, a home made set of Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy, were missing. I ran to tell my mother! "Mom! Mom!" tears were flowing, "my dolls are gone!". She hugged me trying to comfort me "When moving, sometimes things get lost. They fall off the truck and they just get lost.".

My new room had Strawberry Shortcake wallpaper. The room had previously belonged to Monica; she was a few years older than me. Monica was our new landlord's daughter. Jean Noel was my father's friend and now also our landlord. Overtop of my bedroom window was this weird white contraption. Like big white hooks on a swivel. My mother also had no idea what it was. It was never taken down as the new landlord wanted us to keep it there. It made me feel like maybe Monica would come back to this bedroom some day.

My new bed was a canopy style single bed. My mother had bought everything for my bedroom in pink and in white. My white dressers had golden hand painted pinstripes adorning the edges and the fronts of the drawers. I had a long dresser and a tall dresser that was shelved at the top. There were decorative dowel bars on the sides of the shelving to hold everything in. I also had a single night stand where I kept all my important things.

My closet was huge! The hanging poles were pink. My mother had already finished setting up the majority of my things. My blue cords were all hung together on the pink poles. My light blue blouses and sweaters were hung together. Looking up, all my pretty dresses hung together. My mother had filled my dressers with my clothing. Everything meticulously folded and put away. It had a really neat and clean feel to it. 

On my nightstand was a hand painted pink ceramic lamp made by my grandmother. It had a girl with golden locks and blue eyes holding a staph. Next to her was a white sheep. You could see every brush stroke. My grandmother spent a lot of time on it. It matched the pink décor in my bedroom which is probably why my grandmother painted it pink. I hated pink and I knew my grandmother knew. My favourite colour was purple. My favourite dress was purple with white printed flowers all over it. It also had white lace along the colar, three white buttons and at the bottom of the skirt was more white lace. I would spin in circles watching the skirt flow gently around my legs. For a split second I could pretend to be a ballerina. I could feel the air rushing around me as I twirled in circles around my bedroom. I had a fairly large bedroom and it was all mine. I was going to miss my little brother although his bedroom was literally next door to mine. Until that point, we had always shared a bedroom. To help him adapt to his new surroundings, my little brother made a man out of corrugated cookie cardboard separators with my mother to hang in his bedroom. He got to do special crafts like that sometimes. I wanted one too. I thought he did a good job and it looked like a robot. He wasn't going to give it to me though. I tried making my own but it wasn't the same. My little brother always made really cool things like that from things you would just throw out. He had a habit of picking up random things he found on our walks to and from school. It was impressive the things that little boy could build from nothing. I know I'm the older sibling but he was the better sibling. My mother was very protective of him. She gave him more time because he was having issues learning how to read. He also had tantrums where he could completely destroy his bedroom. I myself, was a self harmer; just something else my mother would use to make fun of me on Sundays. Sundays we all gathered at my grandparents for dinner. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. The whole crew. I'd look forward to being near my grandfather. I always made sure he was the last person I hugged and kissed before leaving...so his hugs would help protect me when I got home too.

Nothing bad ever happened at his house.

We were within walking distance from our school. My mother walked the route with me to make sure I didn't get lost the first few times and then I was to walk it alone with my little brother. My school was on Edward St. The next street up was Alexandra St where my grandparents lived. The next street up was Prince St. My street. My grandparents' house was half way to school but I wasn't allowed to go on their street or stop by their house after school; we were only allowed there for lunch. I started grade two living here and my little brother started grade one. We would go to our grandparents' house; my grandmother made my little brother and I lunch. We had time to play after eating, sometimes I would try and sit on my grandmother's lap and play with her hands and she watched the news. I loved my grandmother's hands. I know, it's weird but it was my favorite part of her. Her skin was soft but her hold was firm. She wore a medic alert bracelet on her left wrist. Part of her bracelet had a locket piece to it where you could unscrew the top to look inside. Inside was a piece of paper held in place by a silver piece of metal. This paper had her name and her medical information. I kept trying to unscrew her bracelet every time I could get to her left hand! Sitting on her lap like that every day, was giving me the affection I needed. I really needed my grandmother more than anyone actually really knew. She held me without expectation. She made the time to hug me even when she was busy making dinner. When I needed a day with her, she'd call my mother and tell her I was not feeling well and that she was keeping me home with her from school. I'd sit in my grandfather's rocking chair by her side the whole afternoon watching her pull apart knitted items to take the yarn and work it into balls. Sometimes she let me help pull the knitted items apart and when I'd hit a snag, she would take out her scissors and cut the yarn and then tie it back together after undoing the knot where the yarn snagged. When we were all done, she would roll all the yarn into balls, matching all the colours together. We wouldn't talk much but it was fun because I was helping her. I would often ask her when I could learn to crochet. She would laugh and tell me one thing at a time. "You need to learn how to make a ball with yarn first!"

When my grandmother had yarn remnants she let me have them. It became an obsession learning how to make a ball. My mother bought me this little red plastic suitcase with looms and yarn in it for my birthday that year. I worked hard at learning my new craft. I had worked with a loom before, in grade one. My grandmother gave me red yarn to use. I had made mine so long that it went all the way down the hall from the kitchen to the front door of my grandparents' house! It was amazing! I made it into this circle mat type thing, which I eventually lost. This year my little brother had a loom too and we were both wanting gramma's yarn scraps! My brother and I would sit quietly working our looms sitting on the floor by her yarn stash, next to her chair! 

At home, I was super lucky! My best friend lived in a house whose yard met up with our yard. We played together at school and then kept playing together at home! Her dad was my dad's best friend. Both were black belts in Wado Ryu Karate, later to become Wado Kai Karate. Her mother lived across the street from her father which gave me access to my friend no matter whose week it was in their custodial agreement. Sometimes though, her mother would be awful to me, especially when she was having issues with my friend's father, as revenge. She would say my friend wasn't home. She would tell me to go home. She kept telling me not to come back and I kept being sent back by my father every time. She could be mean. I couldn't understand why I kept being sent back. I was tired and just wanted to play.

As days passed, I was getting accustomed to my new environment. The bathroom has a jetted tub! It was so much fun! My little brother and I would bathe together in the evenings to start off our bedtime routines. He went to bed 15 minutes earlier than me so I got a little extra time playing alone after brushing my teeth as my mother put him to bed. Some nights our father would join us on these showers. The burning kept happening and now I was starting to realize he was burning my doune. My parents gave my anatomy a cute French nickname; it was known to me as a doune or doudoune.

At some point, I realized my mother was home during those showers. She would be putting about the house cleaning. I decided I would just go running to her the next time it happened. It hurt. I needed it to stop.

The next time all three of us were in the shower, my father reached down and started lifting me up towards his waist.

"No! I don't want you to burn my doune! It hurts!" I told him.

He wasn't listening. "No! No! Not this time I promise!" he insisted, as he lifted me higher.

There was no way! Not this time! I began fighting back. His grip on me slipped, I grabbed on to the shower curtain and heaved myself out. Naked and soaking wet, I went running through the kitchen to my mother. She was just outside the kitchen near the hallway when I found her.

"Daddy is burning my doune! Help me!" I blurted.

She grabbed my arms. "Don't you ever say that about your father again! You'll get him in trouble! Go to your room!".  

She points towards my bedroom, "I'll be back to deal with you in a bit!"

She seemed angry. Enraged even.

I felt so lost and confused.

She took off towards the bathroom as I headed to my pink bedroom.

I sat on the edge of my bed, naked and dripping water everywhere, waiting for my mother.

"What goes on in our house stays in our house! You hear me?", her voice trembled with rage.

"Yes." I was looking down at the carpet.

She grabbed my face, squeezing my cheeks, "I better never hear you say shit like that again! Did you realize you pushed your little brother?!! He hit his head! You could have really hurt him! And my shower curtains! Do you realize how expensive those were?? You just ripped them! They're torn because of you!'

My mother kept yelling at me until she felt satisfied. With every word she uttered, I could feel any light left drain out of me. That's the first time I felt it, like a ball of pain hidden deep inside my being; somewhere between my stomach and my belly button. Like a constant gnawing pain. The world suddenly became cold.

**

How I lost my only school friend

I couldn't coordinate my body to skip rope like the other girls in my grade. I tried but I was always tripping over my own feet. I was "out" waiting more than I played. I could also hear the comments from the other girls. My grandmother bought me a skipping rope so I could practice jumping rope. I kept trying hard but jumping alone was completely different than in front of everyone. Coordination is not my thing! I see the rope coming but I can't judge the distance between it and my feet as it moves. I jump too fast or I jump too slow. I can't even catch a ball! I see it coming and I put my hand out for it but I can't see how far it is from my hand to know when I can close my fingers around it. The hardest to deal with was sitting down. I always missjudged that, but practice makes it better. I don't fall off the chairs as often anymore. The kids really laugh when that happens. I feel the edge of the seat with my hands and sit on my hands a bit before removing them to sit fully. A trick my grandmother taught me. I don't know why sitting down on a chair is so hard.

One thing I could do, without any issues, was play with dinky cars in the sandbox! I borrowed my little brother's dinky cars and started bringing them to school. I was the only girl in the sandbox! I played with Eric; the boy who lined up across from me in my class. He showed off his best cars and sometimes we would trade cars for a bit. My little brother had to stay on the other side of the yard with the younger grades, so having Eric to play with was kind of like having a brother my own age.

I would get teased but I was used to being teased so I didn't care. 

As it turned out, Eric lived on the same street as my grandparents, just a few houses away! Sometimes we'd walk back to school from lunch together. I was so happy to have someone to play with who played with me at school and after school. That kind of friend is hard to find. The friends I played with at home usually ignored me at school. It was super confusing for me.

One day after school, the boys were all standing by the sandbox. Eric left the group and came towards me. He had one of those metal lunch boxes with metal rivets. As he got close he yelled "I'm not her boyfriend!" and he bashed me in the head with his lunch box.

I was so confused. 

A few of my after school friends walked me and my little brother home that day. I could see blood drip onto the pavement every few steps I took. Why did he hit me?

When I got home, I was taken to the hospital for stitches. 

The receptionist at the emergency department always made me smile. She was like a bottled up explosion of happiness! 

The stitches didn't hurt and the doctor was done quickly.

My mother was on the phone a lot that evening. 

I never saw Eric again.

**

Valerie pees her snow pants

Around the same time I ran out of the shower to find my mother, she began keeping my soiled underwear in a 5 gallon pail holding a mixture of bleach water. The pail was kept in our bathroom between the toilet and the hand sink.

"Christ! You're dirtier than a ditch pig!" she would tell me.

I couldn't understand the world around me.

I walked to school with my little brother.

I sat in my desk; middle row, third seat up.

I would walk with my little brother, often holding my grandfather's hand, to gramma's for lunch.

I'd walk back to school, stopping at the convenience store along the way, using the forty cents my grandmother gave each of us to buy a treat.

I met my little brother in his classroom after school.

We walked home together.

We were on Prince St. We had walked up to the other side of the street past the post office at the light. Just as we walked past this huge parking lot, I would completely lose control of my bladder.

Every time I would spot the pink siding of one of the houses on our block, I would feel a warm trickle down my legs and I would start to cry.

I was terrified; I knew our bedtime routine would come soon.

My little brother would notice, "You know mom is going to be mad at you again right?".

We would get home and as predicted, my mother would be angry. She would grab me hard as she began taking my snowsuit off me. Every time, pinching harder than she needed to when grabbing at me; shoving me, pushing and pulling at me all the time hurting me. She would strip me naked.

"Look at my little Miss Piggy!", she'd laugh angrily.

She would dress me and then could be heard swearing as she walked away with my snow pants to wash them.

I would retreat to my bedroom in tears.

I looked at myself in the mirror above my dresser. Why was I so bad all the time? 

I could never get anything right.

No matter how hard I tried.

I began digging my nails into my face. Why can't you ever get anything right? My nails scratched at my skin. I just wanted to hurt myself on the outside so that I could feel the same way I felt on the inside. 

My mother noticed the scratches on my face and laughed at me. "You're stupid! Scratching your face serves you what? Nothing!".

 "It seems I don't need to punish this one anymore! She does the job for me now!" she would tell her family on the weekends.

"My dirty daughter pisses her snow pants on the way home from school every single day! She's a dirty little pig this one!" I heard her tell everyone.

My grandmother immediately came to my rescue, "It's winter. She might have gotten cold feet. It happens. You need to keep her feet warm.".

My aunt interjected, "Well, of course! It's not like her boots are the warmest.".

My grandmother gave my mother money to buy me new winter boots. Better boots. 

I loved the new boots but I still peed my snow pants every day on the way home.

My grandmother then bought me a new snow suit. It matched the pink boots perfectly but it wasn't pink! I loved the clasp on the little belt at the front. I felt so warm! I could play outside for a very long time too!

But I still peed my pants on the way home. 

Every single day.

The jokes and comments continued on, every weekend, as did the brainstorming sessions.

One day, out of sheer desperation, my mother contacted the teacher at school. 

It was decided that my teacher was supposed to make me go pee before leaving school.

I got to school that morning waiting for the bell. When the bell rang, I lined up in my spot next to my friend Eric. I hung my winter clothing in the vestibule located at the back of the classroom. At the front was a big wooden teacher's desk. My teacher was a very strict woman. She was thin and appeared very tall to me. She wore these fancy blouses and my favourite was her red blouse. She usually wore it with a long grey skirt with a fringe at the bottom. She always looked perfect. Her brown hair always styled perfectly, her bangs swept into a curl on the side. I would be lulled to sleep by the sound of her high heels as she walked around the classroom. I found the rthym calming. She walked back and forth from the front board to the side board. 

Toc. Toc. Toc.

"Valérie Deschamps! We don't sleep in class!" she yelled out.

I could hear a few girls along the window giggling at me. Cindy. Linda. You know, the cool girls.

I was tired. I had barely slept the night before. My anxiety was high.

I could feel the burning on my bum.

I kept trying to shift to find a tolerable spot again.

"Valérie Deschamps! We sit still in class!!!", the teacher yelled! More laughter could be heard. The second time she yelled at me for squirming, I decided it was time to try something. Anything.

"Madame! Can I use the washrooms please?" I asked.

"Go!" she gestures.

I crossed the hallway to the girl's washrooms. It was a smaller room than our classroom. 

Everything was painted over the same colour.

There were two stalls, two hand sinks (also painted) and a painted paper towel dispenser near the window. The window had window panes all frosted over by the cold outside. Below the window was a water radiator, also painted in the same light pink. This was after all, the girl's washrooms.

I went to the paper towel dispenser. The brown paper towel sheets were the thickness of a newspaper and didn't absorb water all that well but it's all I had to work with.

My belly hurts. Burning. Itching. 

I lifted my sweater and held it under my chin as I gently lifted up my undershirt to look at my skin. My skin was red and dry.

Maybe cold water would help.

I gently put the undershirt back in place, still holding my sweater under my chin, I grabbed a few paper towels and wet them. I stood under the window, feeling the cold radiating off the thick layer of frost. I again carefully lifted up my undershirt, gently rolling it up, to expose my entire belly. I then applied the wet paper towels.

I drew in a quick breath and stopped breathing for a few seconds to clamp my teeth down together hard!

Ow! What is going on?!

I took the paper towel off in one swift pull.

The red spots were oozing blood.

Omigod this hurts so bad! 

I lifted my shirt over my head and watched it fall to the floor. I took my undershirt off. This thing was hurting me somehow. I rolled it up tight in a ball and covered it with brown paper towels before disposing of it in the garbage. 

I looked down at my chest. 

The skin was just raw.

I pulled my blue wool sweater over my head. 

It's itchy but it doesn't hurt as much. I can handle this itchy feeling until I get home.

I let my sweater fall gently over my belly.

It still hurt but it felt so much better.

I decided to try going pee before leaving. I didn't want to take the chance that I would need to pee later and that my teacher might not let me go again.

I carefully pulled down my pants and my underwear. I leaned back to look at my bum. It looked red too but I decided I would keep my underwear on. I need the underwear for protection. I sat to pee. 

As the urine trickled out of me, it made my doune sting. When I wiped, it hurt a lot! I saw blood on the white coarse tissue paper they gave us to wipe with. My right hand reached down to touch my doune. The skin felt bigger, like it was swollen. Skin felt torn. When I put my hand over it I could feel some sort of pulse. It hurt. I would have to tell mom when I get home. My mom keeps a tube of special cream in her purse. The tube was white with 2 red rectangles on it. One rectangle thinner than the other. In the top red rectangle read "Canesten". That cream took a lot of the itchiness away. It made it feel better.

I gently patted my vagina with the tissue paper until there was no blood to be found on the paper.

I sat there confused, unsure of why it felt so big down there.

Then I heard a familiar "toc toc toc" coming towards the washrooms.

I scrambled up to pull my pants up, but while pulling myself up, I took a quick peek at my right ankle. My ankles were raw too.

I could see my teacher's shoes as she opened the door to the girl's washrooms. Her red pumps that matched her red blouse, could be seen clearly through the bottom front and side of my stall.

"Valerie? Are you finished?"

I opened my door, "Yes! All done! Sorry!"

I walked past her as she followed mere steps behind me.

I got to my desk and took my seat. 

When I put my legs together I could feel the pulsing pain.

I need cream from Mommy's purse.

When the last bell rang, my teacher brought me to the girl's washrooms and told me to go pee.

I took the far stall. I opened the door, got in and closed the door.

I sat down to pee.

"I'll be right back!" she says as she walks away.

The door slowly shut behind her.

I tried. I swear. I really tried.

The teacher came back. 

The red pumps were gone. She wore light brown boots with a heel.

The brown boot began tapping against the floor. "Did you go?"

Fearing further punishment, I lied.

"Yes!".

I opened the door to leave the stall and as I enterred the classroom, the teacher said "I have to go. You okay in here alone?

"Yes." I told her. My little brother was still waiting for me downstairs so I hurried as quickly as I could.

I peed my pants no matter what they tried.

Eventually, my grandfather saw an opening at his work. He got my father a job as a custodian at the local public school. The hours were 4-12pm.

That is when I stopped peeing my snow pants.

**

Christmas magic

After we moved from my grandparents' house, my father would sometimes bring the ambulance by our new place. Neighbourhood kids crowded around the ambulance. My father looked all professional wearing his black ironed trousers with their light blue stripe on the side. His dress shirt was tucked neatly into his pants, there was even a gold metal thing going across his tie that matched his name tag. My father looked like a hero; here is a man who saves lives! Other children would approach him asking questions. "Wow! Your dad drives an ambulance!", they would say with an air of worship. He would oblige them and put on a show. I wanted nothing to do with it. I'd look down at the gravel as I made my way into the house. 

The blue belt was introduced around this time. I had gone to gym class and the teacher had noticed a large handprint on my upper thigh. When asked about it I told the gym teacher I fell. It was then decided a belt would be better to prevent this kind of issue in the future. The blue belt, a thick two inches of long blue leather adorned by a large eighties style brass buckle, became yet another thing of nightmares for me. It hung on the right bedpost at the foot of my parents' bed. Close to their bedroom door, it was the favourite "go to" punishment lately. My little brother and I had started fighting from time to time. He always got out of chores. I had to wash dishes and he did nothing. The argueing would start and one of us would lose control and hit the other. It didn't take much to make us turn on eachother some days. Wether I was in the right or in the wrong; I would be picked up and carried to my parents' bedroom. Tossed onto the bed, I would be rolled onto my belly as my mother pulled my pants and underwear down to expose my bum. My mother held on to my right foot as she unleashed her fury. Her left hand holding the buckle, the leather would follow her grand gestures to hit my bare skin. The leather would hit me and was brought back up into the air to acquire even more force for the next hit and...I barely felt it. My lack of crying made her even angrier. What she didn't realize is that my father held on to the leather and hit with the buckle. I barely felt the sting from just the leather part. She just grew angrier and looked for different ways to punish me. Digging her nails into my skin, she would jerk my little body into my bedroom. "Don't you come out of there! I don't want to see your face for the rest of the day!", she'd scream.

I'd stay in my bedroom unsure of how to make any of this better. She didn't love me. I felt it. More importantly, I saw it. 

I had a sleepover at my cousin's house. Her room was the exact duplicate of mine but everything in her bedroom was purple. The same bed, same dresser, same bedding, same lamp painted by our grandmother. All in purple! I curled up in her My Little Pony sleeping bag on the floor next to her bed. "I have the same sleeping bag too!" I excitedly told her!

I really loved her purple lamp.

That morning I watched how my aunt interacted with her daughter. She was so gentle while brushing her hair. My cousin never cried once. My aunt then did my hair and for the first time I didn't get burned and my hair didn't get pulled. Never once did she dig her nails into my shoulders to tell me how horribly warped my head was. She just gently brushed my hair. I wanted to cry but not because it hurt when she brushed but because I could feel the love in her every action. The only difference I could spot between my cousin and I was a vest her mother had knitted for her. Before leaving the next morning, I asked my aunt if she could make me a vest too. She promised she would as she kissed me goodbye. I was sure the vest would change everything. That wearing a vest like my cousin would somehow make my mother love me too. 

A few weeks later, my vest arrived! It was the best present ever! I was so excited to be wearing it! I went to school from gramma's house wearing it that day! There was a presentation in the gymnasium. The fire chief, a thin man with piercing blue eyes, stood in front of the crowd whistling to quiet us down. My gym teacher, stood next to him blowing his whistle. His whistle made a gurgling sound. I saw my cousin's class come in. When they dimmed the lights, I crawled through the crowd to show her I was just like her today. I was going to be okay because today I would be just like her. I looked like her now so my mother would have no choice but to love me. This was it. I had everything I needed.

"Why did you ask your Godmother to make you that Godawful vest?" my mother laughed when she saw me.

I ran past her to my bedroom in tears. 

I still loved the vest but this would be the first and last time I would be allowed to wear it.

There were no more sleep overs after that.

I wasn't allowed to visit my aunt and uncle at their house anymore. I could only see them at my grandparents' house.

Winter came and there was a lot of snow that year. The tractor that cleaned our parking lot had made a huge hill in front of our building! All the kids were dressed in snow gear climbing the hill and playing. I sat inside looking at them play. I didn't see my friends as much lately. I was having problems keeping friends. When ever I tried telling other kids something that happened at my house, they looked at me like I was an alien. Like the cat that died in the fridge.

The cat that died in the fridge was my favourite story to tell. Our parents had bought us a kitten, an orange tabby with so many names that I wasn't sure she ever, or he ever, had an actual name. Cocotte but then that was my uncle's dog's name too so...we never settled on it. The discussion had been ongoing between my little brother and I. Then someone let the cat in the refrigerator one night. We were told it died in the refrigerator overnight. My brother argues that it's not true and that they gave the cat away. I worry I might have been the one who let the cat in by accident because I leave the fridge door wide open like ALL THE TIME! 

Anyway, I had very few friends. 

In the evening, right after dinner, my father would take one of our little metal kids shovels and dig a stairway in the hill side for my brother. He caried buckets of water out to ice the stairway and the rounded out slide he carved into the hill for us. When it was frozen, within an hour, we would get to play outside by ourselves on the hill. The air was cold and crisp. Sitting in my green garbage bag, I would go flying down the hill at lightening speeds. It was my favourite time to play.

Then you could hear the wail from the sirens at town hall. It was 7pm. Curfew. Time to come inside. We would take our snowsuits off. My mother would hang them up for us as we headed to our much dreaded shower.

Christmas that year had a magical feel to it. Christmas Eve was always spent with my maternal grandparents. My mother dressed me in this beautiful grey dress with red accents and a white colar. It had another layer of fabric underneath the skirt. My mother loved shopping at the small kids' boutique in town. She dressed us like dolls. We were always in style with the latest trend and most expensive clothing that could be found. 

I was surprised when I saw the jacket I would be wearing that night! 

I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life! 

This jacket was soft and made with fur. The grayish- white rabbit fur tickled my neck as she dressed me. The hat tickled too! Lastly, my mother put this scarf around my neck. No it was a ribbon that held a fur lined hand warmer of sorts.

I felt beautiful that night. It was dark when I got out of the car in the driveway. My boots moved the snow around as though it was weightless. The snow that night was beautiful. It sparkled like magic. I walked down the driveway a few steps before looking up to see if he held his promise. My grandfather had promised I would see Santa go down the chimney that year! I looked up at his house. On the left side, was a big plastic sheet of sorts with a painted on picture of santa going down the chimney. I laughed! I enjoyed the sparkles as I walked towards his house! Clever! Grandpapa was very clever!

Oh I loved the feel of this fur on my hands!

The red side door opened.

It smelled like happiness as I walked towards my grandfather laughing.

"Did you see?" he said.

"Yes! I saw! Clever!" I laughed as I threw my arms up to hug him.

It would be the only time I would ever wear this coat. 

Somewhere between grades 2 and 3, we were evicted from our apartment building. The landlord decided to move back into our unit.

Monica went back to her bedroom with the big hooks that moved above the window and we ended up moving to a 4plex near the Saw Mill. An estimated 1.2km from gramma's house, this basement unit boasted 3 bedrooms and an evil closet! This closet came with a bare cement floor and a hanging pole like the last 4plex we had lived in. I was not impressed. The area was newly developed. There were a few other apartment buildings next to ours reserved for native housing. The yard was mostly fresh mud covered in gravel. The lawn appeared odd. Like a carpet unrolled over dirt, it had rectangular patches that stuck out at me everywhere I looked.

My bedroom was in the right corner of the unit right next to my parents' bedroom. Across the hall from my bedroom was my little brother's bedroom. There was a hallway connecting the bedrooms to the kitchen and the living room. The bathroom was halfway down the hallway almost exactly across to the stairs that led outside. The evil closet was right next to the stairs.

We left my school by car the first day so I would know the way home. It didn't look too hard. Thankfully in grade 3, I was still allowed to take the bus.

**

Rubbing alcohol. It makes it colder.

The first time it happened, I don't know how old I was. It was late. I was awake. My mother was undressing me in my bedroom. I could hear water pouring in the background. My mother held me in her arms. I was screaming and crying. We walked into the laundry room together. It had a washer, a dryer and it also had a laundry tub. It was filled with water. My father was dumping ice bags into it.  

He poured the contents of this white bottle in. My father then reached out for me and took me from my mother's arms. He held me over the water. "Take off her diaper!" 

My mother reached over and I could hear the noise from the tape as it ripped back. Suddenly, without warning, I was plunged into the ice water in the laundry tub. My screams and cries increased. It was so cold! I couldn't catch my breath. It felt like pins and needles. All over my body it felt as though pins and needles were stabbing me everywhere.  

In 1988, my mother was working evenings as a custodian for the local town hall office building. A few years earlier my brother and I accompanied her to her job after people left to go home. I'd walk around trying to imagine what each person did at their desks. My favourite office was in the back. Pomerleau. That was the inscription on the small plaque on the desk. This desk was different. It had a glass candy jar filled with chocolate macaroons. Those were my favourite. Every time she'd bring me to work, I would take a macaroon from the glass jar. I'd sit in the guest chairs sprawled over both chairs, eating my stolen macaroon. I'd been told often to stay out of the offices but I couldn't help it. I was curious! The basement had a kitchen, a few offices and a huge meeting room where town hall meetings took place. On the west wall was a picture of Queen Elizabeth. I'd lay on the chairs, sprawled out as I fell asleep looking at her picture. 

My grandfather was nearing retirement, he had gotten my father a job as a custodian at the local public elementary school where he was lead custodian. Before he retired, he switched shifts with my father so that my father could be home to care for us while my mother was at work. My father took the day shift and my grandfather took the evening shift. This gave my father the liberty to open up his own karate club in Mattice, a small village 20 minutes away by car from Hearst. Most nights we were home on time for bed. We had a simple straightforward routine. Brush teeth. Pee. Bed. I remember standing in front of the sink with my little brother, both brushing our teeth as our father began pouring a bath. He reached for the cupboard, grabbed this white bottle and started emptying the contents into the bath. He used his arm to stir the water. "What did you put in there?" I looked at him, toothbrush still in hand, puzzled. "Rubbing alcohol. It makes it colder.". He left the bathroom only to come back with 2 bags of store bought ice. He tore open the bags and dumped their contents into the cold water. On my way out of the bathroom to my bedroom I stopped to look at the ice cubes as they bobbed along in their bath water, feeling unsure of what I was looking at. 

That first night my father stood in between mine and my little brother's doorway. "When I say it's bedtime. It's bedtime. You guys better not get back up. If you do, I will make sure you don't get back up a second time!" I have to admit that I didn't take him seriously. I remembered him doing it to me before but I was told it was because I was sick with a fever. They dunked me in ice water to bring my temperature down. I didn't think my father was serious when he said he would be holding us down in the bath tub that first night. I knew he could do it, I just didn't think he really would so I was pretty dismissive about the warning. I was in my bedroom unable to sleep. I tried reading a bit but my eyes couldn't focus long enough to read. I had this book from school on code writing I had borrowed from the library. I was trying to write code back and forth between my brother and I, but unknown to anyone at the time, he had a learning disability which affected his reading skills. I was never really successful at teaching him but I kept borrowing the book and trying. I really wanted to develop our own written language that no one else would understand. I couldn't come up with any more ideas to try with him.   

I looked around at what I could do to make myself tired. My eyes finally settled on my jewelry box. It had a ballerina inside at one point but she was freed as I did not like the idea of having a girl trapped in a box in my bedroom. The music still played softly, just as though the ballerina was still there. I looked to the right corner where all my good earrings were gathered in a small pile. I selected a pair of golden mice earrings with my birthstone where the eyes should be. The first earring went into my ear without any problems but I couldn't get the second earring in. The piercing had partially healed over. I tried pushing harder but after a while I grew tired and decided to try going to sleep. I peeled the blankets back and got under them, trying to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. I was just starting to drift off when I realized I needed to pee. I got up out of bed without thinking much of it and walked a few feet down the hall to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet. I did my thing. I then got up and flushed. My father heard the flush and started yelling as he came flying down the hallway from the living room to see who it was. He caught up to me at the doorway to the bedroom.

I could hear the rage in his voice as he yelled. I was frantic yelling at him, "I had to pee! I wasn't getting up! I swear I just needed to pee! Dad! Mom gets really mad when we pee the bed!" It didn't matter. My cries and screams went unheard as he held me up by the neck and shoulder and partly carried me and pushing me towards the bathroom. Pajamas on and everything, he plunged my body into the icy water and held me down. It was so cold. My entire body hurt from the cold. It felt like pins and needles. He looked excited as he held a timer in his hand, counting down the minutes letting me know how much time I had left. I recognized the timer. It came from his karate club and was used in tournaments. My mother normally kept that stuff hidden underneath the school where they worked. While my grandfather still worked there, he dug out the crawl space underneath the school. He had made rooms underneath the school building to use as storage for all the extra desks and chairs. My mother made all of the tournament gear and kept it meticulously stored inside of these clear plastic bins with white lids. One bin for each ring. I helped colour numbers in black stinky marker. One of those bins was now missing a timer.  

When he finally let me go, my clothing was soaked. Adrenaline kicked in. I ran to my room where I started peeling off my soaked clothing. It smelled like wet cotton balls. I looked in my dresser mirror. My lips were purpleish-blue. I rubbed at them but it didn't come off. I couldn't stop shivering. I was shivering so violently that my teeth chattered loudly against each other and my knees kept hitting themselves. I got naked and got into my bed. I covered myself with my heavy blankets trying to warm up and regain feeling to my extremities. My fingers could barely move. I put them between my legs squeezing my thighs together trying to warm them up enough so I could get dressed again. There was no way I was going to sleep naked. No way. So, working through pain as my fingers began warming up, I grabbed underwear from my dresser. My mother gets angry that I wear it at night but it made me feel safer to wear it. My fingers fumbled around trying to unfold them and line them up around my feet. At some point I finally managed to pull them up. I curled back up and fell asleep. I woke up when my father left to go get my mother at work. It would be a while before they got back as my mother was very swollen from her third pregnancy and had a hard time catching her breath. The work was getting harder for her and my father often had to finish her work. My wet clothing had been removed from the floor. My fingers hurt faintly as I grabbed a fresh nightgown and pulled it over my head. I lay back down to sleep. I could hear my little brother's worried voice in the background, "Valerie, are you okay?". I told him not to worry, that I was fine and to go to sleep before they get home. I drifted off into a funny kind of sleep. I think I heard them come home. Our door froze shut often during the winter and had to be kicked to be opened. I'm sure I hear the bang from the kick as my mind tried to process the night's events in my sleep. It was a long night. It felt like I was talking to myself in my sleep the whole night. The next night, I would be prepared. I was going to find something to pee in and hide it. There was no way I wanted give my mother anymore reasons to bleach my stuff. 

The five gallon pail of bleach water in our bathroom, the bucket that held my soiled underwear, undershirts and socks was a great source of shame for me. When friends asked why my stuff was being soaked in bleach I would shrug my shoulders instead of telling them the real truth...that my mother says that I am a ditch pig because I stain my underwear often. I didn't know how I managed to do that. I wiped and wiped until the paper was clean and still, she called me a ditch pig. I was trying. I didn't want to be a ditch pig. Yet here I was. Me, a ditch pig, at age 9.

I found the perfect object to use as my potty if the need ever arised, which I would empty out and rinse promptly after our father left to get our mother...a toy juice pitcher! It had a lid. It wouldn't spill. I carefully hid it behind stuff my mother was storing in the bottom of my bedroom closet. The pitcher was Rubbermaid orange and worked perfectly. My little brother would run over to my room to borrow it. We were set. Careful. There was no need for what happened next.

A few weeks after my first polar dip in our bathroom, my little brother began getting restless. He wasn't taking our father's threats as seriously anymore. He began running out of his bedroom to hide behind the sofa to watch television. I had no idea what he was watching but he kept trying to get me to go watch it with him. That one night, he tripped on his own feet trying to run back from the living room at the other end of the hall. I heard my father start yelling and the volume increased the closer he got to our bedrooms. My little brother was back in his bed pretending to sleep but his breathing was still heavy and he couldn't quite control it. My father grabbed him by the neck and took off down the hall towards the bathroom. I could hear my little brother making these odd noises as he struggled to breathe. I heard water splash and then the screams started. My heart felt lodged in my throat. I crawled on my hands and knees to the bathroom down the hall. When I looked in, I could see my father holding my little brother down in the ice filled bath tub. He caught a glimpse of me. "You're next!"

I sat down against the wall in our hallway next to the bathroom door and pulled my legs into my chest. I trembled and cried as I heard my little brother scream and cry for help. The second-long quiet sounds where he drew his breath in between screams, was by far the most deafening and soul crushing of all sounds I've heard in my entire life. I just sat there. Trembling. Waiting for my turn to come.

That year, before my mother went on maternity leave, my little brother and I experienced more physical abuse than we ever had before. 

**

Thirty minutes in the closet

"When I was younger, my brothers and I would be hung upside down in the closet. After 5 minutes, you can cause damage but any longer than thirty minutes, you can die.", my father began. "So we're gona start with your little brother. I'm going to tie his ankles around the closet pole. Your job is to keep him up. Remember, more than 5 minutes upside down will harm him.". He had moved to the coat closet next to the stairs. I could see yellow rope. It was in a plastic bag all coiled up neatly. My little brother was sitting on the floor next to it.

"I don't want to play this game. I don't like your game." I started walking away.

"Get back here!", he yelled.

I slowly began to approach him. Looking at the yellow rope which was now in his hand. That's when he grabbed my little brother by the ankles and lifted him upside down.

"Get in here! Get under his back! Hold him up!" he yelled.

I walked into the closet reluctantly to hold my little brother up. My father was busy tying his ankles around the bar. A few pieces of rope and the bar seperated his feet.

When he was done, I was still holding up my little brother, he bent down to remove my socks. 

The cement floor was cold. It was winter and the closet was not heated. I could feel the cold against my feet. My father then left to go to the kitchen. "I'm using the timer on the microwave! Thirty minutes."

He came back to see me. "I have to go to the store. This way, you can't call your grandmaman for help. Remember, just 5 minutes."

He shut the closet door. I heard his feet go up the stairs. He kicked the door before opening it and slammed it shut behind him.

The closet was dark. There was a piece of carpet at the back. I could feel the cold prickling at my feet. My little brother was moving around. "Aye! Stop moving!" I told him. "You're heavy. The floor is cold."

"My belly hurts. I'm getting cramps on my sides.", he retorted.

I was stretching out my leg as far as it could go to see if I could reach the carpet with my toes. My feet were so cold now that they hurt. I couldn't reach it. I couldn't feel it. 

I started reaching towards the door. I grabbed the handle and pushed it open. 

Okay, now I can see. 

Even if I can get to the carpet, there was an orange cooler sitting on it. I wouldn't be able to pull it forward with my toes.

I had one foot on the floor, the other foot up on its tippy toes trying to warm up. Then I would alternate my feet to give my other foot a chance to warm up a bit and stop the feeling of needles poking at it's underside.

On the wall at the back to the right, was an old pair of workboots. 

"I'm sorry but I'm going to have to let you down, my feet hurt so bad I don't think I can hold this pose much longer." I told him.

"No! No! Don't let me go! I don't want to die!" he cried.

I just let him drop and ran for the boots. The old safety toed workboots were several sizes too big for me. I put them on and lifted my little brother back up. He was heavy. Slowly I got him up. My feet still hurt but at least I stopped them from burning. 

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The microwave timer was going off. We had been there for 30 minutes now. 

"Hey! Grab the pole with your hands! I'm going to lift you as high as I can! I need you to grab on!" I instructed.

I turned around and began pushing him up with my hands as hard as I could.

He kept trying to grasp the pole but couldn't grab on, "I'm tired." He says.

"I'm tired too. Hold on. I'll put you back on my back to rest my arms."

I started to cry.

"It'll be okay," he says, "Mom will be home in a few hours.".

"I don't want you to die!" I cried.

I started feeling angry. I turned around and using my arms, I pushed him up as hard as I could.

"Grab it!" I yelled.

My little brother grabbed on with both hands. I was finally able to let him go.

I ran to get a kitchen chair. 

I dragged it next to him and climbed up.

I tried to undo the knots but they were too tight.

"Valerie! My arms!" he cried.

"Just hold on!" I jumped down and ran a few steps into the kitchen to grab a sharp knife out of the butcher block.

I had no time to go looking for scissors.

His arms could let go at any time.

I ran back to the chair and climbed up.

I started sawing at the yellow rope. The rope felt like plastic. It frayed strangely in pieces as I sawed back and forth using my steak knife. I had to concentrate because the knife slipped off the rope easily. After what felt like hours to me, the rope was cut free from the pole.

As his legs dropped, my little brother's hands let go and he fell straight down to the cement floor. I jumped down to reach him and see if he was okay.

He was able to shield his head from the fall as he went down.

We got really lucky.

"I'm going to get our slippers," he says, "go put the chair back!"

He came back wearing his navy velvet slippers. There was a small dolphin in the corner at the top. Since our summer vacation to Marineland, he had developed a love of dolphins. His bedroom was decorated in a nautical theme.

"You think we should wait in the closet until he gets back?" He asked me.

I thought we should, so I nodded. "He might be really mad when he finds out I cut you down." I said. I put the old workboots back in their place and tossed the steak knife inside.

We both got back into the closet with plans to hide our slippers when he got back.

Terrified, I held on to my little brother, tears streaming down my face as we waited for our father to come home from inside the cold dark closet.

**

The other lonely kid

My grade 3 teacher wore bright colours and spoke rapidly with excitement when explaining things to our class. This teacher wasn't always in a hurry like my previous teachers. I would always flock to her for any scraps of affection she might have to give. This teacher gave side hugs and encouraged harmony among our group. There was a boy in my class, Michael, who had recently lost his mother. I watched my teacher give this boy extra affection every day. I thought she was pretty spectacular.

There was a boy in another class in my grade who had dark skin. I never caught his name. I sat outside by myself at recess watching him. He too played by himself. I liked to eat snow. I would look for a clean spot and form a snow ball using my bare hands. The mittens my grandmother made me were not good for making snowballs. My mittens were made of moose hide with pink, red and white beading for the flowers. Instead of fur, my grandmother used this pink wool faux fur fabric. "There is indian in us.", she would say. "We are métis."

I loved my mittens. The intricate beaded flower designs she would put together every year were stunning. The best part was that I helped pick out the beads!

Mittens tucked under my arm, I watched this kid from afar every day as I walked the fence eating snow.

The one day I was in class and raised my hand to go to the washroom. When I got out in the hallway, I saw sister Monique and our Principal, Mme Blanche. I couldn't see what they were doing. As I got closer I could see Mme Blanche was holding the boy and sister Monique was hitting him with what looked like a leather belt. As I got closer I saw it was a whip. I started tearing up and trembling as I stood there watching the boy get whipped repeatedly. Sister Monique stopped hitting him and looked up at me. "You're going to the washroom?" she asked. I nodded. 

"Then I suggest you get going!", she added.

As I turned the corner, I could hear the boy cry as the whipping resumed.

Once I reached the bathroom, I was scared to leave. I sat there. Terrified.

School was supposed to be my safe place.

**

The Fight Movie

Being put against eachother all the time, animosity began to develop between my little brother and I. I was jealous of the attention he was getting from our mother. I needed her to see me so badly. I needed her to help me but she was always stuck helping my little brother because of his learning issues. He began getting on my nerves a lot. We started argueing and fighting more often. I would go out of my way to try and hurt him. I hurt so bad. I just want him to know how much I hurt.

The argueing kept happening so one day my parents decided to stage a fight between him and I. My father put on his karate gi and made us put ours on as well. The duffel bag containing all of the full contact gear was brought out. A camera was set up on the kitchen table, my pregnant mother was the camera man. I looked at the gear thinking "this is stupid". 

I put on my full contact gear and stood up. Wearing all this crap made it hard to walk and move. I didn't want to fight him.

"Over here!" my father said, demanding we bow to him. "Now bow to eachother!"

This is stupid. I bowed at my brother keeping my eyes locked onto his.

"Hajime!" my father blurted out.

I started laughing. I couldn't take this whole thing seriously.

I wasn't mad at my little brother.

I took a fake/lame attempt at a punch while laughing.

On the other hand my little brother took this fight seriously. He began punching and kicking at me. I blocked and threw defensive push at him.

From time to time, our fight got out of bounds and we had to restart the whole bowing bullshit. 

Somewhere in that time I got hurt.

I started fighting dirty. 

My protective gear came off. This wasn't funny anymore.

I had my little brother face down on the sofa chair and kept punching at his head.

I had a size advantage. 

He was pretty skinny and scrawny.

I could hear our parents laughing at how viscious of a turn this fight was taking.

He pulled my hair. 

I scratched at his arms.

The fight had gone completely off script.

This wasn't karate anymore.

We were out to hurt eachother.

The camera kept rolling despite all this and no one stepped in to make sure it wouldn't get put of control.

This stupid fight changed things between my brother and I forever.

Every now and then my father would pull this video tape of us fighting to show people.

It's a constant reminder of when my relationship with my little brother went sour.

The video had a constant ribbon of smoke from my mother's burning cigarette running through the picture.

The video, where ever it is today, is a clear indication of the type of abuse that was ongoing in our home. So many people saw it, yet no one reported it. Not one person.

**

How to end a game

I could feel the blood rushing to my head. I closed my eyes. Seeing was too much. I could hear my heart pumping and the sound of liquid as it pumped through my brain. Woosh. Woosh. Woosh. I tried to swallow but the fluid was lodged somewhere between my nose and my throat. As hard as I tried swallowing, the fluid stayed there annoying me and making it hard to think as I hung upside down in the closet. I could hear my little brother trying. He was a lot smaller than me. "Use your stomach muscles to lift your body up!" he kept saying. "You're too heavy! I can't do this!".

"I don't think I have those muscles!", I kept telling him. 

The next year, I could reach the pole standing up. I started slowly unscrewing the screws that held the pole up in the closet. I didn't have the right screwdriver but it fit in the hole and if I pushed hard enough, the star shaped screwdriver would turn the square shaped screw head. I had partially unscrewed all four screws over a few weeks. No one could see them sticking out amidst all the winter jackets hanging on their seperate hangers.

One afternoon, when all the screws were sticking out half way, I held on to the closet pole, pulling up my legs at the knees and letting the pole take on the full weight of my body. I got back up and while holding onto the pole, I let all my weight drop again! A loud crunch was heard! The whole closet pole and all the coats came crashing down to the cement floor. 

"Calisse de Tabarnak d'Esti'd crisse! Since when do we hang off closet poles? You're a fucking fat cow!" my mother yelled at me angrily. "I don't want to see you in that closet ever again!" she continued.

"Go to your room! I don't want to see your face until after I figure out how to fix this!"

I was perfectly fine with that.

Bye bye evil closet! 

**

My first bra

I was standing by the front door inside my paternal grandparents' home. My shoes were still on my feet. The plathera of shoes were scattered all over the carpet. I was trying to find a spot on the carpet to take my shoes off when I heard my grandmother yelling "Crisse de fous! Vous êtes malade Tabarnak!"

My father and two of my uncles appeared to be wrestling with my grandmother. I looked up. 

They were working together under her shirt to remove her bra. One of my uncles pulled her bra out from her left shirt sleeve. My uncle held her wide strapped Wonderbra up in the air waving it around like a prized trophy. "I got it!" he laughed.

My grandmother reached up to grab it out of his hand and left the room to go put her bra back on.

"Fuck that shit!", I thought. "I don't ever want to wear a bra!"

When she realized I was throwing them out, my mother stopped buying me undershirts. Most of the girls in my class were starting to wear bras. I was in between. No undershirts. No bras. It started concerning me that my top half wasn't covered when grade four gym class came along. The teacher, a man, stood in the room watching us change and I just felt like I needed to cover up what I could.

We were on our way to Kapuskasing to go shopping. I always sit behind my mother. My parents were both smoking in the car. I hated long trips in the car. They chainsmoked on trips like this. They never put the windows down and after 20 minutes you could feel your eyes burn from the lingering smoke. I was looking out the window. Have you ever noticed how if you look down at the shoulder of the road, how it looks like the car is going faster than it feels? It makes me super nauseous when I look down at the shoulder from the side windows. I keep trying not to look down but I keep doing it anyway. I never claimed to be smart.

I looked at my brother sitting next to me. We were always quiet in the car. If we faught, our father would pull the car over and get in the back seat with us. He would join the fight and start punching and hitting us. He would go out of his way to hurt us both. That never ended well so we sat quietly giving eachother hostile glares as required instead.

My little brother stayed with our father near the lottery booth, it was their thing to do on these trips. My little brother liked Nevada tickets and I suspect he got treats of some kind. My mother and I went upstairs to her favourite store, Saans.

This was a shopping trip for me as I was outgrowing everything and I had no summer clothing that fit. I stood by the change rooms as my mother walked around the store picking out different outfits. She came back with a few options for me to try on. The second thing I tried on was a dress. It looked like a t-shirt had been sown onto a skirt. The t-shirt was white and the skirt had different black and white patterned prints through two ruffled edges. My mother gave that one the stamp of approval. I tried a few more things on. When we were done, she went walking through the underwear section. She spotted this lacy training bra with blue flowers at the bottom at the front. 

"Do you want to try it on?" she asked.

I wasn't sure. 

"Just go try it on!" she insisted.

It wasn't very comfortable. The lace felt scratchy against my skin.

My mother had gone into the changeroom with me. 

"It fits perfectly!" she exclaimed.

She left the changeroom holding on to the bra and tossed it on the small pile of clothing.

She picked up the clothing and took it to the lady at the register.

We left Saans and walked down the stairs to meet up with my father and my little brother at the lottery booth.

"Why don't you change into your pretty new dress and put your new bra on?" she said, as she looked through the shopping bag for it.

"Really? But where would I change?" I didn't really feel like changing but it was spring and it was hot out. The dress would be a lot cooler to wear. 

My mother pointed to the public washrooms near the entrance. "Right in there! I'll go with you!"

The bathroom stalls felt very narrow. It was hard to change in there. 

When I finally came out, my mother was out in the hall between the men's and the women's washrooms. "You look beautiful!" 

I handed her my clothing and walked past her towards my father and my brother.

"Wow!" my father exclaimed, "You look so grown up! I have a beautiful daughter!"

"Kiss ass!", it came out before I was able to stop it!

"No. Seriously! You look very pretty." he insisted.

We left the mall and piled up in the car.

I thought we were heading home until my father turned off into the village of Mattice. We were stopping in to see my grandparents.

"Do we have to stop here?" I asked.

"Those are my parents!" he insisted.

Our car pulled into my paternal grandparents driveway. I hated it here. I would rather go home.

We walked into the house. I found a spot on the never-ending carpet to take off my shoes. Everyone was sitting in the livingroom and I stayed back in the kitchen near the shoes. My father was telling everyone about my bra shopping experience.

My one uncle came out of the living room walking towards me.

"No!" I screamed.

My uncle didn't listen. 

As he began wrestling me for my bra, I realized how much I really hated this one piece dress. 

My uncle Gilles swung my training bra up in the air like a prized trophy.

Everyone was laughing and clapping.

I felt embarassed.

I felt like my mother set me up for this to happen that day. 

I was mortified.

I screamed at all of them. I cursed at them.

That's when my mother got up and said "If you don't like what's going on then leave! Go for a walk!"

I put my shoes on and headed towards the highway. Fuck you. I'm going home.

**

The creepy gym teacher

Grade 4, I was the third at the front in the lineup which meant there was only two girls in my class who were shorter than me.

I had no friends.

I couldn't figure out where I fit in.

I felt like everyone hated me. 

I had one distant cousin in my class with the same issues. I tended to stick with her even though I found she was very bossy.

I teamed up with her for group work when the teacher gave us assignments.

I was really good at long division. We were given these narrow books full of equations. I had levelled up more than my peers.

I thought that maybe I had found my niche.

Math. I could see the solution to the problem so easily. My pencil danced over the paper as I hurriedly solved every equation I could within the time aloted.

Then something happened. I still can't explain it. One day I woke up and I couldn't solve the math equations in my narrow book. I tried to focus. My pencil dug into the paper as I tried to remember how to do them.

I couldn't.

"Madame! I need help!" I raised my hand.

My teacher came to my desk.

She stood there looking over my shoulder as I tried to explain I couldn't remember how to do these equations.

She laughed. "Stop playing! You know how to do this work!"

I never finished that last narrow book.

I couldn't remember how.

When I played outside at recess, there was this older creepy boy that used to bother me. Pascal. He tried to kiss me and I pushed him away! "Leave me alone!"

I hated recess. 

He was in grade 7.

I was 8 years old.

I told the teacher but she never did anything. 

I started spending my recesses trying to find the best spot to hide from him.

Our gym teacher was married to my classroom teacher. Mr. Laflamme stood in the girl's changerooms the whole time we changed.

You know what I kept wondering?

Who was watching the boys change?

He stood there in the girl's changeroom just watching us. I tried to go change in a bathroom stall in the next room with the showers but he wouldn't let any of us have any privacy. He would coral us all into the same area and watch us. I felt uncomfortable with that.

When I was in grade 4, my babysitter was in grade 8. I confided to her about the gym teacher. She said that he watched the grade 8 girls change too. She had complained about it to the main office but nothing was done about it.

I decided to gather a few girls from class to go make a complaint at the main office.

My hands trembled as I walked into the small office. Two girls stood behind me.

I walked up to the counter. The receptionist looked at me, "Can I help you young ladies?"

My voice was trembling but I began speaking "We are here to lodge a complaint against our gym teacher, Mr. Laflamme."

She seemed amused. "He makes you work too hard?"

"He watches us change. I'm not comfortable having a strange man standing there watching me change!" I continued.

She rose to her feet and leaned over at us, "He has two girls of his own at home! He's probably just used to seeing little girls get changed. Don't make a big deal out of this.".

"He's not my father! He has no business watching me change!" I cried.

"Get out of my office!" she pointed at the door leading to the inner hallway.

Head down, I left. Walking back to class, I hatched out a plan. I was going to ask to get transfered to my grandfather's work, the English school. I'll learn English. 

Having my grandfather around would ensure my safety.

I get enough of this crap at home, I don't need it at school too.

I'll talk to grandpapa first. He'll help me sell the idea to my mom.

I need out of this fucking school!

**

The birthday tree

Every year for my birthday, I always ask for the same thing and I have since I was very little. For my birthday, I always ask for a real Christmas tree. I love the smell of a real tree in the house. I love the lights. Christmas is just not the same without a real tree.

My grandfather always set up a tree on his front lawn for me on my birthday because my grandmother preferred her artificial tree for inside the house. He decorated it with coloured lights. Just like me, he also preferred real trees. I know this because I asked him.

For my 9th birthday, my grandfather took me to get a real Christmas tree! We brought my father and my little brother along for the ride. My grandfather wanted a regular fir tree like me but my father had a better idea, he wanted to go cut down our tree from the MNR's experimental tree crops out by the power plant. My father, my little brother and I squeezed into my grandfather's single cab pickup truck and we were off!

It always bugged me, the entitlement my parents had towards smoking. Even in my grandfather's truck, a non-smoker, my father would pull out a cigarette and light it. Windows shut. I could tell my grandfather was bothered by the smoke too when he brought his window down a bit. The truck was cold because of the wear to its body; the rust had pierced through part of the flooring. My father ended up cracking his window too, leaving us to freeze even more! My father blabbed on and on. His stories can be entertaining but after a while of hearing them it gets annoying because you realize that you never get the full truth. You can't repeat those stories to anyone without making yourself look like a fool for believing him. When he tells it, it seems plausible but then later, when you have time to process his story, you realize it's all a crock of shit. I think my grandfather knew this too by the way he'd go "hmm hmm" from time to time. He never asked questions because he realized the truth was not something my father tells very often.

We parked at the Power Plant. My grandfather got out to get his box saw from the back of the truck. My grandfather then came around to help my little brother and I out of the truck as my father had left us behind, walking towards the bush trail. We started walking. It felt like we had been walking forever when we finally reached the patch of experimental fir/pine trees.

"Look up at the top of the trees!" my father said, "We're taking down the whole tree but we're only keeping the top part."

I started looking up. The trees were tall. It was hard to see the shapes at the top. 

"What about this one?" I pointed up.

My father said "Maybe."

He called my grandfather, who was off by himself ahead of us a bit.

He was looking for a fir tree to put in front of his house, he didn't want an experimental tree that could result in charges being laid against him. He was always smart that way unlike my father.

My grandfather started cutting the tree down. By this point, my feet were frozen. So as my grandfather was cutting down this tree, my father was removing my boots from my feet. 

"What are you doing?" I yelled, "My feet are cold! I need my boots!"

"Just hold on! You'll see! This works!" he says.

He proceeded to remove my socks and set them aside with the boots in the snow. He began rubbing snow over my feet.

He then put my socks back on my feet and helped me get my winter boots on.

Oddly enough, he was right. My feet felt warm again. 

The tree came down and we all walked over to look at the tip of it. "It has too many holes. It's not even enough. Your mother likes perfection."

We picked everything up and kept walking through the bush.

My grandfather had found his large fir tree further ahead away from the patch of experimental trees. He had dragged his tree onto the trail to pick up on our way back.

We kept walking down the trail more. I was getting tired.

My little brother pointed up. "This one."

My grandfather started cutting the tree. This time it was my little brother's feet that were freezing. My father was rubbing his feet with snow. 

We ran over to the top of the tree to take a look.

"Perfect!" my father exclaimed!

He took the box saw from my grandfather and cut top 6 feet off. There was our tree!

I couldn't help but think we were wasting these super special trees. I have to give it to my father though, the experimental pine trees are stunning with their long needles. It was different and it was really pretty.

My father and my grandfather dragged the trees as we walked back to the truck. My little brother was beaming with pride for having found the perfect tree. He is pretty awesome for finding it because I was honestly getting tired of all the walking! The smile on my face was because this walk from hell was about to come to an end. It was cold out that day. 

My grandfather dropped us all off at home with our tree before heading home. It was weird. He didn't come in. He was short with my parents and just left. My stomach felt off watching him drive away.

We brought the tree inside. I was excited to help decorate it!

My mother had gotten the red and green tree stand out from the evil closet and everything was set to go.

My parents set the tree up in the stand together. Once the tree was secured, we started taking our winter gear off. My mother was already on her knees putting on the tree skirt. I ran to her to see what I could do to help.

"Get out of the way!" she yelled.

Apparently we weren't allowed to decorate our tree because as kids we couldn't balance out the tree ornaments asthetiscally like she could. It has to look good.

I went to my bedroom and cried.

I really wanted to decorate the tree that we had walked hours to go get. It was our tree. It belonged to my brother and I. It was my birthday gift.

Later that evening the tree was perfectly decorated. No holes between the ornaments. It was beautiful and perfect.

Perfection sucks. Perfection is ruining my life! 

I hate how everything always has to look perfect. I'm falling apart on the inside! Do you know she wakes me up at night? Like every night? She comes to my bedroom to refold all my clothing in my dressers as I sleep! She cleans everything perfect all the time. 

I find perfect exhausting.

I think perfect is unattainable.

I give up on being perfect.

Why keep trying? 

I'll never be perfect.

My mother already made that ample clear.

I just wanted a night of fun decorating a tree and drinking hot chocolate with my little brother. I wanted a good memory to draw back on when things get tough because they do get tough. 

The night of my 9th birthday I started praying to God to come get me. I was ready to go home. I cried myself to sleep. I didn't want to live anymore. There's nothing left to look forward to. 

**

Heartbreak

*every time I've told this story, I'd be punished. The last time I was punished for it, was when I told the police officer on my case; I was in my twenties. I'm sharing it because even though it didn't happen to me, it affected me deeply.*

My uncle Claude was over. My father and my uncle had dragged my little brother into the bathroom. They raised him up on top of the washer dryer, closed and locked the bathroom door.

I was in the hallway outside of the bathroom door. I could hear my little brother crying out. I tried the door knob. It was locked.

I ran to the phone. There was always a pen around there. 

Bingo! I found a bic pen!

I pulled it apart to retrieve the ink stick!

I ran to the bathroom door.

I inserted the ink stick into the little hole in the door knob and pushed down on the release.

I turned the handle.

The door opened.

To my left were the washer/dryer units.

I couldn't see what they were doing.

"Ow! You're hurting me! Stop! Stop! You're cutting my skin!"

I tried to get in there to see.

My uncle's arm pushed me back.

A few seconds later they stopped and both left laughing. I ran to my brother.

"They cut my penis!" he says.

"How?" I asked.

He pointed to the electric lint remover on top of the washer. 

"It must hurt a lot. Go sit on the toilet." I told him.

I climbed up on top of the sink vanity unit to reach into the medecine cabinet.

I reached for the white tube with the red rectangles. This was the home tube of canesten I was told to use for my torn skin on my vagina.

I hopped back down.

I looked at my little brother. He was really upset and crying.

"It's okay. I got this magic cream buddy. It fixes everything down there." I told him as I walked towards him.

He spread his legs to expose his genitals.

Fuck it looked horrible! 

They fucking maimed him! There were so many cuts everywhere. There was blood.

"Gimme your finger!" I unscrewed the cap on the tube and squeezed it onto his finger.

I then put some on my finger.

I got down on my knees in front of the toilet, "You get that side; I'll get this side.".

It looked so raw I was afraid to touch him and hurt him. I gently began applying cream to his cuts. 

When we were done, I jumped back up on the sink to put the tube away.

"Just grab the tube and add more later if it hurts again k?"

I hugged him, "It'll be okay.".

**

Childhood Ends

 The summer when I was 9 years old, is the summer I remember as my last free summer. My mother was nearing the end of her pregnancy. She had gone off on maternity leave early or took sick leave. School was out. I had my best friend, my little brother, home to play with when he wasn't busy playing with his friend Josh who essentially lived right next door to our apartment building. I think my little brother knew I was lonely; he kept bringing these random little girls by our home to meet me. "Valerie! Come to the door!" he'd say, excitedly. "This is Hélène. Hélène, this is my sister Valerie.". Replace Hélène with Sonia. Replace Sonia with Jennifer. He had this revolving door of little girls ready to come play with me so they could still see him. I don't think he quite realized it at the time. It was funny to watch. These friendships never really took off.

I was starting in a new school after summer break. I had argued my case for months and I had won. Not because of anything I said, but because my little brother was struggling at school and my mother kept running into walls trying to advocate on his behalf. They wanted to see howI would do, if they would have the supports in place for my transition, in the hopes that they would be able to help my little brother. Honestly, I didn't care why I was going! I just cared that I was going! I'm going to go to my grandfather's school! I was nervous. I couldn't speak any English yet. My uncle Claude was over a lot that summer and he taught me a few English words. He taught me all the swear words first, nothing useful for school! I found a French-English dictionary. I started reading it. I needed to learn more words. I was super nervous. I was worried the kids there would hate me too. I don't know what I'll do if that happens.

My uncle Claude lived in what was called the "All North building". Seperating his building and our 4plex were two sets of low income housing buildings, a huge field and a gravel yard. In the gravel yard, which was fenced, was a small house. This small house had just one room; like a shed or a small office. The windows and the door were missing and it was covered with white siding. My little brother and I played there often. The floor tiles were a faded red and cracked under your feet as you walked. It was like having our very own private club house! Of course, there were times where other kids were busy playing in it and we had to wait until it was free.

A lot of the kids from the area loved my uncle Claude. At certain times, when he saw a lot of kids outside, he would whistle to call all the kids over under his balcony. He would then throw handfuls of change over his balcony and watch the kids fight for it. I was impressed because there were loonies in those handfuls! My parents kept all of those because they were worth a lot so for him to be giving them out so freely was odd to me. When my little brother and I went to visit him and his room mate, we were often given big handfuls of change as well. He also paid me to wash his dishes and do general cleaning in their kitchen and living room. My father had warned me to never go into my uncle's bedroom or his roommate Paul's bedroom. I was to stay out of there at all times. My father didn't like it when I went over there on my own so I took my little brother. My uncle sat on his sofa with his black and dark green guitar with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. As his fingers danced over the strings, he made his music come to life through his facial expressions, gestures and feet stomping. I thought he was pure awesomeness. I loved watching him play. He was very entertaining and he was my favourite! All my uncles could play the guitar but this uncle did it best! I could listen to him play forever!

I started grade 5 in my grandfather's school. My teacher and I had the same shoe size and she spoke fluent French! I ran to her for everything! She was my safe place when nothing made sense, and not understanding a new language yet sure adds to a person feeling lost. I still hid bleach burns on my ankles and on my bum from everyone. My favourite part about my new school is that I didn't need to change my clothes for gym class. My mother had bought me the school gym clothes but I never needed to use them. This uniform was pretty cool though; black jogging pants with a yellow t-shirt. That's when yellow became my favourite colour. I felt safe at school. For the first time in a very long time, I started to feel like maybe I belonged. There were no cliques in this school. Everyone was the same. I loved everyone in my class; even the boy I shared an EA with! He was pretty funny and charismatic, it was hard not to like him. I worked hard to keep up to him in class. I spent my evenings trying to read my English short story book using a French-English dictionary. I had to make this work so I worked hard at learning this new language. The best part was running into my grandfather in late afternoons when going to the bathroom on my own. I'd sneak over for a quick hug! Life was pretty great during school hours. All my dreams were coming true. I especially loved my first Carnival celebration. My first Carnival, students from my group met up in the lifeskills room downstairs. We called ourselves the "wolves". The teacher gave me the bristle board to take home to make our poster. I was so proud! I brought this thing home and couldn't stop smiling! My uncle Claude is an amazing artist. He could draw ANYTHING! I called him over for help! He totally blew me away with his wolf drawing! I had a great time working with him; he let me colour it with marker. He didn't yell at me like my father did when colouring a butterfly back in kindergarten. The best part? My new friends loved the poster! I was beaming with pride.

My baby brother was born in October of that year. I was home when he was born. It was the weekend. My parents had left early that morning after my mother's water broke in the kitchen. She insisted on cleaning it up before leaving the house. I watched her try to clean up the mess with a towel as my father hovered around her. She reached for the mop inside the evil closet and started running a bucket of soapy water in the kitchen sink. I actually like the smell of Pinesol; it made the house smell nice. I watched her mop the floor and put everything away before my father led her out of the house. I was told to wait by the stairs for my uncle Claude to come over to watch us. The morning was quiet. My uncle was helping my little brother colour when the phone rang. I ran to the wall in the living room where the phone hung and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" I answerred. It was my father. "You have a baby brother! It's a boy!". "Can you go double check? I don't want another brother." I told him. My father got angry and started yelling. I pulled the phone away from my ear, pulled on the extra long coiled cord to untangle it and handed my uncle the phone. "Here!" I told him.

My father came back that night. I made bologna sandwiches to feed everyone for dinner. It was one of the few things I knew how to make. My uncle and my father didn't make meals for us that day. My cooking skills were quite limited at that age. My grandmother had taught me how to make tomato sandwiches using the toaster and she had taught me how to make bologna sandwiches when I was with her. Thankfully she watched me often and we were very close. She was teaching me stuff. Like how to make jam with those tiny little wild strawberries she insisted on picking every year! I found the picking tedious, long and boring but she loved picking them so I went with her when she asked. My grandmother was my best friend, I was on the phone with her almost every day and it pissed my mother off like you wouldn't believe! I enjoyed my time with her. She was teaching me all kinds of great stuff even if my mother said it wasn't done the right way. My grandmother taught me that there are always more than one way to do something and that I should always try to find the best way that works for me. She was self taught, and in a lot of ways I found her inspiring. My mother kept calling her a liar but she never once lied to me. She and I made a pact that I would go see her the morning of all my birthdays before I saw anyone else. She made me promise not to hurt myself. She said the next birthday would be my best one yet.

When I woke up that Monday morning, my mother was still in the hospital with my baby brother. I had never really dressed myself before. Whenever I tried, my mother told me that I never did it properly. My mother dressed me every morning so that I would look perfectly put together. There was no one home. My father had gone to the school for the first part of his day shift. When he came back home to drive us to school he was surprised to find that we were not dressed as my little brother and I didn't know how. 

He came to my bedroom. "Is there anything in that closet that you know how to put on by yourself?" he asked.

"The jogging pants and sweaters I get to wear on the weekend." I told him. "Grandmaman taught me how to put those on."

"Wear weekend clothes then! When you're done, go help your little brother!" he added.

He left for the kitchen. To make toast I think.

I looked through my closet. I pulled down a pair of cotton joggers and a sweater. I put it on my bed. I grabbed underwear and socks. Put that on my bed too.

I then went to my little brother's bedroom. "Any idea what you feel like wearing from your weekend joggers this morning?"

He pointed up to his He-Man set. I reached up and got it down for him. "Do you know where your socks and underwear are?"

"I'll get them!" he said.

"Start by changing your underwear. When you got that done, try putting on your socks." I instructed, "I'm going to go do the same in my bedroom. When you get to the pants, I'll show you how. You can watch me put mine on."

I left for my bedroom and closed my door behind me. I changed my underwear and put socks on. I opened my bedroom door. My brother opened his too. I lay my pants down straight on the floor in front of me right in my doorway so he could see.

"Just line up your legs in the holes, pull the pants up over your legs until your feet come through at the other end...like this. Then you stand up and pull the waist up. Boom! Easy!"

He pulled his pants on and got up. "What about the top?" he asked.

When my father came back to check on us, we were stuck in our sweaters trying to find the way out. I heard him walk into my bedroom. When he got to me, my father pulled my sweater over my head and tugged at it one way before helping push my arms through. Then he went to my little brother and did the same.

I followed them into the kitchen. My father had made us toast but he didn't cut it the same way our mother did. My little brother was upset. I could relate. We were used to a strict routine where we were pushed along like a car in a factory.

We ate some of our toast and then it was time to go.

"What about my hair?" I asked.

"You don't know how to brush your hair by yourself?! Of course you can't!" he was getting frustrated, "Just grab a brush and some elastics and bring it to school."

My little brother and I sat on the bottom step of the stairway leading outside. We were waiting for him to dress us up in our winter gear.

"You don't know how to put your winter stuff on either?!! Okay well, I'm at work right now. I don't have the time for this. Bring your snow pants and hats. I know you can put a coat on! I'll help with the boots." He got down on one knee as my mother always had. He put my brother's feet into his boots while I managed to slip mine on.

"Time to go! Get in the car!" he announced.

We ran to the car with our arms full of clothing and school stuff.

I felt rushed.  

We dropped my little brother off at school, his EA met us outside. Then my father and I headed back to my new school.

It was early. Class hadn't started yet. My French teacher was in the hallway sipping her coffee where I usually put my coat up. When she saw me, she pulled me into her classroom! "Oh! Look at you this morning! Dads are really not good when it comes to this stuff!" she laughed, "Come with me! I'll do your hair for you!". She led me to one of those plastic vinyl chairs. The ones in her class were mostly wine red and black in colour. I sat down and pulled open my school bag. I handed her my brush and whatever elastics I managed to grab. She was gentle. She was the third person other than my mother to brush my hair. She never made any comments about my head being crooked and warped. Maybe it was growing into a rounder shape as I got older. Or maybe she was so stunned and she didn't want to say anything that could upset me.

We talked for a bit. Her brother is a French author. She was letting me borrow her copies of his books. The books were advanced but I understood them. I could get into the stories because they were written using my home town as a setting. I think she enjoyed the private discussions after every book I read and to be honest, I did too. She made me think.

I was in class when my father came to get me with my little brother so I could go to the hospital to meet my new baby brother. "A new baby brother!" my teacher gushed, "Have a great first visit!". 

I didn't really want to leave class.

I didn't want another brother.

I was happy with the brother I already had.

I held my baby brother for the first time in my mother's hospital room. I fell in love with him right away. He was so beautiful and so small! It was hard leaving my mother and my baby brother behind but my father had to go back to work. I left with tears in my eyes. Maybe having another brother would be okay. Maybe things could change for the best. My father worked alongside my grandfather now, maybe my grandfather was rubbing off on him. Maybe this would be okay.

My father's baby sister was still in high school at the time. My father reached out to her for help. She came home from school with us that day. She was going to stay with us for a while because my mother had lost a lot of blood during the delivery and being that she was thirty, they were concerned she would experience complications post partum. My aunt was 15 or 16 at the time. She was going to take over the housework and caring for us while my mother stayed in the hospital and also afterwards, when she got home and still had to be on bed rest.

My aunt worked really hard in our house. She did the dishes and the laundry. She cooked for us. She bathed us. She took really good care of us but she was really strict. She didn't give me the affection she usually did when I spent time with her at her house. I used to really love her but over the past few years our relationship had deteriorated over her babysitting skills. I had a cousin the same age as my aunt and my cousin was a lot nicer to me. I kind of wished my cousin could be here to babysit instead. She was a lot gentler with us. She didn't hit us like my aunt did. She didn't yell like my aunt did. That cousin, also my mother's God daughter, was from my mom's side and she was in the same grade as my aunt. She babysat too sometimes. I adored her. She was my favourite babysitter. At her house, she had the coolest Barbie stuff! She had this super cool Barbie haircresser set with this machine that could braid hair! When my mother's sister babysat me, it was the best! I really wish she could be my mom. She babysat me a lot for a while but I would throw a tantrum refusing to leave her house when my parents tried picking me up, so I wasn't being babysat there anymore. I loved her house. Her blue bathroom was cool and she even had blue bubble bath that matched! The bubble bath wasn't even decorative! She let me use it! My uncle read me stories and sang to me before bed. My aunt bought me Strawberry Shortcake cereal. Why would I ever want to leave this paradise? I was happy there but it doesn't matter, I couldn't go there anymore. It wasn't allowed. My father's little sister was the next best choice I guess.

The first few days he was home, my baby brother didn't have a name. My parents couldn't agree on a name. My mother rocked him and called him "beautiful baby". I watched my little brother cram his body into the wooden magazine rack attached to a lamp that was sitting next to the rocking chair. I smiled remembering how that used to be me. My father's sister and his youngest brother were going to be my baby brother's God parents. My uncle came to visit a lot. They helped my parents choose my baby brother's name; my uncle actually suggested the winning name.

Even on bed rest, my mother's nocturnal clothing folding habits resumed. Within a few days my aunt noticed my mother was re-folding the laundry behind her. She would empty out the linen closet and spend her nights refolding towels. She re-folded all of our clothing. My aunt got really upset. She was working so hard and my mother was never satisfied with any of her work. She was re-washing things behind my aunt's back. My father's little sister decided she had had enough after a while and went home early. My mother was happier that way, she doesn't like strange people touching her stuff. She knew every time I played with her earrings. She didn't like me touching her stuff either. 

I was in the bathroom when I started screaming. There was blood in the toilet and pooping really hurt now. "It's genetic." my father said, "We all poop blood in my family."

My mother didn't seem completely convinced. "I'm calling the doctor's office to make an appointment." she told him, "Just to be safe. You never know with her.".

"I'll take her. I can grab her and just leave right from work." he insisted.

The medical clinic building was located next to the hospital. Part of it was occupied by the Porcupine Health Unit and the front part had all the doctor's offices. I turned right at the top of the stairs as I walked through the cramped hallway which was also a makeshift waiting room area for all four physicians located there. First hallway on the left we turned and registered with reception. We were then told to be seated.

"Tell him you have big poops. Tell him it's hard for you to poop." he began.

"Valérie Deschamps!" the receptionist called out.

We met her in the hallway and followed her to the first room on the left just past reception.

My family doctor was an older man. He was short compared to my father and had a ring of white hair on top of his bald head. He had a mole by his eye. It stuck out from under his glasses, and I couldn't stop starring at it. He looked directly at me with his piercing blue eyes, "What brings you here today?".

I looked at my father.

"She has bowel issues. She has blood in her stool." my father answerred for me.

"Come with me into my exam room." he says.

To the left was a window that opened to the receptionist's desk. To the right was a doorway that led to his exam room. Inside was a scale, a chair, some storage cabinet and a hand sink. I followed him through the doorway. My father followed behind me.

"Sit up here." he tapped at his table.

He ended up giving me a full exam. He took my blood pressure. He had me breathe in and out as he held his stethoscope against my upper back to listen. He then had me change into a gown.

He and my father were talking the whole time. I felt uncomfortable. He was asking me questions. "How are your poops?" he asked.

"Good." I answered.

I winced when he examined the tears.

"Let's go talk out there." he motioned my father back to his office, "Stay here until I come get you. You can get dressed." he added looking at me.

I couldn't hear what they were talking about. 

When I came out the doctor looked at me, "You have tears in your anus. I'm going to prescribe you something to help with that."

He was smoking a cigarette by then. Rotmans. White pack with a blue oval on the front. I recognized them because sometimes my grandmother sends me out to buy some. She gave me a lot of money for these cigarette runs at the Corner Store and I wasn't allowed to tell anyone about it. I never did, until right now. He put his cigarette in his ashtray as he pulled out his prescription pad from a desk drawer. 

"This tube has an applicator. This cream really helps with anal tears." he continued, "After you poop and you're done wiping, you can insert the applicator in your anus and squeeze a little cream out. You should feel a lot better within a few days."

This would be the last time I would see Dr. Polnicky. I'm not sure why. My father told my mother it was time for us to look at getting another family doctor. My father took the paper from him and we left. We drove home from there. I went into our house and walked to my bedroom. My mother came to see me. "I'll go get your prescription. Dad will give me a ride. We'll be back in a bit. Here! You can cuddle with your baby brother while we're gone."

I held him in my arms. I started talking to him. I told my baby brother everything. He was too little to talk and repeat what I told him, so he was my perfect safe person. I could tell him anything and everything, no one would know. I sang to him. He was pretty perfect; my new best friend.

My mother came back and gave me this blue and white box. "Nupercainal" it read. I took the box to the bathroom and put it within reach of the toilet so it would be easy to grab. As it turns out, this new cream was the new 'magic' cream and it replaced the red and white tube from that point on. My mother saw it was available over the counter which made it easy for her to get for me without the hassle of going through another degrading exam.

She did get me a new doctor though. Dr. Laflèche. He was a much younger doctor. He prescribed stool softeners. He gave my mother a recipe where she mixed bran flakes with apple sauce and prune juice. That recipe was absolutely disgusting. My poops were as great as they'd ever been but I still had plenty of anal tears and had to rely on the blue and white boxed tube fairly often.

My father didn't do diapers. Every time my mother left the house, he handed me the baby. The first time I changed him, I was trying to remember everything my aunt did as I had watched her change him often. I was careful. He was so small! 

I got used to caring for my baby brother fairly quickly. I woke up at night when he cried. I would get his bottle ready and feed him when my mother wouldn't wake up. I craddled him in my bed with me. He became my reason to hold on. My baby brother became my whole world. I had no time for friends anymore. 

March break when I was 10, my baby brother was barely 5 months old was the first time I watched him overnight. My parents made plans to go ice fishing with some of their friends. My stomach and my gut always hurt. I wasn't in the mood to go. I told them I was sick. The plan was that I would babysit, even sick, while they went. They took my little brother since he and I didn't get along as much anymore. I had one rule: I wasn't allowed to call my grandmother, she wasn't to know about any of this. They were gone for 2 nights.

My stomach was bugging me all the time. My gut was crampy and my stomach burned my throat every single day. By the end of grade 5, I held a steady routine in my baby brother's life. He was by my side almost all the time like a super awesome sidekick.

I loved him like I never loved anyone before. 

I kept him safe now.

I would always keep him safe.

I would even die for him.

A big part of me will die for him.

Grade 6, my parents' finances took a big hit. Something on their taxes went wrong they said. I don't know what the truth is but I can tell you that we barely had any food at home. The cupboards were bare. My parents always had cartons of cigarettes in their cupboard though. We mainly ate toasted bread we dipped in a bowl half filled with canned tomatoes. 

"For as long as we can afford bread, milk, eggs and butter; we will be okay." my mother would say.

My parents started bringing home cases of toilet paper from the school. My father was put in charge of orderring maintenance supplies. We would go in the evening to grab all of this stuff which was put in the storage room my grandfather had dug out underneath the school. The snowblower was kept there too! When the order came in, he stored what came home down there where no one would see. My job was to remove the blue paper covering on every single roll. My parents kept the rolls at home for us to use along with a case of kleenex boxes. My father gave these plastic Kimberly-Clarke toilet paper dispensers to his family in Mattice. He brought cases of the special toilet paper to them as well. We did this routine every month. I laughed when my grandmother decorated her dispenser with mudge podge and fabric. She used black and white fabric to match the decor in her bathroom. I thought it made it more obvious that they used stolen toilet paper but that's just me!

I was grateful I still ate lunch at my maternal grandparents' house; we were at least guaranteed one solid meal five days a week eating there. My cousins ate lunch with us but their mother had bought them mini frozen pizzas, so they didn't eat the same food as us. I didn't care, at least I was getting a solid meal that day. My little brother was a bit sad though; he really loves pizza and it was hard for him to watch them have pizza. I wished I could somehow give him some pizza too but I don't even get to keep my birthday money every year.

Christmas that year the perfectly decorated tree was bare underneath. My mother had been too proud to grab extra plates of food at my grandparents' house the night before. We had bread. Water. Milk. I was discouraged. 

My father's cousin Clem showed up out of nowhere that night. When he saw how bad things were, he left with my father and they came back with french fries and pop! Doyon Restaurant was open! I was so excited! He turned what was the worst of all Christmases, into the best Christmas ever! The next day, the 26th, would be okay. We would have a lot to eat in Mattice with my father's family.

Being food insecure is hard when you're a kid. I started overeating a lot over it. I would often eat until I felt sick. I was always more concerned about my next meal than I should have been. I started gaining weight quickly. The name calling started at home again. I was now called "Crisse de grosse vache!".

My self esteem was down the tubes.

I held on to my baby brother, he was my biggest source of joy. My grandparents came in a close second. I never thought I could love anyone more than I loved my grandparents until he was born.

We ended up having to move back in with my grandparents. Except this time I wasn't getting the purple bedroom; my mother was painting the three spare bedrooms upstairs. This was to be a long term stay so my mother wanted our bedrooms together. When we lived on the same floor as our grandparents, my mother's sister and my uncle always insisted on sleeping in the blue bedroom, displacing my brother in the process. With his learning disability he needed routine with no disruptions. The last time we had lived with my grandparents was hard on my little brother for that very reason. They kept fucking with his sleep routine by making him sleep elsewhere at least once a week. I'm sure that didn't help with my little brother's schooling. This time, my mother made sure that this wouldn't happen to him again. I wish things could have been different but my aunt and uncle's behaviour would end up giving my father the privacy he needed to abuse us more.

My mother let me pick my new bedroom colours. I wanted a green bedroom because I read that it helps with relaxation. I have a hard time sleeping. I've been taking gravol before bed to help me sleep. I steal them out of medecine cabinets everywhere I go! It helps sometimes.

The OPP started a new program that year. The VIP program. I found out that this cough syrup, Novahistex, was used on the streets to get high. I kept that in the back of my head. All the drugs that could be accessible to me without having to go through anyone. I had suicidal ideations. I was starting to plan my end game. Not now though. I'm not ready to die right now but when my brothers are safe, I'm done with this shit. I'm leaving this shit life.

In grade 7 I joined the Hearst Army Cadets. They had a free camp. I saw that as my escape from home for the summer. Plus, they pay you to go if you go 6 weeks. It sounded like paradise to me. I bought a book at the school's book fair to learn how to French braid my hair to hide efficiently under my beret. 

I thought marching around in circles was stupid but there's a camp vacation coming my way, so I marched on twice a week every week! I learned how to shoot a gun. I learned how to clean a gun. I learned the phonetic alphabet. I learned how to start a camp fire; I gained many survival skills that could come in handy if I ever chose to run away. Friends? Well, I'm traumatized and my social skills were lacking. It's cool though, I have my whole school classroom filled with friends! I didn't really care if kids from the school I used to attend didn't like me. I know I'm different. I don't think like everyone else. The school I was going to now, those kids didn't care that I was different. We were a big family. Period.

Some time after we moved in with my grandparents, my father got a vasectomy. It was explained to me as though they were going to cut on both sides of the shaft of his penis to tie off the tubing that carried the sperm. Simple explanation. "Your father won't be able to walk fast or run for a while." my mother said, "You'll have to help him when I'm at work.".

What did I hear? 

I heard 'You can now run from him and he can't catch you for the next while.'

I planned on hiding with my grandparents on the main floor the whole time.

**

The one time I got away

My grandparents are gone on vacation. I hate when they leave like that. Their floor seems so empty. I miss them and it feels awkward being in their house when they aren't there. I walked through their part of the house, just looking around, sort of hoping they'd somehow be there. I went to their bathroom, looking through their medicine cabinet, there wasn't much in there. There was a dental ache remedy jiffy or something. And there was Dristan! My grandfather took a lot of Dristan. He always had a bottle full and more in a box as backup. I knew he wouldn't miss them. He might not even notice. I picked up the bottle, opened it and shook it over my hand to get some pills out. Life today is hard to handle. I've been coping by trying every pill I could find hoping to die. Handfuls. My mother started hiding the medication in her underwear drawer. It made it harder to get to but not impossible. I stole from it often.

I screwed the cap back on and put the bottle back in its place. I'd have to make this handful last; I was leaving for cadet camp soon. My mother had been busy packing this huge duffel bag to bring with me. She had bought me these really cute skirts to wear. Camp was better than staying here while my grandparents are gone. 

I climbed up the stairs to the third floor. I went to my bedroom and put the 14 or so Dristan into a tissue paper. I formed it into a ball and stuffed it in my closet. I had a purple fanny pack hanging on the back of the door. It's one of the places I hid my pills. I had several places simply because if my mother found one stash, she wouldn't find all my pills. 

My father was sleeping. He always slept hard. It was late in the morning. I decided to try stealing more pills from my mother's underwear drawer. If I got caught, I had planned on grabbing her socks and saying I had to borrow a pair. Stealthily, I approached her dresser. Looking back at their bed, I can see my father is still sleeping. He was snoring lightly. I gently pulled the drawer out just enough to get my hand in it. I took 6 pills here and 5 pills there and my hand was full. I carefully pushed the drawer back but it made a noise. I looked back at their bed. My father was waking up. I grabbed socks out of the drawer and stuffed my pills inside. I was almost out the door when he sat up and asked me what I was doing in his room. I showed him the pair of socks I had taken. 

"You better not be taking her medication. She moved it there for a reason." my father said.

"She can't stop me." I started...

He grabbed me and pulled me into bed with him. He held me tightly in his arms. 

I was trying to sit up and get out but I couldn't. He was holding me too tightly. His hands started feeling around under my clothes.

"Dad! Stop! I don't like this. Stop!"

I kept trying to sit up and he kept holding me down in their bed. 

This was a bad idea coming in here.

Fuck.

How do I get out of this? He won't let me go.

His hand was down there, caressing me.

I felt nauseous. I kept fighting. I kept trying to sit up.

Nothing I did worked.

I could feel his hardened penis pressing against my bum. 

I gotta get out of his grip now!

I keep trying to sit up but he's just too strong. He held me there.

Then the noise. It was the door downstairs. It was slammed shut.

Someone came in the house. 

It was my mother. "Roger! Are you up there?"

She was heading upstairs. We could hear her.

My father let me go. I ran across the makeshift living room in the hallway to my bedroom and shut the door. Next to my door was a desk with shelves above it. On there was this music box that used to hold potpourri, it was another one of my hiding spots. I spend my time finding new ways to hide stolen medications. I unrolled the socks to grab the pills. I pulled out the stuff at the top. At the bottom was a tissue paper. I added my new handful into the tissue paper and put everything back.

The cough and cold pills make me feel fuzzy, and I need to feel fuzzy; it helps me get through my day. Gravol helps me sleep. 

I'm barely holding on.

I'm going to camp soon. 

**

The Friend that Wasn't

In grade 7, the Ontario Provincial Police with the Porcupine Health Unit, held a presentation on child abuse in my class. I had a few best friends at the time. Around this time, my best friend Dawn was eating lunch at my grandparents house with me. Her parents had signed the consent form so that she could leave the school grounds. 

Our family kitchen was located in the basement of my grandparents' home. It was about a block away from our school. We had a huge kitchen with several refrigerators at the back. Before we moved in, the room was mostly used for food storage over the holidays and occasionally my grandparents used the table to build these massive intricate small piece puzzles together. And now, we ate there. 

I really enjoyed my mother's cooking and so did my friend. After we ate, there was always time to play a bit. Sometimes we played at school but other times we played at my place.

We played Nintendo in the basement living room that day. My father started picking on me in front of my friend. I was getting mouthy right back at him. I was sure he wouldn't touch me with my friend there. Boy was I wrong! 

My father grabbed me by the throat and lifted me up in the air. Spit was spraying from his mouth as he spoke. He was livid at my disrespect towards him. He held me with his left hand by the throat as his right hand hit my left side repeatedly. He hit my torso. He hit my butt cheek. He hit my upper thigh. I could feel the sting from every hit. He just kept hitting me.

After what felt like an eternity, he threw me across the room where I landed in front of my grandparents' pull out couch. I somehow hit my head in the process. I got right back up. My left side hurt. 

"Stop! Her friend is here!" my mother pleaded. She started pulling my father away and out of the room but it was too late.

Dawn saw everything. 

She is the only person to have witnessed my father beating me. 

On the way back to school I begged and pleaded with her not to say anything. "Please!" I said, "It doesn't happen that often."

I was limping from pain. I'm not sure I was convincing.

I lied to her. I got hit often. I was told that I deserved to get hit. I earned every smack, punch and neck grab I got. When he threw me across the room, I deserved it too. He threw me often like that. He would pick me up by the throat and throw me hard. Apparently, I deserve all of it. I try but I can't be the person they want me to be. I try so hard. I'm just a burden to my family. I also take most of the blame on things instead of my brothers because my mother always said "Be good to your brothers. Take good care of them and protect them because some day you might need them. If you're good to them, they will be there for you when you need them." 

I took that as a rule to life. I believed my mother when she told me I had to protect them. I also believed her when she said they would be there for me.

Dawn stopped being my friend after this. I'd lost my best friend. I was heartbroken. She was sending me back every gift I ever gave her through mail. She started writing me nasty letters. Her reaction just broke me. 

I really thought she was my friend.

She moved away to Kapuskasing. I went to visit her once. That's when I knew that the friendship was over. 

I had another friend who lived in Jogues. She was the only other friend to stay overnight at my place. From that point forward, I was careful around my father when I had this friend over. I didn't want to lose her too. I would put my ear to the wall to hear what channel the tv was on when she came over. If it was on TSN, it meant my father was upstairs. I would then hang out downstairs with her instead of going to my room. I avoided my father as much as possible when my friend was at my place. I wasn't going to lose her.

I had a lot of friends at school, but like only one friend in town. There were dances at school and at the arena. I was too scared to go to stuff like that alone. Most people arrived in groups. I still had one friend from the French school system that lived in town right behind my grandparents' house but she had her group of friends already. Although I still hung out with her often and I cared about her a lot, I didn't think I would fit in with her friends. 

This friend did help me a lot though, probably more than she knows. We traded jeans for a while. My jeans were always tight. My mother wanted me to lose weight so she bought my clothing a size smaller. Her jeans fit better and didn't cut into my gut when I sat down like mine did. She had these curve hugging stretchy jeans. Omg! So comfy. 

They were sold at the Northern store. My mother hated that I was wearing cheap jeans. I loved that she hated it and I loved that my friend's jeans didn't strangle my torso every time I sat down!

She was amazing for trading clothes with me! She was thinner than me so my clothes fit her perfectly. Thanks to her, I didn't have that red line around my waist for almost a year! 

**

The Busy Summer

I was getting ready to leave for cadet camp! I was so excited! I had my second cousin who was going along with a few girls I'd previously gone to school with at École St. Louis. I was nervous.

The night before I was to leave, my father insisted on giving me a massage.

"Dad, I'm okay. I'm not really sore right now." I tried to explain.

"C'mon! You're going to feel so much better going on this trip relaxed." he insisted.

He came into my bedroom holding a yellow bottle of Vaseline lotion. 

"Fine." I lay down face forward on my bed and lifted my shirt up to expose the skin on my back.

"You should take the shirt off." He says.

My bedroom door was still open. My brothers were around. 

At the beach I take my shirt off and untie my bathing suit top to tan my back. I figured, it's kind of the same thing.

"Sure." I said as I pulled it over my head.

He began squeezing lotion onto my back. It felt cold. He massaged my shoulders, my arms, my back and then he pulled my pants down half way down my bum. I started to protest but he said that a lot of the back muscles start mid bum. 

For all intents and purposes this massage was a proper massage until he started massaging my upper thighs.

"Dad. Your thumbs. That hurts." I started.

"Do you think I want to touch it? No! It's an accident!" he made me feel guilty for even mentioning it but his thumb nails were digging into the folds of my vagina and it felt uncomfortable. Like it hurt when his nails cut into my skin.

He left my room leaving me to feel guilty as I went over what had just happened inside my head. Had I really over reacted? Maybe. I wasn't sure anymore.

The next morning my parents dropped me off at the bus station. I carried my heavy bags with me. My big duffel bag was put under the bus. I found an empty seat and sat down.

This was going to be a long bus ride. I was on my way to Ipperwash.

Behind me, in the opposite aisle, sat my biggest newest crush. I was so shy. There was no way I could actually speak to him. He was a lot older than me. Well, not really but sort of. 3 years just seems like a lot when you're only 12 years old. He might as well have been 20. Either way, he was way out of my league. I still looked over from time to time. I would feel myself blush as I turned away hoping he didn't see! 

We stopped in North Bay. I was so mentally set on losing weight during this trip that when we stopped at the military base for lunch, I skipped on the pink and white soft serve ice cream they had. It looked really good. 

At least, other cadets seemed to enjoy it. I barely ate. I took a bite and tossed my tray. I left the mess hall to go outside. It was sunny out. I found a place to sit outside near the bus, and I let myself feel the warmth of the sun as it hit my skin. I just sat there, eyes closed, basking in the warmth of the sun. My stomach gurgled in pain. I took some allergy medicine from my purse. Sudafed is my favourite to help control hunger. I took 6 pills and gulped them down together in one shot. That would hold me over for a while. 

I watched my crush smoke a cigarette off to the side of the building. There were other cadets smoking there. They were laughing and smiling. They made smoking look fun. The smell of cigarette smoke on my father's breath when he hurts me came to mind. 

I get that a lot. When I smell cigarette smoke. My father. The way he breathes and the sounds he makes. It permeates my mind and puts me in a bad place. Just the stale smell of cigarettes on someone's clothing can bring it all back. I'm right there again. And my appetite goes away. The painful ball that sits in my stomach makes its presence known. 

I can stop eating for weeks at a time.

My stomach just doesn't feel right.

Food feels foreign after I swallow it

All of a sudden people brushed past me. We were boarding. On our way to camp. Ipperwash, wherever that might be.

We got to camp late. I refused to eat. I grabbed a few peanut butter packets as I walked through mess hall. It was storming out.

The lightening could be seen hitting the parade square outside our barracks.

They didn't have all the beds ready for us that night so we slept on cots close to the floor.

I wrapped my hand tightly around the strap of my duffel bag in case these barracks got hit with lightning. I was terrified. I barely slept.

Morning came and we were woken early to get ready. We were out on the parade square wearing our full uniforms. 

We were handed a new uniform consisting of grey shorts and khaki t-shirts. We were each given a pair of khaki runners and sent back to our barracks. I was in company Hotel.

I was happy to see that I was getting a bottom bunk! I'm too clumsy to get a top bunk, I'd have a hard time with that.

The bathrooms had stalls for the toilets so that was okay. There were ironing boards and irons in the room behind the sinks. The showers were all in one room. No stalls. Just 4 shower heads and tiles all around.

Some of these girls were...um...developped. I was still 12 so not so much. I looked down at my flat chest and felt so out of place!

I looked down at my feet, trying to find a lineup where the girl I would share a shower with wasn't so um... developped.

Then I saw her! My new to be bestie! She too was 12! I threw myself under the shower with her! There would be nothing weird about this. And nothing to grab by accident!

God, this is weird.

But I could tell she was grateful to find me too!

I tried to approach her fully dressed.

"What are you looking at?!" She hissed!

"Maybe I'm looking at my new friend?" I offered. "My name's Valerie. What's yours?"

"Stephanie. But you can call me Steph."

From that point on, we were inseparable. She was my new best friend!

We traded mailing addresses.

We would write eachother weekly for the next 10+ years.

I only ate peanut butter packets while at camp. I barely ate. I was pretty sure my mother would be impressed. My pants were loose.

I came home from cadet camp by bus. It was late. The other cadets were all picked up by their families.

They forgot me. My father was still angry maybe.

Whatever it is, they weren't there. 

I was dropped off across the highway from where the Value Mart was.

I walked 1.6km in the dead of night all the way home to my grandparents' house.

The house was empty.

I dragged my stuff all the way upstairs to my bedroom and cried.

They forgot me.

My little brother and I had found a key. It looked like one of those antique pirate treasure type keys and it had a purple ribbon on it. We found it while exploring the many hidden closets and crawl spaces found throughout the home. We had upper and lower levels of crawling space around the walls in our bedrooms. My grandparents' house had magic in it. It was the meca of hiding spaces for hide and seekers everywhere! Kids could only dream of this house's closets!

This key could lock any door that originally came with the house .

We decided to lock the door to my grandparents' bedroom with the idea that we would show them our treasured find when they got home! We didn't anticipate that they would arrive in the dead of night.

A few weeks later my grandparents came home to find their bedroom door locked. My grandfather broke through the door frame to get into his bedroom. The following morning, my mother relayed what had happened.

I was terrified to go to their floor to say hi.

Trembling and holding the key with the purple ribbon I went down the stairs to apologize and give my grandfather the secret treasure key we had found.

My grandfather had really big hands. I have never been hit by him nor do I ever want him to spank me. The very idea made me want to puke.

In the hallway on the main floor, I walked towards him, head down not making direct eye contact with him, holding out the key towards him. 

"Did you lock the door?" He began.

I started crying "I didn't think you'd get home in the middle of the night while I was sleeping. I'm so sorry." The sobs came quickly. He was the last person I wanted to dissappoint.

He took the key from my hand and hugged me.

"I'm going to go get rid of this. Don't cry. I'll make sure this key never causes trouble again!" And he walked away with the key.

My little brother was huddled in the stairway, listening. I started to head back up the stairs but stopped to sit next to him.

"We lost the key but I don't think he's going to be mad at us for very long." I told him.

Then I stood up and ran the rest of the way up the stairs to my bedroom.

I started doing the math. My newspaper route paid $0.15 a paper. I delivered 37 newspapers every Wednesday. I crossed my fingers for tips because tips might get me to my goal faster. I need more cold and flu medications to cut my apetite. I tried saving all my paper route money before. I put it in my bank account. I got up to $117! And then my mom took it out of my account along with all my birthday money and spent it. Christmas is expensive she said. I wasn't getting the money back. I would try to save what I could and hide it. She can't take it from me and spend it if she can't find it.

I began grade 8 with the idea that I could become thin enough to be loved. What that looked like, I wasn't sure yet but I would do my best to get there.

**

Grade 8 grad

I sat near the front behind this red headed boy. He was a huge Star Trek fan like me! We spent the days teasing eachother and he'd come by my house to play Nintendo with me. The new kid became a really good friend. I don't know why but I always did get along better with boys. Maybe because I have two brothers. I'm not sure. Maybe because I can't connect with my mother in any meaningful way that it makes it harder to approach girls. If I can't please the woman who stands at the center of my universe, what chance did I have with strangers?

I kept going to cadets twice a week. I delivered the newspaper LeNord every Wednesday. I went to karate class to look after my baby brother who turned 3 that year. My mother threw him a birthday party in the school gym. She was really upset with me that I didn't have the money or the mental capacity to come up with party games. I never had a birthday party. How am I supposed to know what to do? I was never allowed to go to my friends' birthday parties. My mother gave me stupid excuses. "You can't go to Tina Doyon's birthday party because her parents don't wash the dishes properly. I'm just keeping you safe." my mother would say. Well, I told Tina what my mother said and she got really mad at me. Poof! Friendship over! I never had to worry about being invited again.

My birthday came and went. We don't really celebrate my birthday. I got a cake but my mother always got black forest cake knowing I don't like cherries. It was mostly for show. It didn't matter anyway, I was heavily restricting my calorie intake. By my birthday, I was eating 20 cheerios a day and I drank as much apple juice as possible to cleanse my digestive system. When my grandmother or my mother tried forcing me to eat, I would then hop in the shower and force myself to vomit by sticking my fingers down my throat. The shower drowned out my puking sounds. I ate. Everyone was happy. I need to fit in a size 5 by summer. My mother had these swimsuits for me in a size 5. They used to be hers. She held them up almost teasing, because I will never fit into them she told me. So I kept a detailed food diary. After Christmas, maybe February, my period stopped. My new family doctor, Dr. Laflèche, sent me for an ultrasound. "Are you taking any drugs?" he asked.

"No." I lied. I was a habitual pill thief and my habit had me taking a lot of pills to keep hunger at bay.

My family doctor admitted me to the pediatric wing. I started flushing my food to keep the nurses happy. They were busy. Not my teacher, but a teacher at my school, her little boy was in the hospital for surgery. She told me his bowels sort of fell out of place and he had to get that fixed. I felt sorry for her, she looked nervous. There was another little boy, Dustin, and he made me smile. He was maybe a year old. He had really bad asthma. I could relate. I have asthma too. His mother was somehow related to my friend Sherry from school. I played with him a lot and he had this amazing laughter. You know, the kind of laugh that starts from the belly? His mother took my phone number in case she needed a sitter and Sherry couldn't go. I was so excited!

I spent the entire March break in the hospital and it was the best vacation I had ever had! My pill supply ran dry. With whatever they gave me by IV, my next ultrasound came up clear and my period resumed. Temporarily.

While delivering the newspaper I made friends with this young mother. She had a little boy that was the same age as my baby brother. He had hair so blonde that it looked white! When he reached up for me, looking at his baby blue eyes, I couldn't resist picking him up! I began babysitting for her and I'd often bring my baby brother with me so he could have a play date! She paid me well but I lied to my mother about how much money I made so I could hold onto some of the cash. Not a lot. I kept the loonies and toonies and I gave my mother the bills. "When I was 13," she'd say, "my parents made me buy my own clothing with my babysitting money.". I don't know how to order through Sears so it's just easier that way.

After March break, my little brother found out who my crush was. I'm not sure how he figured out who his brother was. Anyway so my little brother went to karate class with my father and his katate teacher, so he could talk to my crush's brother. Pretty much, my little brother, who was always looking out for my happiness, set me up with my crush. 

I was impressed.

My new boyfriend. Scratch that. My first boyfriend showed up at my grandparents' house driving an Astro van! Yes! That's right! My boyfriend can drive! It was pure awesomeness! He took me to Pizza Place where he hung out with his friends. We drove around a lot. He was always super respectful. He opened doors. He was perfect!

Grade 8 went by in a flash. I sold a lot of chocolate to be able to go on rhe grade 8 grad trip to Toronto. I sold it all to my grandparents! We all did! I swear, when I walk into their bedroom, I can smell the chocolate stored in the armoire! It's faint but it's there! We pretty much all got to eat this chocolate over the summer break at the camp ground in Mattice. My grandparents have a camper set up there. They took us for a few weeks and then they took my cousins. I looked forward to my time with them every year.

My father invited himself on my grade 8 trip. He always did. He went on my grade 7 camping trip too. My father was generous giving cigarettes to my friends. I knew the price attached to that all too well and I wondered what Cynthia and Diana paid for them. My father had been excited to come to their rescue. I didn't bother asking. Not my circus, not my monkeys. Being responsible to keep myself and my brothers safe was a weight I was barely able to carry by myself. I couldn't carry any more at this point.

We slept in a church in Niagara Falls I think. The girls were upstairs. The boys were bunked together downstairs. I watched my teacher and the librarian set up their beds. I did the same. I climbed into my sleeping bag with my headphones on. I put the volume on very low. They didn't have to worry about me sneaking off anywhere. My father, the equivalent of everything evil, was just down the stairs. To make things even more interesting, a cemetery was just outside these church walls. I had no problem staying putt! Close to my teacher and the school librarian was THE place to be. 

To be honest, the best part of the trip was watching a movie in the mall theatre with my friends. I laughed a lot. The haunted houses in Niagara Falls were fun. I laughed so hard. The tower we climbed at the battle of York was pretty cool. I was able to mostly ignore the fact that my father was there. I was still able to make good memories despite the occasional arm grab where he would try to insert himself into my plans. Thankfully, when we were at Wonderland, my father got sick on a ride called "the bat". I managed to lose him early on.

My friends went on the Vortex, the newest ride that summer. I was too scared to go on. I would grow to add that to my list of regrets. I did get a temporary tattoo of a rose on my right ankle. I was absolutely in love with how real it looked. I also bought the picture they took of us at the entrance. They put that picture in this super cool view finder type key chain. That picture had three people I thought would always be in my life. I carried that thing around for years.

We stopped at a water park and you know what? I wore the tiny teenie size 5 swimsuits my mother said would never fit me. I was so proud of myself as I slid down the water slide. That's right! I fit in it! I thought it would fix the gap between my mother and I but it didn't. She seemed almost upset as she tossed the swimsuits on my bed. "Here."

I picked up the pink polkadot and the green polkadot swimsuits. I'm the same size she was at one point. They didn't fit her anymore but they FINALLY fit me! All those nights waking up from hunger pangs had been worth it or had they?

I was wearing these old used swimsuits discarded by my mother. My friends all had these nice new trendy suits. 

The girls in my class were all planning their graduation dresses. I had no idea what my dress would look like until the day before! My Aunt Annie and my cousin France had recently graduated high school. My cousin was super skinny, like size 0 type skinny. My Aunt's dress fit me best so we borrowed it from her to wear at my grade 8 graduation. 

The teal dress was too old a style for my 13 year old body but I wore it and I showed up to my graduation with my boyfriend. He looked styling. We looked really good.

The first dance my father insisted I dance with him. I did. Then I looked at my boyfriend and asked him if he was ready to go! 

This was my graduation. Not a fucking wedding. I felt like it was a show of dominance. I didn't want to see where this would go so we left after my father took a few pictures of us.

We got changed and headed out.

On a another night, or maybe it was graduation night, my boyfriend took me somewhere. Not sure where we were. At the end of a concession somewhere. We walked past the field to the bushes. There was a huge fire and lots of people I didn't know. People greeted my boyfriend by his nickname. It was pretty cool. You could tell he was really liked by everyone. 

On our way out, as he had to get me home before curfew, he kissed me! Like right before we got to his minivan.

He dropped me off and was on his way back to the party with his friends. 

He looked back in the van, suggesting we could have fun back there.

That was his critical mistake.

A few days later I called him and broke up with him over the phone.

My father had been leaving me alone. The rapes had stopped. I knew what sex was and I knew how much that shit hurt.

I really did love him, just not enough to burn and hurt for him.

I would really have to love someone to willingly put myself through pain like that.

I wasn't there yet. Not at 13.

I quit cadets. I quit delivering the newspaper too.

Time to scale back my life.

I was too outgoing. I was getting too much attention.

Grade 9 we were back to living on Prince st. My first day of school I spent avoiding running into my now ex-boyfriend. He appeared to have found a new girlfriend, a future friend of mine that went by Nancy. Secretly heartbroken but knowingly not ready for anything more than friendship, I kept my head down and my focus on my school work. My grades will get me out of here. My grades are all that mattered to me at this point. Some day, I'm going to drive past the tracks and then past the bridge and I will never come back to this Godforsaken place called Hearst!

I took over group assignments and got everyone in my group an A. I wrote different versions of the essays due and sold the extra papers for $10 a piece. I see everything in pictures in my mind. I can memorize textbooks for as long as there is a picture on the page. I can't come up with anything original all by myself but I can recite pretty much every book I've ever read. And I read a lot! For once, my love of books was coming in handy! 

My father was still violent towards me at times but the rapes had completely stopped since the vasectomy. I was settling into my new world. Things were normalizing... somewhat. Things were as normal as they had ever been. Except for school. I hated this school. The French kids that used to make fun of me were back in my life. And like 80% of the group I had graduated with from elementary school were AWOL. I didn't fit in. Nothing made sense. I felt lost. I really hate high school.

**

A Deal with Evil

I was 14 when my baby brother came to me. I was in grade 9. We were back to living life on Prince Street in the new townhouse type buildings next to our last apartment building. These apartments had an upstairs and a downstairs. My room was upstairs at first but by then, I'd been moved downstairs in the bedroom between the bathroom and the bedroom my brothers shared.

I had just finished my first set of highschool exams. I was cleaning up my desk space and getting my books ready for the second semester. I was going out of my bedroom when my baby brother came to me.

"I need your help." he says, "I don't know what to do."

"Sure! What do you need help with?" I asked.

"It's personal." I saw that he was close to tears so I pulled him into my bedroom. I sat on my chair so I could look at him without having to look down at him. I hugged him. "What's wrong Pumpkin?"

He started crying. I held him in my arms.

He pulled back and said "Dad is hurting me with his penis."

This was news to me. 

"The showers. At school." he continued.

"After karate class?" I was trying to think how with mom being there...but she WAS working after karate class. She could be anywhere in the school.

He nodded.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"How?" he asked.

I reassured him. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it. He won't hurt you again." I promised.

I could hear my mother's voice in my head. Take care of your brothers. Protect them. If you're there for them, they will be there for you some day when you need them.

I needed to talk with my father. I would make my father leave him alone. 

The next day, I went to the school after karate class ended. I met my father after class.

"Mat told me about the showers. You need to leave him alone." I started, "I'll tell Mom if you don't."

He started laughing and headed into the men's changeroom from the gymnasium. I went around to the bathroom side of the changerooms. My mother was in the hallway and saw me.

"You can't go in there!" my mother harped at me, "Your father is showering in there!".

"I don't care Mom. Mat's in there? I'm going in! I need to talk to Dad."

I sat in the changeroom with my back next to the opening to the showers. I couldn't see them, but my father was in there with my baby brother. I could hear them. My mother had followed me in.

"Your daughter just walked in here." she said. She was looking into the shower area.

"Look at this kid!" he tells my mother, "Look at him, he can pee and walk at the same time!"

"Okay but Valerie has no business being in here." she says.

"What do you want?" my father says.

I started laughing in anger in my corner. "I told you! We need to talk or maybe I should start talking right now!"

"Leave the changeroom!" he says, "I'm coming out!"

My mother stayed behind. She was helping my baby brother. My father met me in the gym.

"You need to stop hurting him." I started.

"Okay." he says, "Then you take the showers for him."

"Just a shower?" I asked.

"Just a shower." he repeated.

"And you'll leave him alone?" I continued.

"Cross my heart." 

My father proceeded to show me both shower areas. The boys shower was just one room. No dividers. The girl's showers has divider stalls and curtains. I decided on the girl's showers. I liked the privacy of the curtains. My father would still see me naked from the changeroom to the showers but I could handle that. I just had to make it to the curtains. 

I didn't even give it a second thought, I threw myself under the bus to protect my baby brother. Just a shower. It would be okay.

"Okay. For Mat. I'll do it."

***

I'm aware what this sounds like but I was just a child, a traumatized child. Going to the police didn't come to mind. "What goes on in our house stays in our house" is how I was taught. Be gentle with your thoughts; I did the best I knew.

**

The Showers Meant for Mathieu

I was following my father down the hall, heading to the showers. He was giving private karate sessions for students about to go to their first black belt grading. While he had been teaching, I sat in the teacher's staff room using the computer. His student had been let out. The doors were all locked throughout the building. I followed my father through the first set of pod classrooms towards the gym. The last pod on the way to the gym had been my grade 5 classroom. I looked around remembering how easy life seemed back then. "I checked the whole building. There are no teachers here." my father began, "I took your mother's set of school keys, in case she decided to come look for me. The only hiccup that could happen is if the vice principal decided to come by. She's a fucking nosey bitch, always showing up when she should be home like all the other lazy teachers!"

As we walked into the girls' washrooms, my father locked the door behind him. It was one of these deadbolts that needed a key to turn the lock open from either side. I felt trapped as he pushed the door open leading me into the girls' changeroom. My father ran ahead of me and locked the door that opens into the gym which had the same type of locking mechanism. I was completely trapped in there with him. There was nowhere to run.

I prayed the vice principal would show up. Maybe she has a key to the washroom/changeroom doors. Maybe she would save me.

My father picked a spot on the bench across from where I sat. He started taking his clothes off. This was nothing new to me. The man slept naked on the family couch and lost his blanket regularly. I always had to check before bringing friends over. The one time, my grandmother had come up the stairs at her house to find him naked sleeping on the lazyboy chair. She yelled for me to get a blanket to cover him. I thought it was hilarious at the time.

He was fully naked now. I pulled my shirt off slowly. Then my pants. Realizing his eyes were fully on me I stopped when all I had on was underwear. I couldn't do this. What the fuck am I thinking??? What in the actual fuck did I just walk into?!! This felt surreal. Please! Someone come bust in here and save me! Where are all the nosey teachers at tonight?! Please! I just need one of you!

"I'll turn around and look at the wall," he says, "I can be a gentleman."

He turned looking at the wall and he started whistling.

I took my shit off as fast as I could and bolted for the showers. 

"The curtains are gone! This wasn't part of the deal." I started. I had run to the back shower because it's the only stall wall I could hide behind but it left me cornered.

"I had nothing to do with the curtains being gone. That job belongs to the Portuguese cleaning ladies." he cut in. "You know how nosey those bitches are." 

He was referring to the fact that despite the law changing now forbidding smoking in school buildings, that he kept smoking in his janitorial office. He smoked by the fan next to their shared bar fridge. He sprayed this fast orange deodorizing spray towards the door regularly so that students and teachers walking by couldn't smell his cheap knock off brand of cigarettes. Number 7. After school hours, the two janitorial ladies, Mrs Pinto and Mrs Gemma's replacement, were sharing this office with him. They made it impossible to smoke inside. That's when they became nosey bitches. He was on a war path to replace them with people who wouldn't be scabs about him smoking in his office. He tried getting my uncle in. He tried getting my mother's sister in. He did shady things so another Portugese lady wouldn't get called in. I couldn't follow all the politics but he was on a war path. No one would stop him from smoking in his office.

Looking around, I felt like an indoor cat who'd been suddenly thrown outside into the wild. My father was in the shower area now. He took the stall next to mine and turned on his shower. "Do you need help getting started?" he asked.

"No. All good!" I replied as I started my shower. I made sure to always face away from him so all he would see was my fat butt. I saw my butt in the mirror before. It was covered in stretch marks and cellulite dimples. Not pretty. I was gaining weight. I was up to a size 12 now. I felt depressed and I just ate junk because it made me feel better. Kind of like a big 'fuck you' to my mother every time I stuffed my face. 

My father came around the partition seperating our stalls a few times. The first was to hand me the shampoo, then the soap and then again with the bottle of conditioner. 

He insisted on washing my back. I felt his soapy hands up and down my back. He then tried washing my bum. I jumped forward.

"There's nothing wrong with this." he insisted.

"Just a shower. Remember?" I reminded him.

"Okay but I have to warn out in case it happens. I could get a hard on. It will be embarassing but we'll cross that bridge when we get there." he says to me.

Right then, when he said that, I prayed his penis would fall off.

I ran to the next room, all the while doing my best to hide my frontal area.

I grabbed one of the towels my father left out there on the tile floor and covered myself up.

I ran to my clothes and I got dressed carefully under my towel taking care not to drop it until I was fully covered up in clothing again.

I had gotten through one shower.

My father walked in a few minutes later. He was fully naked and using his towel to dry his hair as he walked past me. 

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" He says.

"This will be good for you. You won't turn into your mother this way. You won't be so damn shy. You know, on our honeymoon your mother came to bed wearing pajamas with feet! Like actual one piece pajamas with feet!". He finished getting dressed and unlocked the door to the gym. "We need to keep this to ourselves though. Your mother wouldn't understand because she comes from a backwards family. She's a real prude." he announced. 

I could hear the echo of his voice faintly in the gymnasium.

I just looked down at the floor. The white tiles were glossy from the wax. I watched my grandfather and my father wax those floors every summer and now I watched my parents wax the floors together every summer.

Lines of different colours ran through the tiles of the gym floor.

My father was running up the stairs into the fan room to go hide the towels, shampoo, soap and conditioner.

I looked around the empty gym.

I guess it hadn't been so bad.

Weird as fuck. But tolerable. 

I was doing this for my baby brother. To keep him safe. I would have to get used to it but I could do this. For Mat. I got this for Mathieu.

At one point after one of our showers, he showed me his vasectomy scars. They were located on both sides of his testicles. The scar on my right, so that would be his left testicle, had a lump in it. It seemed to bother him as he quickly hid it away to display the scar to his right testicle again. That scar was straight and I guess it looked good to him. The other was hidden away like a bad tattoo you regret getting.

Almost every shower my father stated how relieved he was that he never got a hard on. How embarassing it would be but I saw it differently, I saw it like he couldn't get aroused. I laughed every time my desperate prayer was answered. It worried him I think. No teachers ever busted in on us but at least God was helping me by keeping him flacid.

At one point my father wanted to look at my vagina closely. I didn't understand why exactly. He kept bugging me. 

When it came to my uncles, like my father's brothers, my mother would just say to give them what they want and that they will leave you alone after. So I lay on the bench and let him take a look. What else could I do? Locked doors and all. I closed my eyes as he looked and touched my vagina hoping he would be quick and then it would just be over and I could go on with my life once more.

"You're not shaped like your mother." he commented on my anatomy, "Your clitoris is shaped different. It's like she's a rose and you're a tulip. Very different."

He stepped back and started grabbing our shampoo and stuff to run up to the fan room.

I sat up and put my clothes back on.

During these showers, and also at home my father would have me groom my pubic area.

"I do it for your mother, if you want, I can shave you too. See, the way to do it is to leave a thin strip along the edges of the lips." my father continued, "That strip you leave behind, you can trim it but you have to leave it there cause it acts as a filter."

He would watch me shave and direct me as needed. It was so humiliating. I felt like some sort of French poodle.

I used to wonder what he thought got into my underwear! Seriously! A filter for my vagina! I complied but I did it myself and I tried to get it done as much as possible on my own and by myself. I really thought he was stupid though.

These showers took place twice a week every week and they would continue on like this until I would leave for college at age 18. He took my mother's work keys and later, my little brother's keys to the school for the lawn mowing contract he had taken on. Not one nosey teacher or vice principal came to my rescue despite my many pleas to the big man upstairs.

At 18, a few days before everyone was leaving for post secondary pursuits, after one of these showers, I called the only friend I fully trusted. She met me at the school. We walked towards the arena. As we walked, I broke down and told her everything. She wanted to go to the police right then and there but I explained that this was the last shower I'd be forced to take with my father. I was leaving. I didn't see the point anymore. She respected my choice but said she would be there if I ever needed her. We hugged. As I watched her get on her bike and leave me there, I could feel the tears rolling off my cheeks. I tried to stop them but even with my eyes tightly shut, the tears just kept coming.

I had to calm myself down before going back inside the school.

I didn't want my father making fun of me.

***

I had tried telling an adult in my circle that I knew could help but when I felt the lump forming in my throat as I tried to articulate the words, I stopped myself. My pride got in the way. I didn't want him to see me crying. At that point in my life I had never cried in public. I've never seen my brothers cry. We were teased and made fun of relentlessly for crying. Crying is a sign of weakness. I tried swallowing the lump as I said goodbye and walked away. To go back home. Home, to my very own private hell. 1985 was a tough year but that moment was just as hard as that whole entire year put together had been. 

**

Northern Seasons

When I was about 17 years of age, instead of a shower, my father suggested we go swimming at the Northern Seasons Motel. I had been there often as a child with my little brother and my parents, this was all before Mathieu was born.

I figured I would be wearing a bathing suit so to me it was better than the naked showers. I said yes without really thinking it through completely.

My father was prepared for the occasion. He put a lot of prep into this outing.

"You know, I do special secret things with your brothers too." he says. 

I rolled my eyes at him. This. Whatever this is. This situation is not a special thing between us. This is you forcing me to do shit against my will to protect my baby brother. This is fucking sick as fuck.

We got to the counter at the office. My father paid so we could use the pool. She waved for us to go down the hall. Some work had been done to this place since the last time I'd been there. We started down the narrow hall. On the right was a sign pointing to a door. 

"Pool" it read.

The familiar steep stairs to the basement could be seen. They were covered in some cheesy carpeting. The whole downstairs was. The pool area was in dire need of updating. It looked and felt the same as it did when I was little. Like that carpet that is made of a material resembling felt was the same and there were these plastic carpets that mimicked grass. That too stayed the same.

My father turned into the men's washroom/changeroom and I walked into the women's washrooms/changerooms.

Everything looked the same way I remembered it.

The shower stall was made out of cinder blocks. Some of the cement blocks had the holes on the inside exposed. It made recesses in the wall that you could put your soap or shampoo in. It even had the same curtains that I remembered! It was like entering a time capsule where time stood still.

When walking in, to the left, was a short bench with hooks for your coat. Some of the hooks looked like they were made out of clothes hangers. The same type of metal wire anyway. I hung up my coat. 

The room was empty. No one was here.

There was additional changing space in a seperate room to the right.

I changed there often with my mother as a child. I turned the lights on and walked in. I was exploring my surroundings.

My father was done changing and had walked into the women's changeroom to see what was taking me so long.

I suddenly realized how alone we were.

"I have some stuff to drink. I'll bring it down to the pool area. Hurry up!' my father said. "We got the whole place to ourselves!"

He sounded way too excited.

I reached the door to the pool and started walking down the really old wooden stairs. My father was sitting in the hot tub. He had grabbed the green backpack out of our camping equipment. I recognized it. It's where the first aid supplies were kept.

Inside was a small bottle of white rhum, a few cans of coke and two of my mother's special unbreakable shatterproof glasses she had paid a small fortune for at Maki's. She had 8 of each size. Two of the small glasses would now be missing. My mother would surely notice and say something.

He had poured two glasses of coke mixed with the hard liquor. "I heard white rhum is better and that you don't get as hungover from it." he announced, "Here! Get in! Grab your drink!".

I walked on the green carpet around the pool. Looking at the pool itself, you could tell it was old and close to being shut down. I walked quickly, without running, because the old deck around the pool was showing its age. I can feel the boards moving under my feet underneath the carpet with every step I take.

There was a wooden step, it appeared to be covering something related to the hot tub. The green backpack sat on it next to my drink. 

My father had turned on the jetted tub and was chilling with his drink.

I climbed into the hot tub. 

The water was really hot. I found a spot to sit in the corner. I had one arm in the pool. The water was cool and not overly cold. 

My father got up to grab my drink off the step. He handed it to me. "Here "

I don't really like alcohol but I took it anyway. I took a sip and put it on the edge of the hot tub.

"Drink up!" he says.

I took a bigger gulp. I drank the small cup. It wasn't a lot of alcohol. 

Something is wrong.

I started feeling woozy. I turned my body so I would face the pool. My arms dangled in the cool water.

My father was behind me. He was massaging my shoulders. 

I don't feel good. I looked around the room.

His left hand was under my swimsuit.

He was massaging the area between my vagina and my bum.

Something is way wrong here.

I was trying to see where that noise was coming from.

My father had his right hand on his penis. He was trying to get aroused, playing with himself.

I turned towards the pool and started puking into the pool water.

My father pulled up his swim trunks. He looked panicked. He pulled me out of the hot tub. 

I could barely stand. He helped me up the shitty old stairs all the way into the women's changeroom. 

I was in that side room. On my hands and knees. Trying to get to my towel and my clothes.

He tought he saw someone, so he left me there alone.

The room spun sideways as I tried to figure out which way to put all this stuff back on.

I vomitted on the floor.

My father was back. The door to the bathroom, he closed it. I didn't know if it locked.

"Look at you!" he started, "You're a fucking mess! Let me help you."

He came towards me. He was behind me. 

The world was really fuzzy by then.

My father raped me in the side change room.

I could feel his hands tugging at my hips.

I could feel my skin tear.

He then showered me. He helped me get dressed and snuck me out of the Northern Seasons Motel.

It's all in pieces but...

We went to the school.

There was a huge pile of blue gym mats where my grade 5 class had once been.

He lifted me up on top of the pile of mats.

"Sleep it off. I'm going to go get caught up on some work." my father informed me. 

I was sleepy. He had hurt me pretty bad. 

I could feel the pulsating pain in my groin area.

Things were still fuzzy.

I fell asleep.

"Valerie! Wake up!" It was my father.

I opened my eyes. 

"You're pale!" he says. "Your mother is going to suspect something. We need to get you something to eat to perk you back up."

I hopped off the gym mats and followed him to the family car parked just outside the school's wood shop.

"What can you eat?" he asked.

I wanted to go by my work. At McDonald's. Maybe if someone saw me.

If they saw how sick I look.

"I want McDonald's fries." I told him.

He drove to my work. I thought he would use the drive thru. My cousin was working tonight. Maybe if she saw me.

He parked in front of the restaurant and walked in to get me fries and a drink. 

I stayed behind in our black Toyota 4Runner.

We sat together looking at the restaurant as I ate my fries. 

The fries were helping.

I was starting to feel better.

"Don't go upstairs when we get home. Go right to your room. You look better but we can't have your mother see you like this." he instructed 

When we got home, I went right to my bedroom as instructed.

I grabbed my school bag as I made my way into my bed.

I had a full bottle of Novahistex in there.

Tomorrow morning, I would get the day off.

I would drink the entire bottle and chase that nasty taste down with Sunny D! Then I chewed gum to help with the nausea.

I would start dry heaving in the middle of first class. Someone would accompany me to the main office where they would call my father. From there my mother would either decide to keep me home or she would make him drive my ass to the emergency room.

At home, I'd enjoy the high and sleep the day away in my light green bedsheets.

At the hospital, they would give me a gravol shot in my lower back/bum muscles and then I would enjoy the high and sleep the day away in their bed. The bonus side to the emergency room was the people I'd see.

I watched people and I wondered if they were only like this in public for people to see like shit was at my house. Everything was for show. No wonder I had to escape like this all the time. The pressure of pretending to be okay all the time was overwhelming.

I'm surprised no one is picking up on my constant cries for help.

Well, Mme Loula Gagnon, our attendance counsellor, she was always up my ass for my lack of attendance. 

She had me see the school nurse, Mrs Rosevear, also my next door neighbour. We shared a wall with her family. Her husband was besties with my father. They watched hockey, drank coffee and smoked cigarettes together. 

Her daughter was in my father's karate club.

Like I can talk to her! Hahaha! Funny!

If you think about it, all the adults in my circle were somehow tied to the school or to the karate club. None of them are safe to approach. My parents would kill me for sure. 

There was this girl. A foster kid. Her foster mom, Vicky, was on the PTA to the school my parents worked at. When I told this kid how I kept hunger at bay and how long I'd go without eating, she told her foster mother on me.

Vicky approached my parents.

I quickly lied and said I had told her that to see if I could trust her. I know. It's the best I could come up with.

I got in so much shit over that.

My mother was pissed.

I wouldn't tell anyone shit after that.

My mother had me see a dietician. Another family friend. 

I wasn't skinny anymore though.

I got 50% off food at work! I was eating that McDonald's and not caring. I didn't get to keep my paycheques so the food was really the only great perk I had. I could eat well with $2 and it showed! 

**

Jimmy Lebrun's Stag

My father was so proud as he displayed his creations. He had used the kitchen in the lifeskills classroom to make Jello shooters in secret from my mother. 

My parents had recently attended a Stag and Doe in Timmins. The groom was a black belt in the Timmins karate club. The youngest of two boys, and the last to be getting married. Apparently Jello shooters were the rage that year.

My father decided to make some. "I boiled the alcohol. Do you know how bad that stinks?! They're super strong but it's what we want!'

He was so proud of himself. To have pulled this off behind my mother's back.

I didn't know where she had gone but the only other person home was my baby brother.

He was busy downstairs. I had left him in his bedroom. My bedroom was upstairs, right next to the kitchen at that point in time.

I remember taking a red chunk of Jello between my fingers. It had those hard edges to it. Like parts of the jello had dried more or condensed together somehow. 

It tasted nasty. Like paint thinner was the smell stuck in the back of my thoat. The texture had me dry heaving trying to swallow this thing. Chewy Jello. Oh what a marvel his creation was!

Then nothing. Everything went black. 

I woke up under my covers wearing just a shirt.

**

The accident

My little brother and I always faught over the television. I was in the middle of exams. I wasn't sleeping much. I was cranky. I was angry. I just wanted to watch this one show. Just 30 minutes. Being bigger I managed to push him out the door, outside. His friends showed up as I did this and he decided to leave with them on his new bike.

We had all gotten new bikes the summer before and we all had helmets that matched. Because it looked good. We rode our CCM mountain bikes assembled by Canadian Tire with matching helmets together when we rode as a family. It was all for show.

I grabbed his green helmet and tossed it out the door with his shoes. He left the helmet on the ground. "Put your helmet on, Idiot! Mom's gona get mad at you!" I yelled.

He gave me the finger as he rode away.

I fell asleep watching my tv show.

I wiped my mouth. Drool. I was sleeping hard. The phone kept ringing.

I didn't know what time it was. Looked like dusk. Where was everyone?

I picked up the phone.

I was groggy.

"Hello?" I managed.

"Your little brother was hit by a car." It's my aunt I think.

"What?" I asked.

"Are your parents home?" She asked.

I looked at rhe clock. 6:30pm

"No. They're at the school. The secretary left for home so there might not be anyone to pick up." I started as I ran down to stairs to see if my baby brother was home. I looked through the bed blankets. There he was. He had put himself to bed. My sweet baby brother.

"I'm here alone with Mathieu. I can't run out to tell them."

"I'll go tell them." she said. 

"Use the gym's side door. They leave it unlocked during classes." I told her.

She hung up.

I pulled my exam notes together. She didn't sound too bad. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe he just broke his leg.

I walked into the hospital room with my father by my side. My little brother had lost his memory. His leg was badly broken and he had a cast from his foot all the way up to his hip it looked like. He had hospital blankets. He has the regular white ones and a heavier coloured blanket. His was blue. The blanket was textured like thermal underwear. 

There was a suction tube taped around his nose to aspirate his vomit. 

Fuck! No! This can't be happening!

If he dies, I die too. 

We've been through so much together.

The bond we have is not like any bond I've had with anyone before. The line between love and hate is blurred between us. Being abused together. I never made it into the ice bath after him. A nurse, the new neighbour upstairs, she had knocked at the door. To ask if there was anything wrong. He was angry he was alone getting dunked that night. Those resentments grew despite how much we loved eachother. Everything was always turned into a competition between us.

He sat up and began vomitting. I stood still by the doorway. They pulled his blankets.

He was naked. I turned away.

Tears were pouring off my face and I couldn't stop them from coming.

My father laughed. "He won't be angry. He won't remember any of this. You don't have to look away."

I walked away back towards the elevator.

"Let's go get Mom. He needs Mom now.".

He lives and breathes for our mother.

It's the only reason he's still alive. I hold on for him but he held on for her. He would need her now, more than ever.

I would take over Mat's care to give her that extra time.

He can't die and leave me alone.

He needs Mom.

The next day I walked through my school holding onto my little brother's coat. It was covered in dry blood. My mother wanted me to bring it to the dry cleaners.

I wanted her to be with my little brother so I took over her errands that day.

I didn't want to get it washed.

I held on to the coat all day thinking that if he died, that this blood on his coat would be all I had left of him.

It was a hard day.

I hugged the blood soaked jacket all morning silently praying my little brother would be okay. We tried to run away together once him and I. He saw everything that was done to me. I saw everything that was done to him.

He might possibly be the only person I got in my corner.

Dear God, please let him live.

On my afternoon spare, I walked to the hospital. My brother's room was filled with people from the karate club.

He remembered one person. "Shit-Annie" a nickname given to one of the black belts from my father's karate club.

"How's my bike?" He kept asking.

So he didn't remember me. Yet.

I didn't bother going into his room. He had a lot of people visiting.

I didn't want to be a burden.

I walked over to Peoples. It was some kind of discount box store. It was clearing out its shelves as it was going out of business.

My baby brother had tossed my little brother's Walkman in the toilet. He had broken it.

I looked through all my change I had managed to save up from my newspaper job.

I had $7.49.

I found a Walkman in my price range.

I walked home. I made him a tape of all his favourite songs. I recorded them on the casette from the radio. I stayed up late to get the last song as I had to wait to call in for it.

I found batteries for it in the drawer.

I would bring him this gift. An olive branch.

I had been such a jerk to him.

I love him so much. 

I don't know why I'm always so mean to him.

A few days later, going to check on him during my spare, his room was empty. They had switched his room. 

I was directed to a new room by a nurse.

As I walked in, I heard him call my name "Valerie!".

I gave him my present.

I sat at the foot of his bed and touched his leg, his shin.

We didn't hug. This was my way of hugging with him.

That's when I knew he'd be okay.

He would live.

He knew who I was but he didn't remember anything. Like ANYTHING about what we survived. Together we endured and together we survived. I would be the only one carrying that burden now. 

I had to protect him better this time.

Thankfully, he was sent to Sagonaska. Sagonaska is a residential demonstration school for the learning disabled. 

My little brother had to re-learn everything. He was home 2 days a week. He was the safest of all of us now.

I was so happy for him. 

I never saw him smile so much in my life.

He was good now.

And now back to protecting Mathieu.

**

Scared to shower at home

I started showering earlier, while my father was gone to work. I was trying to avoid him using the washroom while I was in the shower. 

I always locked the door but he came in anyway.

The family computer was in that hallway. On the desk, a handful of pens sat in a cup. He would pull the ink straw out of one of the pens to let himself in.

Sometimes my mother was home when this happened. 

We had a second toilet upstairs in that tiny washroom but he insisted on coming into the downstairs bathroom. Every single time.

The toilet was located at the opposite end of the water spout. 

Sitting on the toilet, he would pull at the curtains and watch me wash.

I hated it. 

There was a three tier basket meant for plants that my mother used to store decorative soaps in. My face wash, I kept it hidden amongst tiny bubble bath bottles in the lowest basket. 

I reached to grab my face wash once and saw what he was doing. He was playing with himself as he watched me bathe. "You don't want to see what I'm doing." he laughed. Gross!

He creeps me out. This is so digusting. I hated showering. I hated that he kept coming into the bathroom when I was in there. What's worse is that my mother knew and never put a stop to his behaviour. She knew he was in the bathroom while I was in there. That should have made some kind of alarm go off inside of her head but it never did. She didn't care. It all comes back to the fact that she didn't love me.

I tried showering while he was supposed to be shoveling snow but he came home half way through the job and catch me in the bathroom.

Bathing by myself rarely ever happened.

I avoided showers as often as I could.

The one time, I just got out of the shower. I reached for my towel from behind the curtain and tried making a run for it.

I was 16.

He grabbed me and pushed me up against the washer and dryer.

His hands around my throat.

My heart was pounding hard inside my chest.

"Where are you going?" he laughed.

I couldn't just leave. 

He was always there. He was watching me. Sitting on the toilet. Masturbating. 

**

Babysitting and evil closets

I babysat for a lot of teachers from the elementary school I had attended.

I love kids. Probably because of my baby brother. I took care of him. His needs and his wants were always within my reach. 

Even if I had to put effort into giving my baby brother what he wanted, it was always worth it. Any effort you put forward to making a child smile is worth the effort.

I loaded up my backpack with construction paper, paints, glue sticks, beads, playdough and what ever fun activity I could find. I showed up armed with a plathera of craft supplies, all ready to get crafty with the kids. I kept them crafting with me at the kitchen table as it was the easiest place to do snacks. There wasn't much cleaning up to do after. I looked forward to it every time.

The one place I babysat, the little boy was the same age as my baby brother so I'd often bring my brother along to keep him safe with me.

The house I brought my baby brother to, it had a closet under the stairs. To complicate things more, they put their kids' toys in there. The kids loved it. 

"Why don't you want to come play in here?" the little girl would ask.

I sat far from the closet on their downstairs sofa. 

"Aren't you scared going in there?" I'd ask.

But she wasn't scared. She kept her dolls in there and her kitchen was in there too.

I'll be honest. I was terrified.

I never played in my grade 8 teacher's basement closet because I had been hung upside down in one so often, that the very idea of going in there made me want to cry.

The kids were really cool about my staying back and watching them play in there.

At the end of the night I would toss everything around it back in it and shut the door.

I felt better once that door was shut.

I'd curl up on their chairs upstairs, nervously trying to sleep when they got in late.

Then his wife would drive me home.

I really hated the look of dissappointment on his wife's face over the Vicky thing being with the PTA. Basically she now knew I was starving myself and that I was scrambling trying to come up with lies to cover up.

My stomach hurt when I babysat there after that.

Too close a call for me to handle.

She had so many questions.

But I couldn't trust her. She talked with my parents all the time. 

My father started showing up at their house randomly while I babysat. I locked the doors and talked to him through the screen door. He would be upset but this wasn't my house. I was there to watch children. I felt as though it wasn't my place to let him in. I never brought anyone over when I babysat. I took my job seriously. I was there to keep the kids safe. My baby brother being there didn't change things. I refused to let him into the house.

I was relieved when they stopped calling me to babysit. With my father showing up and how far from town their house was, I was super nervous about being there.

I babysat for my hairdresser. Her boys were super adorable. There were no evil closets to be found in their house, although I have to admit, I never went downstairs to check. I stayed upstairs and I liked it there. 

Her husband was a police officer. He drove me home. 

That's the first time I did it. At drop off, I left the door wide open. 

I climbed up the stairs and handed my mother the money previously handed to me by our hairdresser. Then I would go back down the stairs and close the door on my way downstairs to my bedroom.

I started doing this with every person who dropped me off. Hoping maybe someone would see me handing her the money.

Not that it mattered. I'm sure my mother would come up with a great excuse as to why I handed her the money. But would her excuse match mine?

I also babysat twins. At first they were very small and they slept a lot. They had a big family dog. I had never been around a dog before. I was tentative going near her at first. She kept bringing me toys covered in slobber. I laughed at how I had been scared of her at first, as it turns out, she was a big suck! By the end of my first night, that dog wouldn't leave me alone and I loved her! We became best friends quickly. I sat on the floor with her to play.

And then the babies got older and I played with them more than with the dog.

My craft bag was now filled with sensory items. Playdough made of peanut butter, milk powder and corn syrup. Corn syrup with food dye for painting. 

I did tummy time with them. It was pretty amazing when they started crawling! I would get down on my knees and crawl around playing chasing games.

One day I came over and they were walking! They looked so small, how was this even possible?! I was completely in love with this family! 

For a little while, I felt like I fit in when I was there. 

Kind of like I felt at my grandparents house. Their home had the same feel to it. 

Their father was a police officer and he stopped in a lot randomly when he was working. I wasn't nervous staying there. My father never even tried coming over. I knew I was safe while I was there. 

There were no evil closets. I checked.

I tried telling him but I couldn't. I knew I'd cry.

I tried telling her during a walk. We talked about how we both had brothers with a huge age gap. I valued my baby brother more than I valued my own life. I couldn't imagine a life without Mathieu in it. I relished every bit of advice she had to give. I just wish I could have told them everything. 

When your mind knows nothing but trauma, your thought process gets pretty sketchy. I thought I was protecting Mathieu. I thought how I wouldn't be able to protect him if I told. I loved him beyond reason.

***

Knowing that my life didn't end when my relationship with my baby brother ended, I would do things differently. If only I could go back. Keeping him safe was all I thought about. I didn't care what they did to me for as long as my baby brother was safe. My taking all the abuse for him has taught him that I'm worthless and he has learned to treat me that way over time. My mother helped colour me that way as well, I'm sure of it.

I really do regret not saying anything because what follows this post could have all been avoided. 

**

Telling Mom...Again.

At the new apartment the massages started back up. It started innocently enough. He would rub A535 on my back in front of everyone in the living room. My grandmother wasn't accessible to me anymore. I knew the drill. I wasn't allowed to call her and if she called, what goes on in our house, stays in our house. I also wasn't allowed to visit her except for when we would go as a family. It was like that for my Godparents as well. I was made to believe that I was a burden that just bothers them. I didn't want to be a burden, so I didn't call and I didn't visit. Simple. It's not like it was a big deal, the majority of my family resides in Mattice. I only have my grandparents and my Godparents (Aunt/Uncle) in town. When I started highschool, I was kept isolated from my extended family even more. I wasn't allowed to eat lunch with my grandparents anymore; my mother gave me $20 a week to buy lunch at school that first year. It actually wasn't enough to buy a full meal every day so I just bought a huge chocolate chip cookie or a huge rice crispies square and a drink. When things were bad, I'd save it up to buy Novahistex. 

At school, I'd look around for someone safe to sit with in the school cafeteria.

I had three real friends in high school. Two were older, like a grade above me and the other was a grade younger. I chose them to sit with because they never made any demands of me. They were just happy to be sitting with me. The one friend was an amazing writer and I loved reading every story she wrote. I thought she was super talented because for those few minutes I read, I wasn't dealing with the realities of my life. Her stories about her own future gave me hope that my future could be better if I just held on a little longer. I would eventually be able to leave and then things could get easier.

College. It would be the only acceptable reason for me to leave this shit-show of a home. Marriage wasn't an option for me. 

It made me work harder. I stayed up late as a kid trying to read my English books using a French-English dictionary looking up every word as I went along. I busted my ass to get here because "I can't do it" doesn't exist! I can do anything I put my mind to! I've been dreaming of the day I will get to drive past the tracks and past the bridge towards a greater life; a better life. Running away, is not an option. I'll be brought back home. This girl Julie at school was brought back and then everyone talked about how she tried to kill herself.

Not an option. I promised my grandmother after one of my second cousins attempted suicide. If I kill myself, it'll be by accident. If I die, it'll be from trying to numb how I feel. Not because I am actively trying to die. Although I did spend a lot of time in Libraries reading up on suicide. The Hearst Library was very educational on that topic, more so than the high school library.

I pulled out the books at night when I couldn't sleep. I'd try to imagine letting myself suffocate in a car. I don't have a car. Hanging looks too violent. Through all this research, I figured out my way out. Poisoning. 

I picked something that looks completely harmless. I carried it with me everywhere I went. People saw it. No one knew.

If one day things got too hard, I tell myself.

If I can't find my way out of this situation alive.

I was ready.

My little brother had his end game plan but he was vocal about it. I wasn't. 

I carried this rather benign looking bottle in my backpack. I had that leather patch job backpack with me everywhere I went.

I even did a self portrait with it in art class!

The backpack and I were one.

It had my plan B.  

I never left it out of my sight.

Some time around Christmas my mother bought these massage videos for her and my father from this French book club she was obsessed with. I think it was her way of trying to spice things up. They had been arguing and fighting a lot. My mother kept the bedroom at sub zero temperatures. It was -40°C outside and her bedroom window was wide open at night.

The one night I came running up the stairs. My mother was screaming. I thought something was wrong. Cordless phone in hand, I was ready to call the hospital! I saw my father getting hit repeatedly by my mother. She had completely lost her shit! I couldn't grasp what was happening. My father got thrown out. He was laughing so hard that he hadn't been able to protect himself. He was bleeding.

"What the hell just happened?" I asked.

He just kept laughing. He tried speaking but he wasn't articulating his words because he was laughing so hard.

"Dad!" I yelled.

"Your mother is a frigid bitch so I went to bed wearing my big mittens." he was trying to control his breathing as he spoke.

"She was sleeping. And then she turned over." he could barely control his speech, "and saw me, mittens and all....hahaha....with my big mittens up like this!", he just busted out in laughter.

"And then she beat me up and locked me out of the bedroom!" he finally finished.

I just shook my head, going back down the stairs to my room.

Dumbass. 

The first massage with the video tape was done in the family living room. We were home alone. Mat was gone. Sleepover at my grade 8 teacher's house. My mother was dutifully at work. My little brother was gone, gone off to his special education school to relearn everything he lost when he was hit by an old man who might have been drinking and driving. I heard so many stories and explanations about my little brother's accident that it was hard to follow exactly what happened. My father had taught us to ride our bikes on the highway and I think his teachings played a large part in why the accident happened. When a car is coming up behind you, my father taught us to move on to the lane that has oncoming traffic instead of leaving the pavement for the gravel shoulder. My brother's friend stayed on the shoulder but my little brother went to the oncoming traffic lane. The old man, trying to avoid the kid on the shoulder, moved to the lane that had oncoming traffic where he hit my little brother.

The only thing I care about is that he survived with minimal permanent damage. Given how he was hit and how bad it really was, his being alive was a huge blessing and even a miracle I was told.

God knows how much I need my brothers, I thought.

The first massage involved a towel. I was told to just keep my underwear on. Hiding my breasts with my hands, I lay down on the beige shag carpet.

He covered my bum with a towel and began following along with the video.

Eventually, over time, there was no underwear and the massages moved to my parents' bedroom. 

Mathieu was home when this went on sometimes. It reminded me how badly I needed to keep protecting him. I reluctantly kept giving in. Because I knew. If it wasn't me that it would be him.

The one time the massage took place on his bed. He had me pull my knees underneath my body. He held my wrists down. Tears were just pouring. Mucus from my nose was getting mixed up with the tears and saliva on my face as I trembled in pain. I could hear clapping noises. I could hear screaming. I think it was me but I'm not sure. The screaming was so loud but I could still hear that clapping noise. What was that? Where was it all coming from?

I could feel my skin give and tear as the weight of him penetrated my rectum.

But the clapping. 

It made me vomit.

That's when he slapped my ass to let me know it was finally over. 

Every massage ended with a slap on the ass.

My cue to get up and leave the room.

It was just me and her. Me and my mother. Sitting at the kitchen table.

They had bought this table for this apartment. It was one of those beautiful round oak tables with the chairs that matched.

My mother had a piece of glass cut to top it.

To protect the wood. Table cloths didn't afford the same kind of protection. This set was expensive.

She had a special floral bouquet made for the kitchen table. Everything matched her baby blue "geese" themed kitchen.

I never quite understood why everything had to be blue. She went through a lot of trouble painting things to match.

These flowers were blue lilies. Then these curly things with tiny foam balls stuck to them. Everything was held together by this green foam block. It wasn't like any foam I'd seen before. I pushed my index into it.

"Aye! Stop that!" my mother said, "Those flowers are expensive!".

Ugly ass flowers. I can't imagine this thing could be THAT expensive.

I started squeezing the foam glued onto the curly wires.

She slaps my hand. "Aye! I'm serious!"

"Mom, I need to talk to you. Dad is doing things to me." I started, but she cut me off.

"What do you mean by things?" she sounded upset.

"Like he touches me and makes me uncomfortable." I told her.

"I'll talk with him." she put her hand on top of mine acting like she could fix this.

I was on their bedroom floor. 10:30 pm. My baby brother was sleeping. My little brother was off at his residential school. I was enduring another of my father's massages.

He had turned me over. I was trying to cover myself. He was trying to pull my arm and hand off my chest. He insisted on massaging my breasts. 

"Stop fucking around!" he told me, "There isn't much time before I have to go pick up your mother." he insisted as he tried pulling my arm off my chest. 

"No!" I insisted.

I was 17 damit! I would stand my ground now.

"Don't touch my breasts!" I cried.

"No! No! Dad! No!".

My baby brother didn't have breasts. Those were mine. Just mine.

That's when their bedroom door flew open.

My father, naked, jumped to the side of the bed where his underwear had been.

I was naked. Completely exposed on their bedroom floor. 

He had put his underwear back on at lighting speed.

There. She saw for herself.

Now she's going to help me.

I grabbed the towel on the floor to cover myself as I stood up.

"You fucking whore!" my mother came flying at me. I braced for it. I shut my eyes. Her hand was gona slap me.

I heard a sound but it wasn't from being slapped. I opened my eyes, fearfully looking up.

My father had come to my rescue.

He held her wrist.

"That's your daughter!" he screamed at her.

I ran to my bedroom and locked the door.

I have fucking nowhere to go.

Why was he defending me? I couldn't understand what was going on.

The fight had moved to the living room and then it moved to the kitchen.

My father came barreling down the stairs.

He opened my bedroom door.

"Get your shit and get in the car." he said.

I clutched my backpack tightly.

My legs trembled as I walked up the stairs to the door.

"I told you! I told you not to tell her! I told you she wouldn't understand! Didn't I warn you that she came from a frigid backward family?" he was yelling at me in the car.

I tuned him out. 

Tears just kept flowing.

I'm fucking stuck. 

My "best friends" at the time. Twins. Samantha and Ryan. Both girls. 

Their birthday isn't long after mine. 

I'm December 17th, they were February 2nd.

I had just turned 18.

That fight was still fresh on my mind. I had been mauling it over in my head for almost a month when I was invited to go out for their birthday with them.

They were celebrating their 19th birthday. The milestone involving alcohol.

The plan was for me to sleep over at their place that night. We would all go to Kathy's apartment to drink and then go dancing at the Eldorado club. 

I hated these things. Dances. 

I hated being left out, so I went when asked to go. It didn't happen that often. Effort.

I had dinner with their family. It was odd. They sat together for meals.

Their father was tall and imposing with his full head of white hair.

He seemed like a nice guy but I wasn't so sure after reading my Samantha's diary. Another friend had been trusted with taking care of their house while they went on summer vacation. We read it together. She was scared of him she wrote. I figured I should be afraid too.

There had been a rather large hole in the wall on the way up to their bedroom; I started doubting their story.

We went to their bedroom after dinner to get ready. I never understood the need to get ready. I brushed my hair again. I retouched my eyeliner. Boom. Good to go!

We were dropped off downtown.

We walked through the crowded buildings. Somewhere in there was Kathy's place. 

It was a huge room.

Everyone was there. Kathy. Marc. Sam. Ryan. Nancy. The whole gang!

I was pointed towards a 40 oz bottle of vodka.

My life is shit. Let's see how much of this I can drink to get me numb! Happy Birthday Samantha! Happy Birthday Ryan!

I downed my cups and my friends kept pouring.

I vaguely remember walking to the Eldo. The Eldorado was a club for teens. Sort of. 

You had to be 16 to get in. They served liquor. They were supposed to ID me but I didn't have my ID that night. Somehow I was stamped with the 19+ stamp that night.

That made me the alcohol bitch.

I knew my role and it involved free drinks!

I just kept drinking screwdriver after screwdriver. 

I didn't drink rhum since my unfortunate trip to the pool at the Northern Seasons Motel.

After about 6 drinks at the Eldo, I started feeling euphoric. 

I felt sooooo good! I was afraid that shit would end! I had never felt like that before.

I doubled down on my drinking so I wouldn't lose that feeling but then I started feeling sick.

That's when I went outside for fresh air. 

Marc and Samantha were out there fighting.

She always picked at him.

She couldn't just let him be.

I've known Marc since childhood. He used to play with my brother.

"Stop fighting!" I told them.

I couldn't handle this. 

Now the peaceful part of my life was in chaos.

"You guys are the only good things in my life! Stop it! Stop fighting!" I cried.

They didn't stop.

Everything felt blurred.

My fucking bag was at their house!

I hit my limit yo! 

This is it right here.

I need my bag but I don't have it. 

I took off towards home. I was gona find something to jump off from. 

The water tower.

The stupid green bridge.

I'm in crisis! I'm ready to go! 

Fuck all my promises!

Ryan and her boyfriend John were trying to keep me from leaving when a police car drove by.

I was arrested and charged with drinking under age.

"I know your parents. Good people." he says.

"You don't know what you're talking about." I angrily replied.

"I would normally bring you into the station but given who your parents are, I'll do you a favour and bring you home." he says.

I laughed.

"You have no clue! Take me to the dump instead! You'd be doing ME a favour then! You can use me for target practice! I'd be better off there dead than at home." I cried.

"You are intoxicated. You don't know what you're saying right now. I'm bringing you home." he insisted.

My bag. Plan B. It was at Sam and Ryan's house. Fuck.

I honestly wished he had shot me as we turned into the parking lot to my house.

My mother took the ticket from the police officer. She closed the door and looked at me. Her arms were crossed over her chest.

She was livid!

She didn't speak much when she was this angry. 

I was probably pushed down the stairs, but given my level of intoxication, I couldn't be sure.

Let's assume I fell down narrowly missing the litter box. 

I made it into my bedroom.

My belly button ring was completely ripped off.

Fuck it! I fell face first on my bed.

Some time that night, I felt hands pulling at me.

I was rolled over and pulled to the foot of my bed. My jeans. Someone was undoing the button and pulled down the zipper. He grabbed my pants from the ankles and pulled them off. My underwear followed.

I tried opening my eyes. It was my father.

"You did all the work for me tonight."

I closed my eyes.

I woke up naked from the waist down. My shirt had been pulled up.

I have to puke! 

I ran to the bathroom and barely made the toilet. My mother somehow appeared. She threw me a towel to cover up.

"You deserve what you get." she said.

She turned around and left me there.

I got back to my bedroom. Looking for my underwear. I couldn't find it. My pants were gone too.

I ran to my dresser to get new underwear. Lifting Sam's shirt she had let me borrow, I noticed my breast were not sitting in my bra cup. I pulled off her blue sweater. There were little scabs everywhere around my niplles. There were other marks looked like teeth marks. Bruising.

I was so confused.

I pulled the bra cups back overtop my breasts.

My head hurt so bad. I didn't have my bag.

I'd have to wait until Monday.

I put a pair of joggers on with a t-shirt and went upstairs looking for advil or tylenol.

I took a handful. Then I walked past my mother in the kitchen to get some water.

"Look at my fucking ditch pig" she says.

I knew she was upset about the $125 fine.

"Yup. One hundred and twenty five bucks!" she started, "Like we're doing THAT great financially right now. I should have told him to take you to jail!"

"I begged him to but he wouldn't. I even asked him to shoot me!" I shot back, "He wouldn't! You and Dad are good people apparently!"

Even the police like my father.

No one would ever believe me.

I'm almost there. Just another 8 months and I'd be gone to college.

I was on my way out and they couldn't make me come back.

**

Sagonaska Demonstration School 

I stood in the kitchen. My parents called me here. My father stood behind my mother. My mother began.

"There's an advocacy seminar at your brother's school. I don't speak, read or write English very well compared to you. You have to go with your father." she said.

"I have work and school. I might not be able to get the time off " I really didn't want to go although I was curious to see my little brother's set up. He was doing so well. He drove me to work with the snowmobile on the weekends when he was home. I didn't mind. When he was home, he took over riding the snowmobile. I wasn't a big fan so I didn't mind being chauffeured to and from work. That way, if we got stuck somewhere in the snow, I wasn't by myself trying to push this monstrous beast of a machine! I had my G1. I waited until I was 17 to get it because I knew I wouldn't be allowed to drive the car without personal cost to myself. I had been driving my father's car for years, I often took the keys from his pant pockets on the floor as he lay naked on the livingroom sofa. He fell asleep often. When it was -40°C, I stole the keys to go get my mother from work. It was too cold for anyone to be walking past midnight at -40°C. He might not have cared enough to go get her, but I did.

"I will let you drive. You will get more driving experience." my father offered.

"She can't be driving through the Algonquin Park! There's moose all over that road! Way too dangerous!" my mother objected.

"Okay, then she won't drive on the highway through the park." my father agreed.

"What about my work?" I asked.

"You'll have to tell McDonald's. Give your shifts away." my mother added.

It was decided without me. I was going to Belleville. Only 5 more months of this.

I didn't want to go. I was still trying to repair my friendship with Sam and Ryan.

I found out later that my mother had called their mother.

They were forbidden to talk to me.

It made work hard.

It made my whole life that much harder.

There was very little left to hold on to.

Mathieu was all I had.

We got to the Motel. Standing at check in, my father was pulling out his credit card and his CAA card to get a discount on the room.

"I need a double room please." my father spoke shyly. 

"Smoking." he added.

I looked around. This place was nice. There was a large stairway with a wooden railing. The railing kept going to the right, so people walking on the second floor can look down into the foyer. The railing disappeared into a hallway on the right. There was a huge breakfast area. They offered continental breakfast. I looked at the huge carafes. 

Not bad. I thought.

The receptionist handed my father a room key. We had left our stuff in the car while going inside to check in. I headed out to grab my stuff.

The car was parked close by the door.

But he wasn't unlocking the doors with the key fob. He walked past me.

"Where are you going?" I was confused.

He pointed to a store in the neighbouring lot.

"Dollar store! I'm thinking we could use a deck of cards and maybe a cribage game!" he seemed excited.

I followed him into this very small dingy dollar store.

"Do you want anything?" He asked as he looked around.

"No thanks. I just want to go get settled in and go see my brother." I  told him, "Aren't you curious about where he sleeps and where he eats? I am. I worry about him all the time.".

"He's fine." my father insisted.

I didn't care what my parents thought. I wanted to see for myself. All this time I had assumed he was okay but I didn't know. Not really.

He unlocked the car with the key fob. I reached in for my other bag, the one with my clothes and shut the car door. 

We walked up the stairway. My hand gliding on the banister as I walked up the stairs. At the top, my father turned right. Once he reached the hallway he realized he should have turned left so he turned around. I met him at the top of the stairs.

"There's a pool. We should go swimming!" my father tells me.

My stomach sat in my throat remembering our last swimming outing at Northern Seasons.

"No thanks. I'm not in the mood. I didn't bring a swimsuit." I told him.

I turned left and followed him. Another left turn and we were at our room.

He slid the key card in and the door unlocked.

The seminar had a lot of useful information. A lawyer from Toronto specializing in education was presenting. I took detailed notes for my mother. I asked questions. I tried to get as much of the information my mother might need in the future while advocating for my little brother.

We breaked for lunch. We met up with my little brother at the cafeteria. I was watching him get food. He was using sign language! I was so impressed! He knew something I didn't and always wanted to learn since I had heard of our cousin's having deaf twins in their extended family. My cousins could sign and I had been trying to learn from them.

As it turns out, the cafeteria was shared with the Sir Whitney School for the Deaf. My brother had been picking up ASL. He was chatting up another student. There was laughter. 

I couldn't wait to see the rest of this place!

My little brother showed us where he liked to hang out and play his guitar. There were these massive oak trees. 

I imagined him sitting in the shade under the tree with his guitar. 

His high school was massive. Centennial High School had a huge special needs program. It was impressive. Such a difference when compared to what was available to him back home.

We went by his dorm. The walls were painted pink. Scientific studies have shown that pink walls promote relaxation. I chuckled a bit as I thought of my little brother in his pink bedroom.

One of the ladies caring for the boys was older. She was busy knitting elf hats for the boys in this dorm. She rocked back and forth on her chair.

I asked her for an elf tuque. She made me one. It was sent with my little brother the following week! 

I could tell my little brother was well liked and well cared for in his new home.

After the rest of the seminar, we had made plans to meet my little brother for dinner.

We got back to our room at the Comfort Inn, it was late. When I got into the room, I dropped my backpack on the bed closest to the wall. I tossed my clothing bag on it too.

"That's gona be my bed k?' I announced.

"Why do we have to sleep in seperate beds?" he asked.

"Because there's two beds and this one here is mine." I told him.

The green bag from Northern Seasons was on the little table near the door.

"Get changed! I'm going to go check out the pool!" he tells me.

I got changed into my nightgown. I wasn't going swimming with him and that green bag again. I learned my lesson. 

He gets back to the room and says "Why are you in pajamas?"

"Listen, it was a long day. I'm tired." I said.

"Cheapo! Cheap cheap cheapo! C'mon! Stop being cheap and let's go!" he insists.

"No. I'm tired. My stomach hurts. I want to go to sleep." I told him.

"Cheapo! Fine then. We'll drink here." he grabbed the green bag. It still held the same mickey of rhum we had drank at the swimming pool. The same two glasses. 

"I'm not in the mood Dad." I told him.

"Don't be such a cheapskate! Here! I just made you a drink! Try it out! Have a sip!" he kept insisting.

I grabbed the drink and I downed it. "There. Now leave me alone!"

I sat on my bed looking through my bag. I wanted to listen to music or read, just anything that didn't involve my father.

He got into bed with me. He tried cuddling me. I got up and moved. I went to the empty bed.

I started feeling woozy. Like the last time I drank from those same small glass cups which came from the same green bag.

Something is wrong. 

I should have known better.

What could I have done?

Jump out of the car?

He was at the foot of the bed now. He pulled my panties off.

He started touching me down there.

I was trying to pull his hands away.

"No! Dad! No!" I cried.

"There's nothing wrong with it if it feels good." he says.

While trying to pull his hands away, I blacked out. 

The next morning I woke up with my night gown hiked up to my armpits. I was naked from the waist down.

His arm was laying across my midsection.

I pulled his arm off.

I had to pee.

I walked over to my underwear on the floor and picked it up on my way to the washroom.

I was trembling. I felt nauseous.

I pulled up my night gown to sit on the toilet.

As I peed, I was putting my feet into my underwear holes.

I really feel sick.

I reached down to wipe and found an unusual amount of discharge and blood on the tissue.

There was considerable swelling from torn bleeding skin.

Upong seeing this, I picked up the small garbage can and started vomitting into it.

I don't feel good.

Like at all.

"Valerie? You okay in there?" It was my father. I woke him up.

"Not feeling good. I feel feverish and light headed." I told him.

I'll get us packed up. We'll stop in at the Shoppers Drug Mart not far from here.

My father brought all the bags back to the car. Then he came back and helped me down the stairs to the car.

He stopped by a Tim Hortons for his large two cream, 6 sugar and his favourite muffin, oatmeal raisin.

Then he drove to the pharmacy.

I went in with him.

I was looking at all the little poison bottles lined up on the shelf.

I had my father buy me a second bottle of poison with some tylenol cold, gravol, a litre of gingerale and a super expensive hand made stuffed bear. It's the kind of bear I had wanted since I was little. 

I'm 18. Why is he buying me this now?

He always did this. Splurged on me after hurting me.

Maybe it alleviated his guilt for what he'd just done to me.

Either way, I took 8 tylenol cold, 3 gravol and 6 sudafed. 

I slept in the backseat the whole way back.

I got out to pee at Tim Hortons in North Bay. All I had that day was gingerale and pills.

I missed school the next day.

I drank an entire bottle of Novahistex.

I took all the pills I had and went to sleep.

My mother puttered about the house. I could hear her footsteps as she hummed.

I wish I had stronger drugs.

The kind that you take and then find out your whole life was just a bad dream.

I need that kind of pill.

**

Self Defense 

Sensei Will stood in front of the group. He was leading the self defense class for my father. He had come all the way from Timmins to teach this class.

We sat in what used to be my grade 5 classroom. I listened intently.

"And if all fails, and you have to submit, you have the chance to get away when the rapist is about to come." he looked at me, "Some of you have no experience but those who do know what I'm talking about. Okay. Back to the gym to practice techniques."

I paid attention.

I was coming up the stairs to go get breakfast. I had just finished combing my hair and putting on eyeliner. Pretty much ready to go to school. But first, coffee.

I started up the second flight of stairs when my father came at my grabbing my bangs and pulling my hair at the front.

"OWW! DAD!!! Let GO!!" I screamed.

"Ow! Dad! Let go!" he was mocking me as he pulled harder at my hair.

"Is that what you're gona tell your attacker?" he teased. 

"I just brushed my hair. No coffee yet. I'm tired. I'm exhausted. Ow! Shit! Dad! Let go!" I cried.

My mother intervened, "Let her get ready. She's not the fastest in this house!".

My father let his grip go.

Later on, before leaving for school, I climbed up the stairs with my empty cup. I put it in the sink. When I turned around, my father was right on my heels again.

He grabbed me by the throat hard and started squeezing as he pushed me up against the wall. It was getting hard to breathe.

"Dad! Stop!" I pleaded.

He kept squeezing harder.

I extended my index finger and my middle finger together and hit him in the throat using my two erect fingers.

He went down hard grabbing at his throat.

"You bitch! You could have killed me!" he managed to stammer.

"I told you to stop. You didn't. I didn't even hit your throat that hard!" I told him as I walked away. I had to go back to my bedroom to get my bag.

I was late to school that day.

He made me walk. 

Self defense. Why make me take it and test me if you don't want me using what I learned?

**

High School Graduation Thank You

When I stood near the podium with my fake certificate in hand, I thought of my first grade teacher. 

Mme Thérèse Gingras was an older teacher. She was the first teacher to actually teach me something that would stick with me for life. 

We had these crayola crayons in class. These crayons came with a clear plastic box. The two pieces fit tightly overtop one another.

I couldn't get it open.

I sat there, frustrated at this box filled with crayons I could see but not get to!

I could feel the anger in my hands as I tried to move the two pieces apart to no avail.

I raised my hand.

My teacher came to me with a smile.

"J'chu pas capable madame Thérèse!" I cried.

"Pas capable ça l'existe pas!" she replied.

And then she walked away leaving me with this ever so frustrating contraption of a box!

I borrowed crayons from Josée.

My teacher came back and took my classmate's crayon away.

"T'es capable! Essaye encore!" she insisted.

I held the box up, holding just the top and just as I was getting ready to cry, I noticed the bottom box beginning to slip.

I grabbed the edges of the bottom piece and I pulled the two pieces apart.

"J'chu capable!!!" I told her.

"Pis tu vas toujours être capable!" she said.

I took a bigger approach to her words.

I will always be able to do it.

Throw what you want at me; I will get myself through it.

I got home that night and cut out one of my graduation pictures. 

I made her a thank you card.

Inside I wrote:

"Tu avais bien raison Madame Thérèse, pas capable existe pas."

The next day I wrote her name on the envelope and went to the post office.

I knew the guy behind the counter. He ran a lot of marathons. He's probably the healthiest man in all of Hearst.

"Do you know her?" I asked.

"Yes!" he nodded.

"She was my first grade teacher. I want her to have a graduation picture of mine because she had a lot to do with my graduation." I told him, "Can you get this to her?" 

"No problem!" he said. I watched him scribble a box number on the envelope and off it went.

Two weeks later a florist delivered a huge flower bouquet to my house. It was for me! Weird right?! I had broken up with my boyfriend. The pressures of all my friends having boyfriends, I picked me a college guy who lived in Toronto going to school. I barely saw him. When I did, he never put any pressure on me to have sex with him. If anything he believed in getting married first. He wanted the whole picture. I don't believe in marriage because of my parents. They're miserable people. I'd rather have someone who knows he can leave at any time but doesn't because he picks me over and over every day. I don't want a piece of paper telling someone they have to be with me. I have been brought up to look at myself as a nuisance. I don't want anyone feeling like they're stuck with me because a piece of paper says they have to be.

I broke up with him because he couldn't save me from something he was not aware of.

I broke up with him because he deserved better.

The flowers weren't from my ex-boyfriend. They were from my first grade teacher! I cried. 

I can do anything I put my mind to because of her. I don't give up easily because of her. Every teacher I've had has written on the slate of who I am today. I got my strength from you.

**

Glass Falls

As I sat in our family SUV, I was pinching my right leg. I was nervous. My mother insisted I go on this trip with my father. "Fais y donc plaisir un peu, tu es si bête avec lui!" she said. "Vas-y avec ton père."

So here I am. Sitting in the front passenger seat, grabbing at the skin around my right knee because it's what I do when I'm anxious. I pinch at my knees or I pinch at my toes.

I didn't want to be here but I have no choice in the matter. My mother insisted I go off camping in the bush with my father.

He turned right onto hwy 11from Hearst. We were headed for Glass Falls. 

I had heard the conversations from his previous trip with my little brother. My little brother brought his best friend Josh on his trip.

I had been sitting in the livingroom when the argument started. I brought the volume down on the television so I could hear them better. My brother was angry. My mother got in the middle as usual to mediate the situation before it escalates too far. "He was prancing around naked in the bush!" my little brother had cried to my mother. 

I was expecting the same bullshit which is why I didn't bring a friend on my trip. My father almost seemed disappointed. 

It'll be a cold day in hell before I bring anyone into this kind of trip. I know that bringing a friend wouldn't change the situation. Bringing a friend on this trip would not have made me safer. Even if I found a girl as big as Josh and as strong as Josh to befriend and take with me like my little brother did...I still don't think it would have made me any safer. It obviously hadn't worked for my brother.

We reached Mattice. I was surprised to see my father turn. The fire station and the library were together in the same building I think. I never actually made it to the library like my paternal grandmother had promised the one time she babysat me and my little brother. He turned left on a road right after that municipal building. It had one of those curved driveways. I had really been dissappointed when we didn't end up going to the library. I really love books. Just the feel of the paper between your fingers. And every book had a different smell to it.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"I just need to pick up something quick." he said.

We didn't go down the dirt road very far. It ran parallel to the highway and then it curved away. In the middle of this curve sat a house.

My father parked away from the driveway. He walked down maybe 100ft of road before reaching the driveway. He dissappeared into the house. He wasn't there five minutes when I saw him heading back to our car.

I watched him tuck something into his pocket as he started walking towards to car.

He opened the door to get in.

"What did you get?" I asked.

"Nothing you need to worry about." he answered.

On the outskirts of Mattice, Ontario heading East on hwy 11, on the right hand side, a few miles out past the road to the dump is a road. Barker road I think. He drove for what felt like forever until at some point he turned right. Another 15 minutes after the turn, the road comes to an abrupt end. To the left of the end of the road was an area people would park their vehicles to continue the trip with their ATVs. The trail continued through the forest past the huge 8 foot drop where a bridge used to be with culverts coverred by dirt at the bottom.

This trail leads to a place the locals refer to as "Glass Falls". It's an actual spot along the Missinaibe River with falls where locals like to camp out. I had been down this road before but not like this, not with all of this equipment. I brooded in my seat looking around seeing how no one was in the area. "Fuck!" I thought.

The nearest house was way back there. I kept trying my best to memorize the route back realizing that it would take me days to walk back to safety.

I thought for sure he would park the 1990 black Toyota 4Runner and that he would make me walk with gear like he did with my little brother. I was going to find a good time to take off. Drop the gear and just go. Dissappear into the bush. Run. Doesn't matter if I get lost. Just run. I don't want to be here. Fuck! 

He stops the SUV at the end of the road near the edge. He steps out. He goes to the edge of the drop then looks back at me. He gets back into the vehicle and puts it in L gear. I'm thinking no fucking way! The vehicle starts slowly moving over the edge of the drop. I'm holding on to my seat terrified. What if the culverts can't hold the weight of this vehicle? It's packed! Plus the small parcel we picked up on the way out here. He put that in his front pocket. Drugs probably.

This is more than 45 degrees! What the fuck!

Omigod omigod omigod omigod! This is how I'm going to fucking die!

"I wouldn't want you taking the keys and getting any ideas about taking off when I fall asleep." He says.

What the fuck went down on my little brother's camping trip?!!

The culverts held the weight of the vehicle. I was astonished. There would be no Wreckers to save me. As he slowly climbed up the other side onto the ATV trail, I began to shake and cry. That was it. He said it would take days to walk back out to the highway. He reminded me, "Stay really close because of bears and Timberwolves in the area.". 

Apparently I would most likely get killed running into wild life.

As he kept driving, the trail narrowed and branches began hitting the vehicle, reinforcing how trapped I was.

We got to a clearing by the river. 

Once I was told this river, the Missinaibi river, goes all the way to the United States.

The water in this river has a brown tinge to it. Kind of like beer. The water flowed rapidly through the area. The falls were near but we didn't quite make it to Glass Falls. The trail was too thick with brush to keep going.

My father parked the car and got out.

I stayed in the car brooding and stalling.

He opened the back hatch to our 4runner and started pulling stuff out.

I got out of the car. 

I took the time to look around. The area was beautiful. The water was still the colour of beer this far into the wilderness. That river was weird I thought.

The area was sandy like a beach. There was a rock formation seperating some of the river water flowing. The water was sort of pooled in front of the sand by that rock formation and it was excluded from the high flow of the river as it neared Glass Falls. The rock formation curved up onto the land, creating a natural bench of sorts. There was a big tree providing shade nearby.

It's where my father put the cooler, in the shade.

By now the tent was sprawled out on the ground waiting for poles.

I went to help.

We made small talk as we put the poles through the fabric and began bending them to get the bottom of the pole into its sleeve.

We had a 4 man dome tent. The maroon and grey tent was pretty old by then. We'd been using it as a kids' tent for years. It was used for me and my little brother at first. We slept on our lawnchairs in there. Mine had been orange with ugly monkeys on it.

I tossed my sleeping bag in.

I had brought my mummy bag that went to -40.

It was thick and plush. I didn't need a mattress. 

My father was blowing up his air mattress using the car lighter for the air pump.

He set up a metal folding table next to the cooler. He was looking to set up a tarp over the dining area but there wasn't enough trees close by that area between the car and the rock ledge coming inland from the river rock formations.

He did set up a rope to hike up the cooler in the tree by the rock formation for at night. Bears.

I prefer bringing a mesh bag tied to a rope to throw in the river to keep my food cool. No need for ice. Just keep everything in tight waterproof containers.

He went back to his mattress. 

It was ready. My father tossed his big double mattress in and his sleeping bags on top. He brought both of his sleeping bags. They connected together. Weird.

Now that everything was set up, I was sitting on the rock formation looking through my bag. I wanted to listen to music and write.

I wanted to write a story of my own. I wanted to write about my future like my friend from school. Maybe I could imagine something great for myself. 

I looked over and my father was naked.

I took my headphones off.

"Gross! Dad! What the hell?!!" I started.

"There's no one around for miles." he reminded me, "Now your turn. You get naked.".

"No!" I told him firmly.

"Don't be a prude!" he warned.

"I'm not taking my clothes off!" I told him. 

"Cheapo!" he started, then "Take your clothes off I said!" more firmly.

There was no way I was getting naked like this in the bush. Fuck no.

There were two fishing poles up against the side of the car. 

I opened the door to the back of the vehicle. Looking for something. 

A weapon. 

Fucking anything.

We had these skewers for the campfire.

They were on the floor mat in the back.

I grabbed one.

I was about to put an end to this trip.

You wanna go camping mofo?

I shut the car door over rhe fishing poles, effectively breaking them in half 

"Hey! Those are my sister's! They belong to your Aunt Annie and Jeff! You're gona have to pay for that!" he yelled.

I walked towards the tent and started breaking tent poles.

He started running towards me. I ran around the back of the tent trying to break poles as I grabbed at the tent.

Everything escalated quickly from there.

Still holdong on to my skewer, I was on the sandy beach cursing and then somehow, I was holding the shewer to his throat.

He was sitting on the rock formation as I held a skewer to his throat.

Is this really happening? I thought. Fuck!!!!

What the fuck do I do now? I can't kill my father! What in the actual fuck.

He moved.

I added a little more pressure to the skewer poking against his neck.

"We are going home!" I told him.

He tossed something into the river.

"Good luck getting out of here without the car keys!" he said.

He had to be joking.

But what if he's not.

Was it a rock or was it the car keys he tossed into the river?

"Go on!" he goaded me, "Push it through my throat! I'll bet my life that you can't do it. You have to push hard. There's a lot of cartilage and bone in the neck."

I trembled holding this skewer against his neck. 

"There will be a lot of blood. There might be gurgling sounds as I breathe. I won't die, at least, not right away. You better make sure you can run!" he kept talking.

I could feel the nervousness in his throat as he spoke.

But he was right.

I'm not a killer. Despite everything he had done to me through the years and knowing how bad this was about to get for me, I just couldn't bring myself to push the skewer through his throat. 

Fuck!!!!!

I stayed there like this, holding my skewer hard against his throat. I was dusk now.

I didn't know what to do. It got darker.

I was frozen with fear, overwhelmed as my brain scrambled to come up with options.

I dropped the skewer and took off running. 

I went around our vehicle back onto the trail and I ran as hard as I could.

I came up on a swamp. There was nowhere left to run in this direction.

He was coming up on me fast.

I turned around.

I felt something hit my head hard.

I blacked out.

I remember bits a pieces after this.

It was dark. Pitch black. I could hear myself crying. He was on top of me.

Forcing himself on me.

"Keep crying!" he instructed, there's a bear right outside our tent!"

I blacked out.

I remember feeling sick trying to look for the car keys in the river the next morning.

Everything was overly bright. I felt light headed. And like I had a fever. Flushed.

The next thing I remember I was home. I had bite marks all over my breasts. They were the same as that last time. 

The bottom part on the bite.

My father had a top denture but not for the bottom, he had 6 front bottom teeth.

I saw that in the bite marks.

He had bit my nipples so hard they were swollen and crusted thickly in blood.

I treated them with polysporin and lined my bras with kleenex.

I was to embarassed to show anyone.

This was going to take a while to heal, is all I could think about.

My last paycheque from McDonald's was given to my Aunt Annie for the broken fishing poles.

I had been told I would be able to keep my last pay cheque but given my behaviour, it was taken from me.

**

Prêts d'études et la procuration mise sur mon compte de banque

"You need to come to the Caisse with me. I need you to sign some papers giving me access to your banking. In case you ever need money or something while you're in school. That way I can send you money." my mother started, "We need to apply for a student loan with the Caisse too. You'll need my signature too. That's how it works."

I let my mother and her friend Joanne figure out my loans. I paid attention on the budget set out. $350/month for a room rental. $100/month for food. The only thing I insisted on, which was something my grandfather had advised me to do, was to get inssurance on these student loans.

These loans required payment every month. My mother said she would handle the payments when Joanne asked.

I signed all the paperwork. On the way out, my mother stopped by the front counter to request her own debit card to my bank account.

Why would she need that? I thought.

***

I had no idea exactly how much money I would end up needing. I had no idea what the cost of living was. No one really taught me anything about finances, I rarely had money on me. I didn't know how to cook much, nevermind grocery shop! 

Honestly, having been cut off from extended family most of my life and not being able to hang out with friends because I had to babysit my baby brother Mathieu all the time....I had no life experiences outside of our home. Every school trip, my father attended. My money? Promptly handed over. 

I learned to cook and clean from my job at McDonald's.

I had been doing my own laundry since my army cadet days.

Those are the skills I left home with.

**

 2 Springdale Dr.

The drive to Barrie was long. We borrowed my cousin's husband's business cargo van to move me to Barrie. At least, I thought it was borrowed.

It was a bit of overkill I thought.

It was a big van. 

My baby brother pipes up "Barrysound! We're here?"

My parents, sitting up front were laughing.

We were sitting on the van flooring.

"Another hour Mat, K?" my mother piped in.

My parents found my accommodations. I wanted to live on residence, closer to school but my mother refused. She found me a room to rent through 'so and so' because it was cheaper. The lady was French speaking. Sylvie Campbell and her husband Ralph owned a dark purple painted house on the corner of Springdale Drive and Cundles Road in Barrie.

It wasn't really within walking distance from school unless you consider 5km walking distance. I didn't know anyone having to walk that far in my class but me, I was made to walk. Rain, sleet or snow. Bus money wasn't in my budget. I had no choice if I wanted to go to school.

We stopped by my new place so I could take a look around to see what I might need.

After an exhausting day of shopping, I had new bedding, basic kitchen stuff that I didn't already have and some shelving cubes. 

My mother bought my brothers everything they needed to go back to school too. Clothes. Binders. Paper. They went to Costco and got memberships. What I didn't realize at the time, is that my mother was using my account, my loans to pay for everything.

She had made me a batch of spaghetti sauce at home. She had canned it in mason jars. She helped me set up my stuff. She put them in a low cupboard.

I had a very small kitchen and reading room in the basement I was allowed to use. No television. That would be rough.

I wasn't allowed on the main floor.

We all shared a bathroom which I was unable to lock. They had removed the locking mechanism from the door handle. So they could and did walk into the bathroom when I tried to shower. The shower curtain was clear. Given my circumstances, and the fact that Sylvie's husband openly did drugs in the home, well, it made me uncomfortable.

My first night in Barrie, I spent laying next to my baby brother in the motel room. Tears were just rolling off my cheeks. I couldn't stop them. I curled up around him and smelled his hair. I can't explain it but I have always been drawn to sniff babies' heads. The scent is soothing to me. I need calming now. I was exhausted. I fell asleep to my brother's scent one last time.

My father and I had faught earlier.

He was angry I was leaving for school. He had started calling me a feminist. He used the word with so much disdain in his tone that I had to look it up. Feminist. Me?! Well, damn.

I started showering when Ralph and Sylvie were gone to work. They had a pressure washing business called "Aqua Magic". I'd see their cube van leave on a job and I would run to the bathroom to shower. I was so nervous, I often jumped and screamed when I saw my butterfly tattoo on my shoulder blade! I'd touch it. It was new. I got it before leaving home. I got a butterfly because I was trying to spread my wings to fly on my own. I loved the colours.

The remainder of the scabs on my breasts were picked off during my showers and as they were removed, I decided that what had happened to me was gone just like those scabs. I was going to move forward from this. I was determined. Despite all the obstacles, I would do my best to make it. I had to. I wanted to go get my brothers after. Build a life where we'd all be close by each other. I was going to succeed. I had to. Together we could get through anything. 

My first day of college. 

I walked to school with my personal alarm attached to my body like I was taught. On my key chain, was a personal defense weapon with a pointy end which I held onto with my right hand. Backpack on, headphones treaded into backpack, I was ready as fuck if someone sketchy came out of the woodworks during my 5 km hike to school! 

This was a precursor to perhaps the most humiliating moment of my life! 

I get to school, I lineup here, I lineup there...frosh week day one.

I registered. I picked up my OSAP which I was surprised to find out, they only give you two thirds of your loan for the first semester.

I thought I was getting $3500 but I got like a little under $2300. I had them pay my tuition directly which left me with $600. I took that $600 to the book store so I would be ready for class the following week. I was being responsible. I only bought the necessary readings and left the extra reading materials behind. I'd try to see if I could budget it somehow. I was supposed to get a small boursary from the Daughters of Isabelle in Mattice. I could use it for those materials when it came.

All the first year students for the aviation program gatherred in this large room to register for things. Upon removing my backpack and sweater to get more comfortable, my personal alarm went off! I fumbled around for what seemed like forever trying to shut the alarm. I looked around. Sure enough, everyone was looking my way.

I waved. "Hi! I'm Valerie! Obviously from a small town and expecting to get mugged today!".

I got a few chuckles. Some dirty looks.

Great! I was fully introduced to all 90 students today! Moron!

I tossed the alarm in the garbage on my way out that day. Fuck it. I can't be worse off here than I was at home!

I was telling my friend Stephanie from cadet camp how isolated and lonely I felt. No one from high school talked to me anymore. Samantha. Ryan. I thought they were my best friends but they made no attempts to contact me or to return my calls. I was completely shattered. I had no one. I had no money. I had no food. I had no one to run to out here. Ralph and Sylvie were nice enough but I felt like an outsider in their home. 

Stephanie told me about her brother's friend Stan. He was taking the accounting program at Georgian College. He lived near the college. She gave me his number. Call him, she urged, better than having no one.

A guy. Fuck. I was so shy.

Without a television, my life was pretty boring. I sat by myself in my dark bedroom. I could hear Ralph watching his tv. I could smell the hash he was burning. The smell of that stuff hits your nostrils pretty hard. 

I had just gotten more mail. A letter from another cadet friend, Estelle Arthur. The letter had been ripped oppened. Something had been taped to the paper. I took my mail from Sylvie and sat in the stairway reading. Estelle had saved up money and bought me a silver airplane necklace! She said she was proud of my accomplishment. I had been writing her for years. I was heartbroken. I wrote back thanking her for the beautiful neacklace. I lied. I didn't know how to explain how my mail was getting ripped open all the time.

Two weeks in, I was running out of food. The lids on the canned spaghetti sauce my mother made me were popping and the sauce had soured. I sat at the kitchen table many nights studying, hearing these popping sounds. It took a few days for me to realize she hadn't canned the sauce properly.

I walked to Metro at the Kozlov Mall. I got bread and bologna. Kraft dinner. Soup. Nothing fancy. The bill came to $23.00 or so.

My debit card declined.

I took the $100 I had left in my wallet and bought the groceries.

I called the bank.

Thankfully my cheque for rent for the whole semester had cleared but otherwise, my account had less than $5 to it.

I hung up. I was discouraged.

Where had my money gone?

I called home. 

"Mom. There's no money left in my account. I need groceries. My card declined at the grocery store. I was supposed to have $100 left to eat every month. What happened?" I asked.

"Moving you out there wasn't cheap. We didn't have the money.."

I cut her off.

"Grandpapa gave you $7000.00 to move me!"

"You're not broke, you got OSAP. Listen, your little brother needed Irlens glasses. They weren't cheap. We didn't have the money." she answered, "I have bills because of you.".

"But those are loans I have to pay back Mom!" I cried.

"And you wouldn't have gotten them without my signature." she hung up.

I had less than $80 for food to eat for the entire first semester.

I walked 10km a day to and from school.

On the weekends I walked to the student residences to meet up with my new friend Shal. Trevor, our shared flight instructor, picked us up at residence, where my friend lived. I asked if he could detour to get me but he refused citing he "wasn't being paid enough for this shit!".

My flight school tuition, all $7500 of it had been prepaid from that student loan. Advance Flight Training had wanted the whole amount up front for my Private Pilot License. Thursday nights I attended a class that ended at 10pm for groundschool at Georgian College. I was terrified walking home by myself in the dark but I wanted it so bad that I walked home every night. Then this one night was a bad snow storm. I was exhausted. Malnourished. I paid $1.65 to take the bus home. I took the wrong bus but I ended up at the Kozlov Center. I walked home the 10 minutes from there.

I was trying to stretch the last groceries I had bought. I had an eating disorder and therefore rationing food was easy for me. I made a toasted bologna sandwich last 4 days. 

Trevor began noticing my sudden weight loss and pointed out how I was having lapses in judgement during flight. He told me that he couldn't let me fly unless I started eating again.

My instructor grounded me. 

It was embarassing because my classmates came and went from their flights and all I wanted to do was fly.

I got to study for my PPL Exam instead of fliying and Trevor occasionally let me use the flight simulator for hours, if I begged him enough.

Not once did he ask if I had money to buy food. 

My landlord, Sylvie, started giving me some of their leftovers when she realized I had nothing to eat. It was embarassing trying to explain, so I just shrugged and thanked her for the food.

As it turns out, Sylvie was a pretty good cook. I was trying out all kinds of new foods I had never tried before. She and Ralph really loved seafood and home made ice cream. She didn't give me food every day though. Sometimes all she had was mashed potatoes left over. So some days, I went without. I never knew when my next meal would come or where it would come from. I held onto my $76. You never know what might come up.

I babysat for a karate instructor, Bob Palmer. The extra cash helped feed me. He knew my parents and lived in Barrie. I joined his karate club thinking maybe I would see my mother at karate tournaments. And I did see my parents at various tournaments. The whole time I hugged my mother as often as I could. In public, she didn't push me away, so I went for it! I got more affection from my mother during these tournaments than I had received my entire life. It was a hard event to miss out on. I still craved that affection from her. I wanted that mother daughter connection so badly but she always pushed me away.

When you walked into my school, in the foyer, they had various companies offering credit cards. I applied for a few. Sears was giving away free tupperware for their card! I applied for it. When it never came, I never thought anything of it. Free Tuperware!!!

One day, after my grandfather's funeral, I got my nerve together and I called Stan.

"Hi!" He says, "I've been waiting for your call!"

He seemed excited to meet me. He had room mates. They were making dinner. 

Dave Dennie and Karine Sylvestre. Dave was studying law enforcement. Karine was studying Hotels and Hospitality. Both came from a small remote northern community like me! Elliot Lake! I was thinking...okay why not? There's a girl there. Should be safe.

"Hop on a bus! I'll meet you at the bus stop!" he says.

Why not?!

Stan was standing at the bus stop like he had promised. I got out and walked towards him. He was wearing a red cap like he said he would be on the phone! Okay Steph, I thought.

"I'm Valerie."

"Stan" he says. "This way." 

He starts walking. It was cold out. Winter had arrived. I followed behind him. He had long legs. The guy walked fast next to my short corgi legs! I doubled up my walking efforts to keep up! 

He walked down a driveway but at the fence he stopped and waited for me.

"Okay so, Paul, my landlord, has a rottie. You're not scared of dogs are you?" he looked at me.

"Not sure! How big is a rottie?" I laughed.

He motioned to stay behind him.

"Good girl!" I heard him say. He held the dog's collar as he motioned me towards the door.

I opened the side door and Stan let go of the dog to follow me inside.

"Something smells amazing!" I looked at Karine.

"That's all Stan!" she points to him standing behind me. 

I spent some time with Karine. I really enjoyed her company. Stan was a really nice guy. Things were going well.

After dinner, Stan caught me by myself downstairs and leaned in to kiss me.

I had two choices.

They were nice people. I had fun.

I leaned in the rest of the way and kissed him.

Then he walked me to the bus stop. He watched me get on and waved as the bus took me away. Red hat and all.

Our relationship progressed. We shared a school locker in the aviation building.

The first time we were together, I got triggered. I can't put into words what I saw or how I felt. I wasn't present for what would have been my first real experience. I was somewhere else. 

I did the best I could to cope with the feelings that kept coming up.

I was spending my weekends at his place. And then soon enough I had moved in with Stan and his roomates.

Their bathroom doors locked. I could shower in peace. Without fear. By myself. With the door locked. The curtain wasn't see through like at Ralph and Sylvie's house.

I didn't know how to have a relationship like this. I was struggling but being with someone who loves me so much that he'd make me a lunch and then that he would bring it to me every day across campus to make sure I ate, being with someone like that, I couldn't go wrong. I felt safer with him. I felt more in control with him than I did at Ralph and Sylvie's house. I could function better around him. 

After the March break holidays, I grabbed my books and my clothes and I became room mate number 4! I renegotiated my student loans with the Caisse over the holidays. New budget. I'd make it work. Stan helped with food.

Trevor started letting me fly again. I got a few credit cards. I thought I'd be okay. I got an interview outfit. My program was a co-op program. I was having issues finding my own co-op placement. I was faxing out cover letters and resumes everywhere including some place called Pickle Lake. 

I couldn't find a placement.

I faxed every airport in Ontario! The Hearst Airport wouldn't give me a chance and hire me. Mme Buteau gave me some bullshit excuse. There was no support from my own town. I ended up getting a job at the Hearst Golf Club because my Aunt Annie had connections. The golf course manager Ray, lied for me. He said I was management so I would get my co-op credit. I moved back home. I didn't want to but I didn't have a choice.

I came home feeling bitter and resentful. 

**

My paternal grandfather dies

I was surprised to see how sick Pépére Ti-Guine was when I came home for the Christmas holiday break. No one had told me how sick he was. I knew he had throat cancer but I was confused because I thought radiation got all his cancer. I came home from four months of school and he was on his death bed. I spent a lot of my time at the hospital. I walked around the elevator banks praying for him. 

"Dear God, please let him live a bit longer. You can shave a couple years off my life and give them to him. I can't deal with this right now God." I carried on and on pleading with the Almighty Creator. 

I plead high and low. I prayed with all my might.

I didn't go in his room. 

It's hard for me being around my grandfather. I never understood anything he said to me. He spoke in a different tongue. Everybody understood him except for me. 

As a teenager, I went out of my way to spend quality time with my grandparents. I slept in my Aunt Annie's old bedroom. My grandmother's cat came to join me. 

I helped my grandfather get the room ready for an AA meeting at the church. He had me shovel the sidewalk. I made him repeat what he said a lot. He grew frustrated and yelled at me.

Everyone says my grandfather Elie was an admirable man. A devout Catholic. 

I have no clue. 

Honestly, I prayed for more time.

They say he was a very spiritual person.

All I saw was an impatient man with a short temper.

The only good memory I have of my grandfather is of me sitting on his lap as a child. He was feeding me sugar straight from the dispenser on a spoon.

That's pretty sad. I never understood him.

And now it appeared I would never get a chance to get to know him.

I left to go back to Barrie with a heavy heart.

The province of Quebec declared a state of emergency in Jan 1998. The ice storm was bad in Barrie too. I walked to school in the ice storm. I had to go make arrangements; after almost a week back at school, I had to go home for my grandfather's funeral. 

I got to my school, my whole front was covered in ice. My backside was dry.

I went around teacher to teacher, getting my assignments for when I was gone.

I was less than an hour at school and I had to walk back home to pack.

I had a pair of dark jeans and a dark sweater. I didn't have a lot of clothing. It would have to do. I packed a bag. My father called me to tell me where to meet up with my ride. My Uncle Michel had a truck. He was having his driver pick me up to bring me home for the funeral.

I didn't know this driver but I wanted to go. I walked to go meet him in my uncle's red Mac truck.

I sat on the edge of the bed in the bunker. The driver brought his son. 

The drive was long.

I had never riden in a transport truck before. I found the ride really bouncy.

In NewLiskeard, the driver lost control of the truck. He blared the horn as we slid past the intersection with a red light.

I could hear him cuss the whole way through.

In Kapuskasing, he parked the truck while he ran into a house to grab a bag.

His son got off in Kapuskasing.

While I waited, I watched the radar detector on the dash go off.

The beeps accelerated as I watched a police car drive by. As the police car got further in the opposite direction, the beeps grew further apart until they stopped. My father has one of these. I knew what it was. I also knew they were illegal to have.

We drove all the way to Hearst, where my parents met up with us to get me. I didn't want to be here for this.

We walked down into the church's basement. People were gathered, cigarettes in hand, near the doors. They were reminiscing, talking about my grandfather. I walked past them to go inside. My Aunt held my grandmother in a loving embrace. This was really difficult for her. She was completely distraught. She was worried about money. She was worried about their house. She didn't know how to go on without him.

I sat quietly in my chair looking at my grandfather laying in his casket. I could swear his chest was moving and that he was breathing as he lay there in his wooden box. This whole situation felt surreal.

I didn't know him.

I couldn't cry.

My cousin Cindy made a comment that I was heartless for not crying.

I was in shock!

I always thought there would be more time. You know?

I sat there quietly, watching him breathe in his box.

Out of nowhere this lady came up to take pictures of the casket. My grandmother, my aunt and my uncles were upset by this.

The lady was asked to leave.

I got up to get a gingerale.

I didn't really talk to anyone.

I always felt like an outsider with this side of the family. The unwanted burden.

Now a heartless unwanted burden.

Eventually, my grandfather was moved upstairs for the funeral. I sat near my cousin..she was going to be reading. If she broke down, my job was to step in and finish reading.

My cousin's voice trembled as she spoke. Tears kept flowing. I had my hand resting on her shoulder, trying to be encouraging. She did very well. I didn't have to take over.

She had written a story about him.

She showed me a side to him that I never saw for myself as I lived in Hearst and they all lived in Mattice.

My cousins had nicknames for him. 

They obviously spent more time with him than I did. They also understood his speech, which I never did. 

I sat back down with my cousin Cindy. 

This whole situation felt like a big sick joke.

I looked up at the choir.

In it was an old man. He looked a lot like the man at the old age home who had grabbed me and asked me if I was having sex. This had happened at the old age home where I delivered newspapers. 

I spent a year dodging him and his wife after that.

I started laughing.

Nothing made sense anymore.

My cousin gave me dirty looks but I couldn't stop laughing.

That old guy in the choir had the same big ears as that man that accosted me that had the same name as my fourth grade gym teacher.

Nothing makes sense.

"Argore lui les grosses oreilles celui la!" I whispered.

I just laughed. 

I released my biggest fear.

Do you think my grandfather was like my father? Do you think my grandfather raped his kids too?

**

March break with Stan and Stephanie

March break was coming up. I really didn't want to go home to my family. I also knew I didn't want to stay at Ralph and Sylvie's where I rented a room by myself for a week. I just didn't feel comfortable there. So when Stan suggested I go home with him instead, I jumped all over it! I saved up babysitting money to pay for the bus so I could go. I called Steph and made plans with her! I was so excited! I was going to see Steph again! The last time I saw her was during our tearful goodbye at cadet camp. It had been so difficult saying goodbye.

The bus ride seemed short. It wasn't like the ride with Ontario Northland that I was used to. Very often I had been the only person on the bus going to Hearst. It was a long and very boring bus ride. On this ride to Leamington from Barrie, there was all kinds of things to look at. Especially while going through Toronto, you can see the airplanes landing and taking off from Pearson International Airport. I was memorized!

We pulled into Leamington. We were let off near a taxi stand. Bev, Stan's mother, came to pick us up. It was my first time meeting his mother. I was shy so I kept my head down and spoke very little. When we got to their house, Stan's little brother came running out to greet us. He was excited to see us and show us his new kitten he had named Cleo. I hugged him. He reminded me of my baby brother. Maybe not going to check up on Mathieu wasn't such a great idea but I had just been there twice recently enough. I talked with Mat on the phone every day. There were no indications that he needed me. I put aside my guilt as I was led into the house ahead of everyone by his little brother. 

We were staying in the basement. There was a pullout couch not far from the stairway. The basement wasn't finished. It was like one big room. To the right was a washer dryer and some drying racks. To the left, a makeshift livingroom with a pullout couch.

The basement air was damp.

I was happy I wasn't staying here the whole time. I was actually waiting on Steph to come pick me up. As we climbed the stairs, Steph stood behind the screen door smiling at me. Her smile or maybe it was the way the sun hit her, but she looked beautiful! It's like my whole world lit up. I was so happy to see her! She was my only real friend right then. All my other friends had flaked thanks to my mother.

I ran up ahead of everyone to hug her! Her eyes glistened as we spoke! It felt like that goodbye had been yesterday. It also felt like forever had passed since I'd last seen her.

Like a long lost family member you finally got reunited with. We had so much to talk about! She was in college too. She drove her uncle's car; 'a big white beast' she called it. I climbed in without hesitation. I was so excited just to see her! I watched her drive as she talked. She looked like an apparition from a dream! I couldn't believe I was finally here! I was going to Wheatley! I only dreamed of this moment since I was 12 years of age! I was finally going to hang out with Steph!

I dropped my bag on her bedroom floor where a makeshift bed had been made up for me. I had dreamed of sleepovers like this as a kid! Staying up all night! Talking about nothing and then talking about everything. Well, almost everything. My friend had no idea why I was so happy to be here with her instead of at home. I told her all of the surface stuff that everyone got to see. I'm very good at putting on a face and acting like everything is fine. So much so that no one really knew me; like the real me. How I idealized suicide and carried my way out with me everywhere I go in case one day it just gets to be too much. No one got to see the broken side of me except the one person I had told outside of the school right before my last shower happened and she wasn't there anymore. That was by design. I didn't want it brought up and being asked how I was doing in regards to it. I wanted to leave it behind me.

We had a pajama night with popcorn. We went to Colasanti's Tropical Gardens to play mini golf. I had the best time of my life! 

Stan got sick during our visit. Before leaving Barrie he was feeling run down. He ended up contracting Mono. 

I went to the emergency room with him. Then he drove us back to his Mom's house. It was late. We snuck into the basement trying to be quiet. I felt like a teenager sneaking around like that. 

Despite all the kissing and what not, I never caught Mono! I felt healthy. 

To that point, this had been the best March break of my life! I got to see Stephanie.

I had held on to her letters over the years. Pictures. I dreamed I would go there one day. It was a bucket list item of mine to hug her one more time. Check. 

**

Back home

It took me 3 hours to walk to the almost 10km journey to the Hearst Golf Club from home. The morning dew was noticeable on the side of the roadway as I walked. Some mornings I saw deer curled up in the grass in the low ditches on both sides of Hwy 583. Some mornings all I saw was the imprints they had left behind in the tall grass. There wasn't much traffic out this way. Being weary of bears, I sang loudly as I walked, straddling the white line on the edge of the roadway, near the gravel shoulder. I hoped it would be busy today and that I'd work a full day. Some days, I walked longer than I actually worked. 

It was hard to make decent money and even harder to keep it.

I was excited to find out Martine was going to work with me along with another girl that came from Clayton Brown like me. She was older than me but I knew who she was. Her father was a photographer that took pictures for my parents' karate club. She, was the real pro shop manager. 

I knew Martine from oil painting lessons. I thought she was the most beautiful girl ever. She smiled easily and her eyes always sparkled. When she was younger, back when we were studying oil painting together, she had long blonde hair with perfect curls. I envied her. She always seemed so happy as she spoke. She wore these beautiful long flowy dresses to work. She made everything look beautiful.

And then I worked with an older lady who constantly told me stories to make me smile.

I enjoyed working there. 

But the walk was super long.

My little brother was back from school in Belleville. He loaned me his car when he worked nights. 

I had never driven stick before. 

My little brother left me instructions on the dash.

0 - 20km 1st gear

20-40 2nd gear

40-60 3rd gear

60-80 4th

80+ 5th.

Clutch to get in gear.

I sat there starring at the post it note on his dash.

Crap!

Seriously?!! He can't just drive me??!!

I turned the key. The car wouldn't start. I ran down the stairs into my little brother's bedroom. It was dark in there. I found him sleeping soundly in his bed. 

I had to watch how I asked him.

He was always short and angry with me.

"Pssst! How do I start the car?" I whispered.

"Clutch as you turn the key." he grumbles.

I walked back up the stairs to head outside.

I sat in my little brother's car.

I loved his SUV. It was rough looking but it had a beauty to it.

I pushed in the clutch with my left foot.

I can do this. I can drive an airplane by myself.

I can drive stick too!

I stalled a lot. Yeah. I was embarassed.

Better than walking though.

Some time during the summer I contracted pneumonia. I was getting oxygen treatments in the emergency room every 6 hours. My asthma was acting up. It was hard to breathe. I still walked to work and stayed as long as I could tolerate it. I needed money to get back to school. Joanne, the lady that set up my loans, she had been upset with me for not making monthly payments on the loans while I attended school. My parents were supposed to be paying it but instead, it was being taken straight from the actual loan. Basically my loan was paying itself, getting me further into debt. I needed to borrow more money to account for that. Every time my mother and my father signed the loans, they swore they would be helping me by paying it but they never did. Part of my paycheques went to that. The rest was taken from me. One thing they couldn't get to, were my tips. My Aunt Annie and her big mouth told my parents about the great tips she got while working there but I kept some of it. My father started golfing a lot. He got close to my boss. Every time I turned around, I saw my father. I played my part well in public. The Pro Shop manager was doing glass engraving. I actually bought a Father's Day mug for my father from her. I met her at her house for it.

That June, we went to a karate tournament in Timmins. I wasn't participating. I just went to watch my baby brother in between his competing. As I was leaving, Marc André Girard grabbed my arm. "Aye, I need to use the washroom. I'm too scared to go alone." he told me.

"But you have to use the men's changeroom/washroom. This isn't Hearst! I can't just go in the men's changeroom." I replied.

A few years earlier, I was in the school where my parents taught karate looking for my baby brother Mathieu. I was putting myself through hell to keep him safe but he always took off to play in the changerooms. I let myself into the men's washroom part of the changerooms. As I walked in, I announced my presence.

"Girl coming through!" 

I turned the corner to find Mario Chouinard's back. He turned around, pushed me and ran out. A terrified child looked up at me.

"T'as ben vu quoi y'o faite enh?" he was crying.

"Non. J'voyais juste son gros dos pis après y m'as pousser." I told him.

I had told my parents before leaving for college that they had a pedophile amongst their ranks.

Obviously nothing had been done.

I walked in to find my little brother. I asked him to accompany Marc André to the washroom with explicit instructions to not leave him alone in there.

Then I grabbed my baby brother and left with him. He was done competing.

On the way home, I brought it up to my parents again. That's when I found out my little brother had left Marc André alone in the washrooms.

I felt a ball in the pit of my stomach. My little brother didn't know. I hadn't told him.

When Stan called, he was telling me how great his life was at home and it pissed me off! He was going to the bars. Drinking. Partying with friends. He saw strippers with Mike. He saw a movie in the theatres. He was always so happy.  

And me?

I was back to living where I was unwanted. I was back to dealing with my refrigerator mother and my crazy abusive father.

I was being watched in the shower again.

I was being criticised for my weight again.

Nothing I did was ever right.

I was made to walk crazy distances because 'I need to lose weight' according to my mother.

I wanted to die inside.

It was easy to turn on Stan. It was easy to be angry with him for going out. It was easy to just plain be an asshole.

I was enraged that I was back here and I took it out on him. Our relationship began to suffer.

I kept walking 3 hours to and from work. Making sure to eat at work so I wouldn't add to the financial burden I was causing by simply breathing at home. I made sure to fill my little brother 's gas tank when I borrowed his car. We started this full tank rule. You always return the vehicle you borrow on a full tank to say thank you. I liked that rule.

My brother was working for a car sales place. He cleaned and detailed both rental cars and cars for sale. He showed me a car. It was a 1987 Nissan Pulsar. It belonged to Josée, his boss. Before being forced to come home, I had applied for OSAP for flight school.

While I was home, the finances had been approuved. It was too late, I was hone now. I had already paid my tuition in full so these monies were for living expenses.

I would have the flight school sign off on the loans when I got back. No more waiting for Trevor or trying to find a ride out to Oro Line 7 where the airport was! I could shuttle people too. I needed a car.

The loan had come in too late for a reason. 

I thought it was a sign.

**

My father finds more evil ways to hurt me

We were all sitting at the table. Dinner was chicken from the grocery store.

The round wooden table usually pressed a chair against the wall to make room to open the refrigerator but the table had been pulled out. The house felt full of people.

My brothers sat next to me. It felt good being reunited with them. The first semester away at college had been hard and demanding. It had been a fairly overwhelming experience financially. Trying to balance babysitting gigs with homework. I felt more at peace with them by my side. We were all eating dinner. There was laughter as we spoke to one another. I was off in my own little world when the words "Oh! Stan!", coming from my father, grabbed my attention. Everyone was laughing. My brothers. My mother. 

This is the first time it happened. I had my first flashback. I can't explain it exactly. 

I could hear my father's words. "Votre soeur a l'aime so elle. A vos y tiré les cheveux de même.", he demonstrated by pulling his own hair. "Pis après, a vos l'faisser par la tête. Oh Stan! Continue!"

That's when I had a memory flash.

I was back in the motel room with my father in Belleville. 

I woke up during the assault. At some point I sort of woke up.

I felt groggy. My eyes couldn't focus. Everything was blurry. My face was covered. I felt something off down there. Between my legs. It hurt. Like a lot. I brought my right hand down to see what was happening. 

My hand felt a head of hair.

'What in the fuck! What is hair doing there!' I thought. I was in full panic mode.

I was screaming and hitting him in the head. "Ow! It hurts! Stop!".

My stomach was turning. He was biting me hard. Really hard. It hurt so bad. I just kept hitting him, pleading, trying to get him to stop. He just buried his head into my groin harder. I was frantically punching his head.

Next thing I knew, I was being pulled off my father. I had him pinned against the fridge. I had no idea how I even got there. I was full out hitting him, scratching him and biting him. I was punching him hard in the head. I bit his arms as hard as I could when he used them to protect himself. I was no longer in control of my actions. A drop of blood was visible by his left eye.

"T'es tu fole crisse? Calice de jeune Sauvage!" my mother was hitting me. Slapping me back into the present.

I started to cry.

"Dans ta chambre! Crisse de jeune Sauvage! Pis restes'y!"

I could hear my father laughing as I headed to my bedroom. They were all laughing at me. 

I was heartbroken.

They all thought it was funny.

I could hear my mother talking loudly from my bedroom. She thought I had lost my mind. 

The topic of my mental health came up quite a few times over the summer. How I randomly fly into a rage was discussed at great length.

My father and my brothers spent the rest of the summer teasing me in the same manner.

The teasing went on until Stan left. It destroyed my first serious relationship.

**

Semester 3

September came and I moved in with Stan in the same apartment we'd all lived in previously. Dave and Karine weren't there this time. I had caused a lot of damage to the relationship. And then I suggested we have seperate bedrooms. I was paying rent now. I didn't have to hurt to stay here. 

See, something no one talks about is how after trauma, is how the signals get all mixed up. All I felt was burning and pain. 

I loved him but to put myself in what I perceive as a harmful position?

Not enough for that. 

The situation had changed. I was a paying room mate now. I had my loans for second year negotiated. OSAP too. I had it planned and organized. Things would be easier this year. I took a bus back to Barrie instead of getting my parents to drive me to save money. Rent was $750 all inclusive for the two bedroom. Paul and Jaime were super awesome landlords that lived upstairs. We shared a laundry room with them. I moved in carrying my duffel bag that Stan gave me when I went home for the summer.

When my mother emptied out my bank account, this time I went back to the OSAP office to talk with someone.

There wasn't much the recently divorced loan officer could do for me but her daughter Jen was friends with my friend Brandi from school so she gave me a useful tidbit of information. OSAP can tell when you worked full time but they can't tell exactly when you were working part time. You could get away working part time while on OSAP. 

She also had a friend who was looking for cleaning staff for her business. The work was to be kept off the books. She wrote her friend's number on the back of her business card and handed it to me. "Your parents make too much money. This is your best option. Give Marie a call. Every bit helps." she waved me out of her office.

I started looking for help wanted signs and ads. I applied at a few fast food joints. And I gave Marie a call. I had Jen drive me to my first meeting with Marie.

Marie decided to give me a chance to show her my cleaning skills. My first training shift was unpaid as I wasn't technically hired yet.

JayMar Cleaning had a contract with a bunch of offices in the Cedar Point Drive area. I followed Marie inside every business and took direction from her. After my first 8hour shift, she decided to hire me. I would be doing this whole route by myself the next time. There was so much to remember. Alarm codes. I made sure to write everything down. 

I had Jen drop me off the next shift too. Marie handed me the truck keys. She drove an old 1979 Chevy Silverado. This thing had previously been painted a bright magenta and bright teal. Someone had painted over it with white primer which was coming off in patches everywhere around the truck.

I got inside. It was automatic! I was grateful for the small graces. The seat cover was brown with navy spots throughout. I looked down at the pedals. Where there should be a gas pedal was this big giant pink foot pedal. "Wild woman" was written across the windshield. Not my style but I had to drive it. My feet barely reached the pedals. I turned the key and it fired up with a loud roar. "Watch out!" I cried, "Wild Woman gone rogue!". And my foot pressed down the big pink foot to make this beast back out of their driveway.

It was quiet all by myself cleaning these offices. I worked through the night cleaning office building after office building. As I reached Marie's driveway, the sun was rising. I left the truck in its place and dropped the keys in the lock box. 

I walked back onto Anne St where I caught a bus to go home. I was tired. I hadn't stopped all night. Lugging that huge shop vac. The bucket full of products. Garbage bags filled the back of the truck. I would do this 3 times a week. 

My first pay cheque I was crushed. You see, I had done the math. I had enough money the way I had worked it out. 

"You said $10 an hour! I'm missing 4 hours!" I pointed out to Marie.

"I deduct the product you used to clean. Right here. See?" she pointed.

"You used a new garbage bag in every bin. That's where it cost ya." she finished.

She had a defensive stand. Her hands rested on her hips. 

"Do you still want the job or no?" she looked at me.

What was I to say? I need rent money. I need food money.

"I will correct that for next pay." I replied.

I reused bags. I transfered garabage from bag to bag. I worked as smart as I could.

I also managed to get a part time job at Taco Bell on Bayfield Street. I was the drive thru order taker/dishwasher. I worked nights every weekend. I also babysat for Holly, a student pilot from my school who had a little one with this long beautiful strawberry blonde hair! She was quick and witty for a 4 year old! I really enjoyed watching her.

When Stan left home, his parents gave him their car. He was forced to work too. His employer from the previous summer break had declared bankruptcy and so he never got paid for all his work. He worked off the books for a fish and chips joint up the road from our school. Upset with me, Stan made me walk to and from work. It was a really long walk at 3am from Taco Bell. A student had gone missing near my route home. I was so nervous. Whatever we had had before was completely gone. He did not have any love left for me.

We faught and argued all the time.

To further the situation, Stan's father committed suicide. His parents were divorced. Both had remarried. His mother, Bev, was at our apartment with his brother.

They were getting ready for the funeral.

I didn't go.

I didn't know how to be there for him.

I was so confused.

His brother tried jumping into traffic to kill himself after the funeral.

Stan was in a very dark place.

Things were growing toxic at home.

I was lost.

Not long after his father's funeral, Stan moved out.

Stephanie's brother, Mike, had come down to help him.

"See you later Val!" he says, "We're gona see eachother again some day!"

Then he shut the door behind him.

"Weirdo!" I thought.

Stan was gone. Forever.

And now I had to get my place ready.

My family was coming soon to drop off my new car. My little brother was driving it. It was stick! Hahahahaha! Ya...

I was excited though. It was transferred and inssured under my own name. My father insisted on it. He refused to let us drive his vehicle after we became G2 drivers.

Inssurance costs were too high to add us he insisted.

I lived by myself for the remainder of my semester. At one point, my grandfather from Hearst came to Barrie with my father to see a specialist. He had insisted on buying me a small chocolate cake. I celebrated with my father and my grandfather in my empty apartment. 

I managed to reconnect with Samantha Saville.

She was in London now, so I applied for co-ops in that area.

I found out FlightExec had ties to Hearst and I played every card I had to get into this company and it worked!

I was moving to London to be with my bestie! 

I absolutely adored Sam! 

I started flying with Diamond Flight Training after having had issues with Advance Flight Training in Barrie. My tuition monies were going up in smoke. It wasn't properly being accounted for. There was $3000.00 missing and I wasn't any closer to getting my license. They wanted more money from me. I was struggling with my finances. Lorna was upset I hadn't turned over the OSAP to the flight school. I had bought a car instead. A car that I needed for my co-op in London. I had it out with Lorna but I never got my money back.

(In 2002 an OPP investigation into the flight school led to charges against the owner, Lorna Giroux).

Information can be found here:

https://www.muskokaregion.com/news-story/3600222-opp-looking-at-books-of-flight-school/

http://www.avcanada.ca/forums2/viewtopic.php?t=2651

**

Rooming with Samantha

Samantha stood in the foyer to her apartment with her arms crossed. She was biting her lip. I looked at her through the glass doors; I could tell she was nervous too. I walked towards the building to meet her. 

She was registered at Fanshawe College in the xray technology program.

I was moving in. My parents shuttled my things from Barrie. They had a karate seminar in the Hamilton area. I had worked out arrangements with Sam. $450 month. I budgetted. With my income, this was going to work. I opened an account with TD Bank where I planned on having my pay deposited so my mother couldn't access it.

Sam was looking forward to the financial break. She was used to sharing expenses with her twin sister but Ryan had recently given birth to a little girl. Sam was alone. 

It was New Year's Eve the next day. Sam wanted me to drive her to her boyfriend's place. Ben or something. I never met the guy but he came from Hornepayne. 

I tried to remember the route back as best as I could, Ben lived out by the university. I had bought a road map book on London to help me navigate the city.

I dropped her off and headed back to her empty apartment. "Don't get attached." I thought, "She will only let you down. Keep the relationship low key and need to know."

I loved her sofa set. Brown and grey velvet covered; it was oversized, plush and comfortable. Sam was sleeping on the couch and had left me her bedroom. Her single bed wasn't very comfortable. I hadn't had a single bed like this since I was a child. It was interesting to sleep in. I ended up curling up at the foot of the bed to sleep by the glow of my portable heater. I found her apartment chilly. I was wearing a heavy sweater but it was still cold.

Around 1am the phone rang. It was Sam. She needed me to come pick her up. She was crying.

I turned off my portable heater.

I grabbed my things. Still yawning, I headed to the elevator. We lived on the 7th floor. 

I could feel the cold air coming into the building's foyer through the front doors. I headed towards them. I had parked my car in Sam's assigned spot in the parking lot. The pretty snowflakes illuminated the night as I drove towards the university. The snow covered the street signs partially, making it hard to see where I was and where I was going. I was tired. It took me a while but I finally found the place.

I could see Sam's thin figure hiding under the porch to the house I'd dropped her off at earlier. She came running towards my car. I unlocked the door to let her in.

She sat next to me looking down at the floor as I drove us back home. Her mascara had run down her cheeks. She had been crying. She was warming her hands up.

"You weren't out there waiting the whole time, were you?" I asked.

"Yes." she whispered and then she just started crying.

Don't. Just don't. Don't get involved. Remember, she tossed you out like garbage once. I thought.

You know, she was my best friend. Or at least supposed to be. But I'm not stupid. I heard the things she said about me. When Sam and Ryan got together with Serge and Marc and Lisa...I became invisible.

I was her "filler" friend.

She talked shit about me. Yet here I am. Feeling sorry for her and wanting to make her smile. 

"What happened?" I asked.

"He was kissing this girl in the next room. I could hear the kissing noises. This was after they played footsies under the table right in front of me the whole time." she blurted.

"Like right in front of me."

"I'm so sorry." I mean, what else could I say?

I pulled into our parking lot.

I could hear her sobbing faintly through the night as I curled up at the foot of her bed. I was basking in the heat radiating from my portable heater which I got for the basement portion of my last apartment to help with humidity. I was happy to have it. London is really cold.

A few days in, our broken friendship had been mended. I felt like I could trust her once more.

After work, I'd often try to catch her at school to drive her home. I felt bad she had to take the bus. I had a car. I could drop her off and pick her up whenever she needed as the college was literally on my way to and from work. I drove right past it. She left class early a lot. I did drive her home from school once. As I sat in my car waiting for her, I was looking around, curious about her school. That's when I saw her get off the city bus and cross the road to come find my car. I was super confused but I kept my mouth shut.

"How was your day? Did you just get out of class?" I smiled at her.

"Yeah!" she says, "I had to stay a bit longer to work on my labs."

I let it be. I drove us home.

I started paying attention to her a little more. She never had any books out. When she had met me at her school, she didn't have any books with her. She could have a locker. But still. Something felt off.

We walked to the corner store to pick up cigarettes. "DuMaurier Ultra Light king" she tells the clerk. She never stopped smoking. I used to light her cigarettes for her. I didn't smoke but I knew how. My father made me smoke a cigarette when I was just 4 or maybe 5 years old. That first big draw as you light, she had had a hard time at first. I helped. She got over that I guess.

She sat on her sofa holding her cigarette between her fingers as she craddled an oversized mug of coffee. "You know you want one!" she'd tease using her sexy voice.

I didn't like the smell it left on your clothes. I grew up reeking of that stale cigarette smell as both my parents had been heavy smokers and smoked inside our home. On someone's breath, the smell of cigarettes will trigger traumatic memories for me.

I kept spraying down the apartment so my clothing wouldn't pick up the smell.

We sat up late at night watching infomercials. Sam decided to call the phone number at the bottom of the screen. It was a singles' mingling line for London. I wasn't sure about the idea. She started talking with this guy named Randy. I left to go get some shut eye before work. Martin, my boss, was short tempered and impatient. He nit picked at me all the time. I was sent out to grab white lithium grease and office supplies. He would send me to Toronto to fetch pilots or reconfigure airplanes. I was on call 24/7 to clean and reconfigure airplanes from medivac to passenger planes. I went to the bedroom to crash. The morning always came too quickly.

Sam and Randy seemed to be hitting it off. Buddy came over to pick her up to go on a date. He looked like a dumb punk to me. Trouble. They were going out to the bar. I had no interest.

After a few dates, Sam got tired of Randy. She blew him off. Buddy was a bit controlling. He called her. She made up some bullshit excuse that she had been caught up on a brawl and that she had hit her head. She was telling him she had a concussion meanwhile we had just come back from the corner store with a few movies to watch and a few bags loaded with junk food. I guess she was too convincing because buddy decided to come over.

Sam hangs up and runs to the bathroom to fetch her makeup bag.

In the hall was a full sized mirror. She always looked herself over in it before leaving our apartment. Now she was on her knees in front of the mirror. She had blue eye liner, liquid face cover, lipstick and black eyeliner. She was making fake bruises on her face. 

I just sat there watching her.

I didn't know wether to be impressed at her skill set or to be concerned but before I could think too much she was puting makeup on my face to give me fake bruises too.

I was kind of stunned.

Here she was putting makeup bruises on me to convince this guy of her drumed up story.

I reluctantly let her.

She knew him better than me. He sounded controlling. I didn't want to get too involved. I didn't like that I now had to play a part like an actor. I'm not a very good liar.

Randy came by. I resented that I had to deal with this bullshit but I played along. For Sam.

After Randy left, I grabbed her pack of cigarettes and helped myself to one. My nerves were shot. For a minute there I thought I was going to have a hard time getting rid of him. It all worked out. Randy left. But I was terrified. He had yelled at me. I didn't know the guy. Like I didn't owe him anything.

I'm not the idiot picking up guys on a party line.

I sat in the sofa chair holding the cigarette shaking as I drew a puff. 

What the fuck is wrong with Sam? 

Why doesn't she have homework? Why doesn't she have assignments or projects?

I didn't know what kind of game she was playing but I needed to be able to stay here.

"Okay. So. You're not in school. Are you?" I stammered. "I saw you get off the bus and run to my car. You weren't coming from class."

Silence filled the room.

"You never carry books. You never have assignments. Hell! I've yet to see or meet any friends you might have out here!" 

I paused.

More silence. 

I looked up at Sam. Her eyes were filled with tears. Tears had been streaming down her cheeks. 

I grabbed the kleenex on the table to wipe the fake bruise she had drawn on my cheek.

"Something is wrong here! This isn't you!" I looked at her.

She looked up at me.

"I know. I'm sorry." 

"I'm not in school. I failed my last semester. I was with Ben. I'm still on accutane and I found out I was pregnant. Then Rye was like 7 months pregnant when she told everyone. I had an abortion. Ben came with me." she continued, "I feel messed up inside. I'm not sure how to deal with all of this. I'm just trying to fill the holes in my heart.".

She was crying. 

I walked over to hug her.

"It'll be okay. You're not alone now."

Things got easier once she was honest with me. I set her up with this guy from flight school. His name was Basil. He drove a nice car. I also introduced her to one of the medivac paramedics from work, Yoshi. I figured that at least these men had valid background checks. They were a step up from the guys on the late night party line as far as I was concerned.

Sam wasn't a very clean room mate. The first time she left to go home to visit, I stayed behind and cleaned. I picked up coffee mugs with floating cigarette butts and mold in them. I deep cleaned our whole unit. When I went to do the dishes, I couldn't find my dish wash cloths. I had my mother order them through Sears. They were expensive and good quality. I searched the unit high and low. I found them sewn inside of Sam 's bras in the linen closet where she kept her clothing. 

I was LIVID!!! 

What was she thinking?! My fucking wash cloths! Not from Dollarama but from Sears! 

Ugh. So I finished cleaning and I left the garbage by the door. I figured that she could take it to the garbage shute down the hall.

As if she stole my dish cloths to pad her bras!!!

When she got home, Samantha put the garbage bag out on the balcony. She apologized for my dish cloths but I never did get them back. 

We ended up going to Hearst for March break. I drove my car. I was speeding a little because I was pulled over by OPP. I was so nervous that I didn't pay attention to where I put my license, ownership papers and proof of inssurance.

My heart was beating a mile a minute. Samantha insisted on staying with Daniel Holler during this visit. I was with Sam all the time and to be honest, I found it exhausting. I thought it was weird she wanted to stay there but whatever.

I barely saw Sam that week. On the Friday I realized that I had lost my paperwork to my car. Sam insisted we stay in Hearst longer so that I could replace the paperwork before leaving. 

Knowing how anally retentive my boss Martin was, I left for London without the paperwork. I followed some family friends who were heading to Mississauga in case I got pulled over. That way I wouldn't be stranded.

Sam was super upset with me over it. She wanted to stay longer.

We got in to our place late that night. After a few hours of sleep I pulled myself together to go to work. I had totally forgot about the time change over the break. When I showed up an hour late for work, Martin was really upset with me. He yelled at me. I stood still as the tears rolled down my cheeks. 

When he walked away, I started cleaning the hangar. I grabbed the broom and started sweeping. Nick came to find me. Nick was a pilot at Flight Exec. I had shuttled him a few times to and from Toronto Island Airport. He asked me to go sit with him in the restaurant. He sat across from me. "If you weren't on a college co-op right now, you would be fired. Martin sent me to talk to you. You will finish your co-op but he really doesn't like you." he said.

The women working with Martin were all petite and pretty. His receptionist was a tall, thin framed, blue eyed, blonde haired, pretty young woman named Becky. Becky was also new and he never jumped down her throat the way he did with me when she messed up. I'm short. I'm fat. I'm not going to lie and say shit like I'm pretty. I know I'm not much to look at. I probably wasn't what he expected. All I knew for sure from then on is that I would never get hired at the Hearst Airport. Michel and Martin were close with Mme Buteau. Flight Exec was a sister company to Hearst Air who also did medivac flights. My heart sank. 

When I was in Hearst, my grandfather gave me some money to help me with semester 4 books. He and my grandmother gave me $300 combined. I had left the cash in my wallet. When I left for work in a hurry that morning, I had left my wallet on the single bed. Having gotten in as late as we had, I didn't get a chance to deposit my money.

When I got home from work Sam told me our place had been broken into.

My wallet was missing.

I started calling the banks to cancel my cards and get new ones mailed out to me. Then I called the police.

Sam was bent out of shape. 

"Why are you calling the cops?" she said.

"Our place was broken into! I had $300 go fucking missing Sam! I'm calling the police!" I told her firmly.

I went to the washroom. I started to cry.

Why does this shit always happen to me? I thought.

"Hey Val!" it was Sam.

"I found your wallet!" 

I came out of the bathroom.

She was holding my wallet. I grabbed it from her and opened it up. Everything was still inside. 

"Where did you find it?" I asked.

"Behind the big chair." she answerred.

I think she had taken it and drumed up a story about our place getting broken into. I had looked behind the chair. I had looked everywhere for it, hoping the thief had tossed my ID somewhere. I'd need my birth certificate and my health card to get a driver's license since mine was lost.

The police came by. They took fingerprints off a few items like the vase on our kitchen table. We had to go to the police station to give our fingerprints in order to eliminate our fingerprints from the house. 

Nothing ever came of it.

Pretty sure our place wasn't actually broken into. Pretty sure Samantha Saville, my best friend, had stolen my wallet and then had a change of heart. My calling the police had scared her.

At the end of my co-op I packed up my car to move back to Barrie. 

I had found a room to rent close by my school.

While unpacking my kitchen stuff at my new place, I found my ownership, proof of insurance and my lost driver's license placed between my bowls.

Sam had packed up my kitchen stuff for me.

**

Semester 4

I rented a large room in a basement from Carrie Goertzen. It was a very large room with a big closet that spanned an entire wall. It had bright pink carpet with white walls. Across the hall from me was a one bedroom apartment. I was given a key so I could use the washroom and the kitchen.

The livingroom wasn't part of the deal. Carrie was renting the entire basement and subletted my room. At the end of the hall between my room and her unit was a small laundry facility shared with the tenants upstairs, Beth and Mike. 

Carrie worked for Pratt homes. She was short. She had blue eyes and long blonde hair. She played with her long fake nails appearing uninterested to anything I said. All she cared about was partying. We had opposite personalities. We clashed but we didn't need to be friends.

My baby brother had stopped speaking suddenly. My mother was concerned. The only person he spoke to was me so even though I was in full time classes, my parents decided to ship him my way for a month.

He was 9 years old.

Where are you supposed to stash a 9 year old child when you have to be in class?

I brought Mathieu to college classes with me. Some teachers let me take him.

He had colouring books and RL Stine books to read with him.

Then there were the teachers who wouldn't allow me to bring my baby brother in with me. Those classes, I would go to the computer lab and sign in under my credentials. I let my baby brother play computer games online while I was just down the hall attending class. He had been well versed on where to find me and to not talk to strangers. On my way out, I'd tell the student handling sign ins to keep an eye on him. The cafeteria was around the corner if he got hungry. Our student cards came with this chip you could load money on. I had loaded my student card with $20 so he could buy food if he got hungry. Some of my classes were 3 hours long.

To avoid dealing with Carrie, I would pack food and drive out to Wasaga beach after classes. I studied and did homework as I watched him run happily through the waves. I'd wrap him up in my blanket next to me as we watched the sun set. This had been the happiest and calmest I had been in a long time. As it turns out, I needed this time with him too. He took up half my heart. My grades suffered a bit but my heart was at peace having him here with me. Safe. The whole time we had been apart, it felt like a piece of me was missing. He never did tell me if our father was raping him again. He refused to talk about why he had stopped talking. I tried to get him to open up. He never did. I also couldn't keep him forever. My parents came back to pick him up but first they took us to the CN Tower and I took my baby brother to a Raptors' game. He was a huge fan back then. He had purple Raptor bedding and a small stuffed version of their mascot. Our seats were way up high. Cheap seats is all I could afford! We needed binoculars pretty much. I didn't care. I don't think he cared either. I was just happy to be spending time with him. My heart ached at the thought of him leaving soon. I worried for his safety with my parents.

I was traveling to and from London to fly with Diamond Flight Training on the weekends. I had taken Mathieu with me to London. I paid for his first fam flight and bought him a logbook. I had the logbook stamped and certified. His first 0.5hrs of flight was a gift from me if he ever became a pilot.

Larry, the owner of the flight school, had a big house. Most of the pilots that worked for him lived there with him. When I had early flights and needed a place to crash, I'd go stay there. Sean, my flight instructor, lived there too. It made it convenient when it came to flight planning. I had a bunch of pilots around to help me with the math. I liked staying at Larry's place. It was a lot better than the room I rented. There was a bunch of cots in his basement. I'd pick one and grab a blanket. 

I felt at ease there. We all pitched in around the place. Sometimes I'd spend the afternoon there watching shows like Mayday with other pilots before heading back home to Barrie. Sometimes, I would bring Sam back with me to Barrie for a week. She came to classes with me. She met my friends. She and my friend Hitesh hit it off and started seeing eachother. I was happy for her.

Carrie came to see me after I got back from London after Sam had spent a week.

"I don't want your friend in my place again!" she says, "I just bought this really expensive mascara and I'm pretty sure your friend stole it!"

"It must be a mix-up Carrie. I don't see Sam stealing your mascara." I told her.

"I don't care!" she shooted back, "I don't want her coming here again!"

I called Sam.

"Did you accidentally take my room mate's mascara?" I asked Sam.

"No! As if! Is she blaming it on me?" Sam replied.

After the conversation, I decided that Sam had most likely stolen Carrie's mascara. I drove to Shopper's Drug Mart where I bought the 3 most expensive mascaras to be found. I brought them home and apologized to Carrie. Sam couldn't stay with me anymore. She stayed with Hitesh at the residence building.

I spent my evenings studying at the beach by myself all summer. By the end of that summer most of my school friends had stopped talking to me. I couldn't figure out why.

The college co-op office had found an employer in Ottawa to hire some of us on for a fall co-op placement starting that September.

I applied for the job with Nav Canada.

I went to the interview.

That same day I found out I had been hired! I was so excited. I contacted Larry since he owned a flight school in Ottawa. I would keep flying through this co-op placement.

Larry gave me his daughter's phone number and address. He had organized it so I would have a room to stay with her and her husband for free. I was over the moon! Things were really falling into place for me.

So I thought.

**

Ottawa

I was escorted by security to get my badge. You needed a badge to work in the Ottawa Airport tower. I was being trained as a flight data analyst and acquisitions specialist. This big title was accompanied with a generous pay grade. They encouraged their employees to work overtime. "As much overtime as you can handle." my boss kept saying.

He made us take breaks often. When he had interviewed me there had been a woman with him. She didn't seem to work here. Maybe she was his superior.

I had taken up smoking by then. They had a smoker's room. I followed the train of smokers heading out for a fifteen minute break every hour. Computer eyes. They made us take breaks often. 

There was an older man that worked next to me. He helped me with my work. We were using two types of data to track the movement of aircraft through Canadian Airspace. We had to reconstruct flight paths using radar information and radio communication for billing purposes. They didn't really train us all that much. I'd ask the old man for help often. He tried his best to help me. He took me under his wing. He sat with me on break as he was a smoker too. He gave me useful bits of advice to help me excel at my job.

Within a few days, my boss, Harry, started inserting himself into our conversations. The old man gave me a look and told me to be careful around him. He wouldn't elaborate. Harry seemed nice enough.

On my days off I flew a Beachcraft 19, the only low wing aircraft they had, at the Ottawa Flying Club. Their FOB was much smaller and older when compared to Diamond Flight Training. Their fleet of aircraft was old and needed work. My first flight, the radio stopped working. The air traffic controller was making coments over the airway about Pat being a shotty mechanic because radio issues were common with the school. I listened to instructions. I squawked my transponder at the requested number. I swung the wings to let them know I could hear them. I landed and I didn't even use my full time slot for the aircraft. It took 3 tries before the airplane checked out so that I could fly out to the practice area to practice maneouvres that day. I was trying to get checked out on the Beachcraft 19. I had an instructor with me. He wasn't as solid as Trevor or Marla or Sean but he was dealing with shotty aircraft. Just as I was recovering from a stall situation the aircraft began experiecing engine failure. We barely made it back to the FBO. It seemed my plane spent more time in the hangar with Pat than it did with me in the sky.

Pat was also Larry's son in law. Whom I lived with. 

The friction over the aircraft not being in good repair made it hard for me to live there. Larry's daughter was getting upset with Pat because they weren't making the money they had planned on making with the Beachcraft 19.

I felt like I was getting in the middle.

I called Sara Christensen who ran the co-op program at Georgian College. She told me a bunch of students had rented a house and had a few spare rooms. It sounded promising. I wrote down the address and went looking for it. I got lost near the parliament buildings. There were war monuments. 

I found a pay phone to call the guy. He gave me new directions and I found the place!

I went down a flight of stairs. This was a huge place but it was ghetto! The bright orange carpet under my feet was filthy. He took me down this hallway. I swear. Freddy Crooger was there once. Dark dirty hand prints could be seen all over the walls going down the hallway. We passed the one washroom. It had a green bath tub, toilet and vanity set. The toilet was clogged with toilet paper and feces. The bath tub didn't have a shower curtain put up and there was a brown ring around the tub. I wouldn't be able to use that washroom. Disgusting. We turned the corner and he unlocked a door. 

"This one is $400." he says.

I looked inside. The room was small. It had green shag carpet. It was dirty. Omigod. So grungy. You could barely see the light coming through the dirty window.

A bare room.

Then he took me further down the hall to show me the laundry room but by then I had seen a few cockroaches and was ready to leave.

What was Sara thinking?!

I packed up my car and asked around work if anyone knew someone renting a room. 

That's when Harry said he had a room. 

The old man rolled his eyes.

The first weekend I was at Harry's, the old man came to pick me up in Kemptville. He was taking me to the aviation museum.

He drove me by where our prime minister lived. He gave me a little tour of Ottawa. I had never been anywhere except the airport. I was so happy and excited. Turns out the old man was great company. He reminded me of my grandfather.

When I was in high school, Mr. Labrosse, my history teacher, had sparked an interest with the Avro Arrow. The Avro Arrow is a Canadian made war plane he said was years ahead of other war aircraft out there. They had only made 5 of them. When the government decided to trash the project, one of the aircraft had gone missing. There were rhumours it was hidden in a barn somewhere out west. The 4 remaining aircraft were cut by torch. One of those torched pieces was at the Aviation and Space Museum. I would get to see it! I was beyond excited!

We walked around the museum and I was in awe with everything I saw. I enjoyed the company of my new friend. He knew a lot about aviation history. I listened as he spoke occasionally interupting him when I saw something I recognized. I had the best day ever! 

When he dropped me off, he told me to be careful.

I couldn't understand what he meant.

Harry insisted we drive into work together. My car had an ailing ball joint so to save my car from the daily commute from Kemptville to Ottawa, I agreed.

In no time it felt like he and I were growing closer. I was really confused. He is my boss. He was two years older than my father. He was buying me food. He fixed my car. He inserted himself into every aspect of my life helping me out every time a problem arose. I recognized the behaviour. He was grooming me. Like my father had. I grew uncomfortable. I would watch him grab his kayak and head to the river which met up with his back yard. I'd watch him paddle away hoping he'd drown. He was making comments about my needing to quit smoking because it wasn't attractive. I smoked twice as much hoping he'd leave me alone. I put up barriers in front of my bedroom door before going to sleep. 

The thing is, I needed the money. I needed the co-op to graduate.

The first time he leaned in to kiss me, I pushed him away. That's when he sat me down in the living room for a talk.

"I noticed you right away." he started, "I walked by you in the hallway as you sat waiting for your interview. I asked the woman with me if she thought I had a chance with you. She told me that it was possible so I hired you."

I swallowed a lump in my throat.

I felt nauseous.

I had been right. The old man's warning came to mind. He probably overheard them.

"You've been pushing me away. Monday, I have to let two of you go. I'm going to go into town and let you think about things."

While he was gone, I packed up my belongings and got my car ready.

I would hand in my badge the following Monday morning.

That night my boss took an aggressive stand with me. Thankfully it was over quickly.

I left his house to go see a friend that I used to work with at McDonald's. I drove out of Ottawa to go to Nathalie's house. I told her everything. I was shaking and crying. She told me I could stay on her couch.

After we talked for a bit Nathalie, her cousin Eric, his girlfriend and Julie went to bed. The next day she had invited me to a Celine Dion concert. I was excited. My first concert ever. We got back late that Saturday night. I crashed hard on her couch.

I was woken by a hand inching its way down my pants. I slapped it away and turned onto my stomach. Eric was sitting on the floor next to the couch. I didn't know him. His hand made a second attempt at going down my pants. I didn't want to deal with this.

If I ignore him long enough, he'll stop and go away. I thought.

When his hand started caressing my cheeks, I jumped up and looked directly at him. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Going back to bed." he said.

Like the guy knew why I was staying on their couch. Fucking creep.

I told Nathalie the next morning. She talked to her cousin. He denied the whole thing. She chose to believe him so I left. Feeling completely betrayed, I spent Sunday night at the airport sleeping in my car so I could go hand in my badge that Monday morning. She thought I was confused because of what had happened with my boss.

Some friend.

I wasn't confused. 

Trust me on this.

I left Ottawa for Barrie after handing in my badge. Zeb was the other student that had been let go but he was from Ottawa so he was just going to find another job. I wanted to go to the co-op office and find a new co-op.

I was putting Ottawa behind me.

I was never there.

I was going back to where things were more familiar.

I was out of money.

I was now homeless in my car with 3 credit cards that were almost maxed out.

**

Homeless in Barrie

When you're woken by someone knocking on your car window, it's like living in a completely different world. I would turn the ignition on and drive to another parking spot. The frost could be seen on the interior of my car windows. I'd blare the heat up. Giving my car a little more gas to make it rev higher and warm up faster. A few days in, I realized the carpool areas were best for sleeping. I would alternate between the one at the 400/Penetanguishene exit and the one near the 400/Essa exit. I preferred the one on Essa because there was a brand new Esso gas station with a Tim Hortons inside right across the street! Perfect place to pee and warm up at night.

I had a pay as you go cell phone. I called my mother crying. I told her my situation. She was angry. She told me to stick it out. She didn't want me coming home. "You need to find another job like the last. You need to bring in that kind of money again." she insisted, "Just use one credit card to pay the others until you find a job. Keep the cash in your account.".

November came. I was working at Canadian Tire. I was part time night crew on the promotions team. We put together aisle ends according to upcoming sale events and promotional item strips everywhere down the aisles. We were also in charge of the displays at all the cash registers. I liked the job. The navy uniform was slimming. I was guaranteed 30 hours a week. It kept me out of the cold at night. Plus they had boursaries I could apply for and they had something called profit sharing which could also be used towards my education. 

I was trying to save up for an apartment before school started in January. Right now I could still use the showers at the school gym. I found that emergency blankets helped trap heat from the sun in the car as I slept. 

Every Sunday evening I called my grandparents. They kept asking me for my address. I didn't have one to give so I tried hard to avoid the conversation.

December came and I was still nowhere close to having enough money saved up for a room to rent. I was drowning in credit card debt and my bank accounts were always empty.

I still worked 5 days a week.

So...not understanding my finances, I got printouts of everything. I grabbed all my receipts that I was keeping. I drove to Hearst. I went to the Caisse Populaire and got all the print outs from my account.

I went to sit down with my grandparents.

I handed my grandfather everything.

I told my grandfather how I was working 30 hours a week right now and I couldn't afford to rent a room.

"Your mother doesn't know you're here?" he asked.

"No. I came directly to you." I told him.

"Let's go hide your car. I don't want her to know you're here." he instructed.

I hid my car between some other old people's cars. My grandfather even covered it partially with a tarp. 

After pouring over all of my finances, my grandfather pulled out his big cheque writing machine. I recognized it from my childhood. I used to love playing with the knobs and levers. After signing it, my grandfather handed me a cheque for $12,000.00. 

"It's what your mother took from you. You go open another new bank account somewhere. Don't let her get to this money." he instructed. He helped me figure out a budget for my new semester coming up. He told me. "Don't pay more than $400 a month for a room."

After we were done going over my budget my grandfather pretty much kicked me out!

"I'm sorry to do this but you've been here long enough. You have to go before someone realizes you're in town."

I watched the tears roll down his face as I hugged him goodbye. I was crying too. Leaving him was always difficult. He was always my safe place.

I left Hearst and headed back to Barrie. I still had to work the following night.

I paid off my credit cards and I started looking for a place to live. I spent very little time in Hearst for the holidays as I was still trying to find a room to rent. I needed a place to live. Semester 5 and 6 were coming up.

Sleeping in my car in the dead of winter had taken its toll. End of December I contracted pneumonia. Thankfully, because I was still in school, I still had prescription drug benefits through my parents.

I kept going back to the hospital hoping they would keep me. So I would have a warm place to sleep while my body faught off pneumonia. They kept turning me away with a prescription to go sleep in my car.

I was feeling really sick.

Earlier, when I was with Stan, I had met an old lady. Her name was Gladys Young. Her son in law was a gym teacher back in my hometown. I went to visit her at the church library where she worked. She took me home with her.

Y2K was the biggest fear as we neared the end of 1999. I was fast asleep with a high fever on a futon in Gladys' basement. I vaguely remember my family calling my cell and calling in sick for work. I remember how Gladys had been checking up on me through the night. She kept replacing a cold cloth she had lovingly placed on my forehead. She brought me tylenol to go with my antibiotics. When I woke up, there was a yellow duck, a stuffed animal, on the pillow next to my head.

"I didn't want you to feel alone." she said pointing to it when she woke me to take more Tylenol.

"Well, the dams stayed shut. The world is okay after all!" she announced as she walked away.

I liked her. A lot.

**

Little Old Lady 2 Lanes Over

I sat in the Canadian Tire break room holding my cigarette as I went over the sales with Frank. I have never met anyone like Frank before. He was an odd guy. He looked like a pirate. I watched the smoke sort of dance around in front of his mouth as he spoke. I always blew out the smoke before speaking but he didn't. He was always in a hurry like that. Running around looking like a frazled pirate looking for his lost parrot.

The Logistics team started piling in. Mike, their supervisor, winked at me as they all walked past us. Chris would join us. Frank liked Chris. They joked around a lot. And Chris, well, Chris liked me. How do I know? He supplied me with cigarettes without asking for money in return. Every now and then I'd catch him watching me. His face turned red and he'd look down at his feet. I enjoyed this little quiet dance between us. I liked that he was so shy.

Some time through the night, Mike would come find me. He'd make sexual comments as he watched me work. He was married. He had a kid. For that matter, so was my supervisor, Geoff and he was doing the same thing to another member of our team, Samantha R. For as long as he kept his hands to himself, I would be okay.

There was another Mike at work. This Mike was younger like me. He was at Georgian too. He was Chris' best friend. 

Things between Sam and Hitesh had fizzled out so I introduced her to Mike as Chris and I started spending more time together.

I was still in school. I had found this super grungy apartment on the side of HWY 11. I'd get home from work. I'd crash for 3 hours. I'd drag my tired ass to the stand up shower. I'd drink my instant coffee while watching Rollie Pollie Ollie, I'd get dressed and head to class. 

The longest class was accounting class which I was failing because I slept through it. 

"Sam told us you never put in the effort back in high school. Sam told us how you barely showed up for class then too." a friend told me.

It was easy for them to judge me. 

And Sam was right. I did miss a lot of school back in high school. 

I was burning the candle at both ends.

I was so tired. 

Semester 5 proved difficult.

There were a lot of group assignments I couldn't attend because I had to work. See, because I had been working, OSAP cut me back to an $800 loan for my last 2 semesters.

I started failing classes.

I got a second part time morning job with Ac-u-rate Inventory Services. A girl from the logistics team, Jen, told me about it. Our hours were getting cut at work. I needed to survive. I started missing classes more often.

Chris started coming out to my place. He didn't like it. The place had been a Chinese restaurant converted into a motel which was now being rented out as bachelor apartments. My neighbours were transient truckers. I locked my door and ignored any knocks. 

The electricity in my unit was sketchy. If I used two things plugged in at the same time, I'd trip the breaker.

There was an old man, Jimmy, who sort of looked after things. Jimmy pointed down to the stairway to the basement. "Just go find the panel and flick the switch back on." he instructed.

These were old stairs made of cement. It was dark down here. I pulled out my lighter and flicked it to get a light. There was an old sign pointing to what used to be washrooms. There was at least two inches of water, more in some areas, throughout the whole basement. I found the breaker panel. I had to relight my lighter. It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust and find the triped breaker. 

This became a routine. Going down the stairs to turn the power back on.

My window didn't open. 

The window sills were painted a bright pink.

Fake brick panels lined the walls.

My bathroom has a stand up shower, a small sink (which I used for both dishes and laundry) and a toilet. I had put up a shelf to hold my bottle of zero, a soap used to hand wash delicates which I was using for all my clothes.

I spent my weekends hand washing all my clothing and hanging it up on the curtain pole for my stand up shower. My college friends weren't talking to me anymore. It's not like I had a busy social life.

Samantha R from work hosted a game night once a week. Her boyfriend, Kevin, set up the floor. We were playing "Vampires: the masquerade". It was similar to D and D. There were cards and special fancy dice. It wasn't really my thing but I like Samantha R as a friend so I showed up to support her. There had been a few game nights where no one showed up. She was upset when that happened.

Real friends support one another so I went.

 

Maybe six months after leaving Ottawa, Harry started calling me. I usually didn't pick up but that night at game night, it was probably the Bailey's in my coffee but I picked up. On the phone I pretended to be crazy. I told him I was playing vampires and drinking blood. I laughed as I spoke. I could feel the anger and the resentment building. I decided that if I appeared crazy that he might stop calling. I couldn't cope with his constant calls. I ended up giving my cell phone to Samantha R that night and I bought myself a new one with a new number the next day. I didn't want to deal with it. I just wanted the whole experience to fade away and stop hurting. He had been just like my father. At least I didn't have to see him. I didn't work there anymore. I just needed him and all that happened in Ottawa to fucking stay in Ottawa.

Chris offered to get a place together. A two bedroom in the city close to work would cut down on my commute time. He too preferred sleeping alone. We found a 2 bedroom on the same street as Gladys. I was thrilled! I was still visiting her almost daily. I'd pull up a chair. She made the coffees and I'd set out the cribbage board. She taught me how to play.

As we played she told me about herself. She came from out west. She too had a baby brother whom she loved and looked after growing up. I felt a connection there. So I came to visit after classes and like clockwork, as I had to leave, her son Mark would show up for his coffee with his mother.

I'd leave and head to work.

I'd go home. Sleep a few hours and go to my second job. Then I'd go to my afternoon classes. Rinse and repeat. 

After finding out I had failed semester 5. I couldn't move on to semester 6. It was with a heavy heart that I had to drop out of college.

Working 60+ hours a week.

Being homeless.

It all added up.

I was exhausted.

And then came a warning.

I picked up the phone. Chris was gone with Mike to Casino Rama. He had recently won $30,000 with "winner take all", it was a new type of lottery ticket developped by OLG.

Chris' grandmother, Bea, was on the phone. She was telling me to leave Chris. "He has a mental illness. He is off his meds again. Valerie, you need to leave. Chris gets quite violent off meds."

I hung up the phone. Ya right.

It didn't take long for me to notice the change in Chris. I'd come home to see him sitting on my futon my mother had bought me for Christmas and my birthday before I had left for Ottawa. She had Sears deliver it when I lived at Carrie's so my baby brother had a bed to sleep on.

He sat in the dark smoking a cigarette.

"You better watch yourself. The people upstairs are drug dealers. There was a huge drug bust in this building while you were gone with your books. You think you're so smart carrying your books all the time." he said with rage in his voice, "I told them you were the rat! You with your books. You think you're smarter than everyone. I see that now.".

He had been sitting there for a while. The smoke was pooling near the ceiling above him.

I walked past him to my bedroom.

I locked the door behind me. 

What in the fuck just happened?!

I kept waking up that night. I listened at my door for him. Trying to figure out what my next move would be. Maybe he would calm down. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as Bea said.

I was terrified.

**

Dad, please come get me!

Chris' behaviour was getting erratic. He was paranoid. He was verbally abusive. He had bought these walkie talkies that had a 5km range and he made me carry one of these walkie talkies with me at all times for my protection. From what? I had no idea. He appeared agitated despite barely sleeping. I was in over my head.

I wasn't taking very good care of myself. At some point Chris started throwing things at me. He threw a pot of mashed potatoes at me. It was still hot, sitting on the stove when he flew off in a rage. "You stupid bitch! You're trying to poison me! Admit it!!!". The pot hit me in the back of the head. 

I forgot about not using pepper. He thought the pepper was poison.

I heard ringing in my ears like that time I took 12 Aspirin with a pepsi with Rachel Goodman in the girls changeroom back in grade school.

Except the ringing was louder.

I shut my eyes for a second. My head really hurt bad.

When I first opened.my eyes, I was on the floor.

I was up on my hands and knees now.

Ringing in my ears. God, why is it so loud?

My eyes were coming into focus. I could see mashed potatoes on the floor. 

I tried to pick up the potatoes on the floor.

I couldn't think. It almost felt like my brain was shivering. My head really hurt. Last time I was hit that hard in the head was at Glass Falls.

Dad.

I need to call Dad.

I moved here to go to school. I'm not in school anymore. 

What am I doing?

I need to call my father.

I need to go home.

Chris is going to kill me if I stay here.

**

You're not welcome here

I started packing early that morning after Chris left for work. I was also doing his laundry. His work uniforms needed cleaning. Just in case he showed up somehow, I decided to play it safe. I did the dishes. I tidied up things behind me as I packed. My father was coming over that afternoon. I was feverishly packing everything I owned. I packed up my car with everything it would fit. The rest was piled neatly by the door as I waited for my father to show up. I didn't want to go home but staying here wasn't an option anymore. 

When my father arrived, I started piling my things in his 4Runner. 

There wasn't much time left before Chris got back. I just wanted a clean drama free, mess free, out. 

"You follow me with your car." My father instructed.

When we got to Hearst, my father stored my things in the school. Next to the kitchen/lifeskills room, in the stairway with the firewall, was a small shop to be used by the custodians. My parents never used it so they stored all my stuff in there.

I kept my clothes and my father drove home with me following closely behind. I had found a full time job at Hearst Esso thanks to my little brother putting a good word in for me. I recognized Francis, we had worked together at McDonald's previously. Now he was part owner of KFC, Pizza Hut and Mr. Sub all together in the Esso truck stop building. I was just excited to be spending time near my little brother. 

My parents had given my bedroom to my baby brother. He was reluctant to give it up. I was told to sleep on the sofa. My father still reserved the livingroom from 11pm to midnight. No one was allowed in there. It was his time to watch porn and he would openly masturbate in front of me if I was in the livingroom during those times.

I'll be honest.

Sometimes he went on past midnight.

I'd wait him out in the kitchen.

The noises he made triggered me. It wasn't a good place to be.

Some mornings I started work at 6am. 

I was exhausted.

My clothing was kept in a tote my mother placed on top of our cat's enclosed litter box. It was all the room she could make for me. 

She promised to clear a space in the hallway linen closet for me but until then, the top of the litter box was all she had available for space. Being afraid my clothes would smell like cat piss for work, I began keeping it in the trunk of my car.

It was okay when it was summer but when winter came, trying to put on super cold clothing coming out of the shower was harsh. I barely saw any money from my paychecks. 

I had used up my credit cards on car repairs. I had collection agencies trying to contact me. 

When my grandfather asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I told him to get his house back so I could move in with them. 

"You're not happy at home?" he asked.

I just started bawling.

"My mother won't make room for me." I told him.

He hugged me. He too had been made to feel like he was a burden on his family growing up. He understood my tears.

"I should have never sold my house." he agreed. "I'll talk with your mother."

"You went crying to your grandfather!! Big baby!" my mother shouted at me as she moved my baby brother's things out of my old bedroom. "Here's your room back! Crisse de gros bébé braillard!"

I knew I should have kept it to myself. She was enraged. She didn't want me here.

"As soon as your loans are paid off, I want you out." she warned.

My thoughts grew increasingly dark.

I started planning my suicide. 

I had an end game.

Their 20th wedding anniversary was coming up on July 3rd 2001. I was going to kamikaze their day like those Japanese aviators. My parents being together was an attrocity. Their wedding day was a catastrophic abomination. Even my paternal grandmother agreed. She hated my mother and made sure to vocalize it every chance she had.

They didn't deserve a celebration.

I was hell bent on wrecking their day.

**

The other reason to come back

There had been a police investigation into the karate club recently. I was told this kid I once babysat was sexually assaulted in the karate club. My father was changing class meeting times over it. 

He was trying to stop the investigation. My mother had told me about it on the phone when I was still in Barrie.

I felt guilty. 

Like maybe I could have prevented it.

It had been another reason to come home. 

That. And not knowing what would come flying at me next. At least at home, when my mother threw stuff, it was never aimed at my head.

Admitedly, I was impressed with my mother's aim at my father's head with an ashtray. 

If you could call it a skill; my mother was gifted at it.

My father was leaving me alone when I got back. He pretty much ignored me. That told me he had to have someone in his clutches. Who? One of my brothers? 

The kid I used to babysit? 

He's a child predator. 

He hadn't stopped with just me.

I sat back trying to see if I could figure it out. I watched my father like a hawk. I tried to notice who he gave special attention to. I was terrified it was the kid I babysat. Then I looked at Josh sitting in the front passenger seat of his 4Runner. My father's new coffee buddy. At one point, that had been me. He pulled me out of class to take me for coffee. The one time, I had those jogging pants with the snap buttons down the sides. He had come up right next to me, grabbed my pants at the waist, and pulled back hard. My pants completely came off. I was mortified. Tim Hortons was full. Everybody saw. Being his coffee buddy came with a price tag. Humiliation. Something. There was always a price with him.

Some time in the early fall, while I was working in the restaurant, my father came by my work place. My little brother had locked himself inside the gas bar cabin. My father was banging on the door and screaming. 

I couldn't understand what was going on. Francis took off towards him and asked him to leave.

Later, when I got home that night, my father had my brother and I go looking through the school. He had lost his drugs. My little brother had sworn he hadn't taken them.

I was really worried because by morning we hadn't found the drugs which meant that now a little kid could potentially find them.

I hated him for that.

Work was my happy place. I got bossed around by Pierrette a lot. Sometimes I found her nit picking helpful but when I was tired, I found it annoying. I never had anyone teach me as much as she taught me. Despite the tears and the frustrating growing pains, I appreciated how she had taken me under her wing. Sort of. I enjoyed my non work related time with her more. 

I got to work with my second cousin and my grade school bully! This girl, my high school bully, scared me. I saw her punch this guy Simon once and he didn't get back up. The girl had mad fighting skills. She used to wait for me by the buses to kick my ass after school. And me? I joined the yearbook committee for a place to hide after school! At first, working with her, she intimidated me but over time she became a friend.

Too bad I couldn't get over my fear of her back in the day; as it turns out, she's a really solid person.

In the mornings, still working the night shift, I would make my little brother's breakfast and if it wasn't busy, I'd sit with him before he started at 6am. Bacon grilled cheese was his usual breakfast.

I'd watch him smile as he talked.

I had missed him so much that words can't do it justice. He was the stronger one between us.

He was the second person I'd find after seeing my grandparents. He knew that I smoked. I had kept it from everyone in my family but him.

My baby brother didn't even know. My little brother and I have been through a lot together. Other than my grandparents, he was the only other person I trusted with some of my secrets but onviously, not with everything. 

My little brother could be over protective at times. Protecting him was supposed to be my job. I'm the oldest. He's always been stronger mentally and even physically. I've never met anyone as tough as him. I admire him. The kid took hits without crying. He looked at our father square in the eyes and laughed. He had food forced down his throat with a steak knife. He stood up to them. Me? I was too scared.

I avoided confrontation. I still got hit but nowhere near as much as him. He was like the Undertaker, he just kept getting back up. He was more defiant. He laughed. I couldn't hold back my tears but he laughed. No idea how.

After my night shifts, I'd bring my grandparents breakfast. They always got up early. I'd show up holding pizza boxes with breakfast plates inside. I'd have a coffee with them. Breakfast with my grandparents was the best part of working night shifts. We watched morning shows together and then when I was tired enough, I'd go home to sleep. Sometimes though, I'd crawl into their empty bed to sleep. It was quieter here than at home. I'd sleep to the noises they made as they went about their day. I felt safer hearing their voices in the background as I slept. Their bed smelled like their hugs. I could close my eyes without worry. Nothing would happen to me in their bed. I got solid sleep there.

**

Josh

I was in the living room. I could hear my parents argueing. They did that a lot. This time I heard "Josh" loud and clear. I moved to the dusty pink lazyboy chair to hear better. I brought the volume down on the television. It was Saturday afternoon. Both of my parents were home. No karate functions that weekend.

There was a new type of karate training involving these shindo sticks. My father was fabricating his own Bo and shindo sticks at work. He was using the school's lifeskills wood shop. He hung them off the suspended shop ceiling to dry after painting with black glossy paints. He sold them for a good profit. As it turns out, he was testing them on Josh.

Joshua was a lifelong friend of my brother's. Josh and him were inseparable best friends since the day they met as kids. I would compare them like you would brothers. Josh was having a hard time finding a placement to get his co-op credit to graduate high school. He thought walking into a placement with my father would be easy and that he would be easily guaranteed his hours and graduate. He was wrong.

The argument raged on in our family kitchen. My little brother was yelling at our father "You hit him so hard he could barely walk home by himself last night! He's coverred in bruises! His parents are going to say something if they notice!!!"

My father "I didn't hit him that hard. Your friend's a pussy!"

My mother yelled in "You need to stop!"

**

Kamikaze gone wrong

July 3rd 2001. I had it all planned. I'd stick to drinking poison, visine to be precise. After all the research I had done back in high school, it seemed like the better idea. I was on 4pm-12am shifts that week. I would come home. I would wait for them to go to bed and then drink the poison. The morning of July 3, 2001, they would find my body. 

It was brilliant!

I had toyed with the idea of hanging myself in view of their bedroom door but in the end, because I was scared to mess up, heart attack by poison won.

The week of, I could feel the excitement building. I behaved as normal as I could at work keeping in mind the list of behaviours to watch out for when someone is about to commit suicide. I took psychology classes. I didn't want anyone to be "on" to me. I didn't give away my stuff. I didn't write a letter because in my mind, my parents know what they did to me so letters were not a necessary part of this.

The night of, I walked over to the convenience store in the Esso part of the building to buy a bottle of visine on my break. It looked like a perfectly normal and acceptable thing to do. I had a friend there with me. He watched me pay for it. 

This friend, someone I had just recently met, he could tell something was off with me. When I was done work, he was sitting outside waiting for me.

Alright, I can kill a few hours. The old man won't be asleep before 2am. I had time. I thought.

I reached into my pocket to touch the bottle of visine. I had pulled it out of the box.

I was set.

He was sitting on a bench right outside the restaurant. I sat down next to him.

"So? Where did you want to go?" I looked over at him.

We walked. All the way to his Dad's place above B&B.

His father was awake.

He sat up with us watching television. He had a lot of funny stories to tell. I liked him.

I tried leaving a few times but they made it difficult. "You can shower here!" he said when I tried using that as my excuse.

My friend wouldn't let me leave.

Next thing I knew, it was 5am.

I panicked. I pushed him. I took off in a hurry. Halfway home, I realized the visine drops had fallen out of my pocket. I retraced my steps all the way to B&B, carefully scanning the sidewalk back and forth. Nothing. After the way I left, I couldn't go ask for the eye drops.

I looked everywhere throughout the house for visine but it was nowhere to be found.

After searching the upstairs pharmacy, my parents were awake.

My plan fell apart. I had missed my window.

My friend had saved my life.

I was angry. 

I avoided him after that.

21 wouldn't be quite the same as 20.

20 had a better ring to it.

Now I'd have to endure another year.

**

February 2002

I sat in my chair. I could feel my anger curdle the blood in my veins. I was so close to the edge. I sat there, in my parents' living room, trying to regulate my breathing. I was trembling as I looked at my parents.

I hadn't gone to see him. I felt guilty. My mother told me he had a band. He played at the Bistro. "Go see him!" she said, "Marc André will be so happy to see you. You know, he asks about you." 

I was avoiding him after Timmins.

I just wanted to put it all behind me. You know. Move forward.

My father was leaving me alone. I just wanted to forget and move forward.

Dammit!

My parents were discussing funeral plans. 

"It's your fault!" I stammered.

"What did you say?" my father looked at me.

"I said it's your fault he's dead!" I screamed it.

My parents just looked at me, both confused.

"I told you about Mario and you guys did nothing to help him!" I said, trying to control my voice.

"She can't come to the funeral!" my father exclaimed as he stormed out of the room.

"I wouldn't dream of it! I'm not a hypocrite!' I shot back.

He started back towards me. My mother got in between us. 

"We have to find a way to push Mario out of the club." she started.

I wanted to bash her head in.

I was so angry.

Before escalating things, I walked out laughing. I was so angry I was laughing uncontrollably and shaking all the way to my bedroom. 

Then I broke down. That ball in the pit of my stomach was really hurting.

It was hard to breathe.

***

This is my fault. I should have gone to another adult. I have no idea what I was thinking telling my parents. Every time I had told her what my father did to me, my mother had done nothing. For years I thought it was because my mother hated me.

I thought she'd stand up for her students.

**

The New House

My grandfather gave my mother $55,000 for the down on the house.

"My siblings got money from him for their houses too." my mother was defensive. I had no idea why. 

She bought the house she used to gawk at when we walked to Value Mart with our wagon to do groceries. My father had a car and drove but he made my mother go with our wooden red wagon. There wasn't enough room in the wagon for me. I hated that we had to walk by that stupid house! The sidewalk was uneven and tripped my feet often. I'd have to pick out little pebbles from my hands after protecting myself from the falls.

My mother paid no attention.

She just kept trying to look into the yard, jumping up and down, trying to see over the fence into the back yard.

Well, it was hers now. All of it.

She was so happy.

She smiled a lot. 

She bought all new furniture; all new everything!!!

She had big plans to decorate. From day one, that behaviour turned this new house, into a money pit.

Furniture. 

Plumbers to remove the hair dressing sinks in the front room.

Having a little bridge especially made for the back yard after the one originally there, had been taken by the previous home owners. Back yard furniture. Big flower pots. Plants. Flowers. Building a trellis for extra privacy in the backyard.

She got rid of her brand new BBQ to put in a natural gas BBQ.

The entryway furniture she saw in that magazine with the canvas covers she could wash.

An expensive pots and pans rack.

A clock for the mantel on the fireplace.

Paying someone for pool care to open and close the pool.

Pool chemicals and the super expensive brand new Barracuda cleaning machine!

It all cost money. Money she didn't have.

There were no raises at work. 

My parents were hemorrhaging money.

The fighting intensified at home. On the outside, everything appeared normal. My father had a golfing membership. Expensive clubs I later found out were bought by credit cards that came in back in 1997, that I thought I had been rejected for. That's when I found out my futon had been paid with my completely maxed out Sears Canada card. I was getting threatened with collection agencies. I was upset. That was my credit she had been playing with. This whole time she had cards under my name and had been using them. Back to school. Christmases. All paid for on my credit.

I was put in a position where I financially was unable to move out of their house.

There was no way out.

I kept hearing them fight. I heard hitting sounds followed by crying. I walked into the master bathroom. Their bedroom door was partially open. My mother had just had plastic surgery to fix her broken nose from a punch to the face from my father and damaged gums from her dentures being too small. He was yelling. My brain hurt. I felt overwhelmed. And then he punched her in the jaw.

I left the bathroom.

I couldn't.

My ears were ringing as I made my way back to my bedroom. All the sounds around me became muffled. I lay back down in bed.

When I closed my eyes, I kept seeing Chris' fist coming at me.

His watch. I saw his watch everywhere.

I was getting overwhelmed having to live here.

Then there was the fight. The last fight they had where I got involved. 

"You deceived me! You weren't even a virgin when we married!" my father was screaming.

"I was!" she insisted.

"You didn't bleed!" he threw back at her.

Trying to put an end to this so I could get some shut eye, I came into the living room and looked at my father straight in the eye "Not everyone bleeds! I didn't."

He looked at me.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

In that moment, I was flooded with a massive amount of memories. Things I had successfully blocked out. 

"You raped me." and I walked out. I was on my way down to the basement to look for my brothers. That was my instinct kicking in. I needed to make sure they were safe. He caught up to me.

"You better watch what you say. I'll have you committed up on the hill in North Bay. No one will believe you. It'll make it easier for me to have you committed." he warned, "Do you know who I am? I'm a respected member of this town! I'm in the paper monthly!"

I went to my bedroom. Started packing my stuff. I was going to stay in my car until I could figure this out.

I'd shower at my grandparents' place and stay the night occasionally.

I just needed out of that God forsaken house!

I needed space to think.

The memories kept coming at me full force.

June 2002 I applied for a peace bond after my father had come by my work threatnening to kill me. My boss let me move into an apartment above the business and to earn part of the rent, he had me watch his kids while he went on a Mr. Sub sponsored cruise with his wife for a week.

I agreed. 

**

The High School Gang

Daniel, Marc, Kathy, Marco and Nancy were all in town. We'd get together at the bar and dance. I'll start by saying that I'm not very well coordinated so dancing is definitely not my thing.

Marc was now working with me at Hearst Esso. 

I had a great time hanging out with everyone, except for Daniel. He has always given me the creeps. I tried being nice when he was around but I didn't want to ever find myself completely alone with him. I had been avoiding him like this since grade 9. The kids at school talked about him. This one girl said he had been forceful with her. She had been drinking. Grade 9. I wasn't even in that class. I had heard about it though. People talked. I didn't want to end up like her. I couldn't stand to be near him after that. It made my skin want to crawl just looking at his smug confident face. He disgusts me but for some reason my friends liked him. I couldn't trust a guy who would sleep with a girl who is too drunk to consent. I couldn't trust a guy who tries to have sex with someone who's passed out cold either. 

My parents had the house.

So we'd go to the bar together and then come back to my place using the gate to bypass the house.

I never drink a lot. I usually get one drink and then I use the glass for pop. I like to keep my head on straight. I act drunk to look like I'm keeping up.

I always kept by Marco. He was one of the few on my "safe" list. I knew he wasn't going to try anything funny with me. He was friends with my cousin so I trusted him. 

Somehow after one of these "after parties" I hosted in my parents' back yard, Daniel was going around town saying he had sex with me.

First and foremost IF that happened, it was non consentual. The people he told this to should be reporting it to police.

I have no recollection of it.

I don't remember drinking to the point of blacking out either.

I think someone likes to run his mouth. I think Daniel Holler talked so much shit about me that he cost me friendships.

In the end, they weren't real friends.

My grandfather was right. "Real friends you can count on your fingers. Trust me, you'll never fill one hand."

**

Moving above Hearst Esso

I got my mom to go to the school with me. Some kids had gotten to my stuff. You could tell that my microwave had been run with aluminum foil inside. I couldn't catch a break. I hauled my stuff into my car and got it to Hearst Esso where I hauled it up some crazy wicked metal staircase. I was exhausted. Moving to my happy place seemed like a good idea.

At first it did.

I couldn't afford a phone.

My father was driving around the building.

I couldn't sleep. I had worked out a system of loud bangs with staff to call police if my father broke into my place.

I ate at work. I brought "waste" food home.

I made it sorta work. There are months the rent fell behind but thankfully, my boss was understanding of my situation.

I started pulling my pay at 11:30pm to midnight at the atm in the store when it got deposited. I'd leave just enough for my payments. At one point, I even opened a second bank account with Caisse Populaire to confuse my mother. I had my pay deposited in my new account and transferred my payment to my original account. I had to pull fancy footwork like this to hide my money and survive.

There was money hidden throughout my car. My car was the safest place to store my money. I understood my grandfather now. Why he dealt with cash a lot.

When my father was coming around my work place, my anxiety was through the roof. I'd sometimes come down to help the night shift.

I built pizza boxes. Lots of pizza boxes!

I couldn't sleep. My anxiety was high.

I couldn't relax myself enough to sleep.

I would lay on my futon and as I would start drifting off to sleep, I could feel someone sit on the end of my bed and touch my leg. I was too scared to open my eyes. I was too scared to keep them closed. No one was there. I was home alone but I could feel my father there. The way he breathes. My father is a mouth breather. He has some kind of abnormality in his septum that causes a slight whistling noise to his breathing at times. I had convinced myself it was my father coming back to carry out his promise. I'd hold my breath. 

I'd wake up locked in the bedroom on the floor. I didn't have a bed yet. Just an empty room with gray carpet. And a chair borrowed from the restaurant downstairs, propped up against my bedroom door.

My mother had missed my grandparents' wedding anniversary dinner because she had bruising on her face from my father hitting her. I talked with my little brother who had moved out by then. I begged him to go home at night to keep an eye on our mother.

July 3, 2002 my father beat my mother and was choking her against the bathroom floor when my little brother came running up the stairs to see what was going on. He restrained our father and had our mother call the police.

Both of my parents were charged with assault that night. I think police were right to charge them both after I heard to idiotic story behind their fight.

My mother had found my father's girlfriend 's swimsuit in his vehicle. I had told her some of his hidding spots that I knew of. Inside his map holder organizer was a tear. She had found a prescription receipt for viagra. When she pulled off one of the side panels in the rear of the vehicle, she found her then best friend 's and also coworker 's swimsuit. Danielle Tardif had been cheating on her husband with my father. 

I had a conversation with my little brother about it. "Ben voyons!" he said.

That's when I opened up to him about the rapes and realized he had forgotten. The accident. He insisted he didn't remember anything before age 12.

He didn't believe me when I told him.

My mother came to my house with the swimsuit to throw it away in my kitchen gabage. She was fuming. "He's cheating on me!"

I thought it was funny that she was upset by this considering what he had done to me. Like it's okay to rape you guys but to sleep with my best friend?!! That was beyond forgiveable! 

I just smiled and shrugged at her. 

She was being stupid and petty.

He was stupid and petty too.

He came home looking for his girlfriend's swimsuit. He punched my mother repeatedly to get it. It was in my kitchen garbage, in my apartment, above Hearst Esso but he had no way of knowing. 

Then he grabbed my mother's favourite most expensive swimsuit and ran off with it to get rid of it. She jumped him for it. She hit him. It was a $200 swimsuit. She wasn't losing that.

He managed to hide it under the couch without her seeing. I know this because I found it the next day; I helped her look as she was really distraught over this swimsuit.

The fight raged on through the night until my little brother came flying up the stairs to stop him from killing our mother in the upstairs bathroom. He was pushing his hands down on her neck firmly against the cold ceramic tiles.

She was willing to get herself hurt like this over a swimsuit. It didn't make sense to me.

What happened next is pretty fucked up. My 7th grade teacher, Mr. McKinnon, he was principal by then...he let my father move into the school my parents both worked at. My father set himself up in the lifeskills room in the basement. It had a kitchen. It also was never in use. He went and bought new clothing from Ted Wilson's racking up a huge bill on my mother's account.

My mother had to pay for my father's new wardrobe. Being her though, my mother came up with a revenge plan of her own to wreck his new clothing. It's all I ever heard about. Revenge plans. She was angry. And him? My father? He was just as childish.

I was tired.

I contemplated suicide every day.

I had missed my 20 year window.

It just felt like everything around me was imploding.

This wasn't a life.

Let's see if my father will carry through, I thought. If he kills me, it will all be over.

It was with that mindset that I walked into the police station.

"I need to talk to someone." 

My father is totally going to kill me. 

It made me happy to think that he was going to kill me.

**

Police station

When I left the police station, I felt so much better. There would be more to tell. This was just my first interview. 

When you keep something big like this inside for 21 years, there was so much to tell, it's not a story you can tell in 30 minutes. I didn't even know how to answer my therapist when she asked questions. It's an overwhelming story to live, let alone to try and put into words and articulate. Up until now, I have never told the full story and I've been writing every day for months. I knew I would need to go back to the police station and tell more. I started with the most recent assaults and worked my way back to my little brother's assault with the lint remover (and another assault on him that I didn't write about in here.). 

(Some things I'm still struggling to write about, despite purging out as much as I already have. There are also a few things I think I will always keep to myself because the details are still hard to process - like the rape in Ottawa.)

My mind was just overwhelmed after the interview. Everything was coming out in a weird form of verbal diarrhea. None of what I was telling the police officer was in order. My father didn't like this particular police officer so I trusted her. She set me up with a therapist. She helped me. More importantly, she listened. 

Asking for help doesn't come easy for me. Every time I had called someone for help I got into trouble. From being hung upside down in closets to having my hands forcibly held down in a small green and white Coleman cooler filled with ice... it's now engrained in me to keep my problems to myself. (My father kept the cooler handy behind the lazyboy chair throughout my adolescence.)

My mother had heard I had gone to police to file charges. She sat across the kitchen table from me.

"You had no right to bring your little brother into this! Christ! Valerie!" she was upset.

My little brother looked at me, he was sitting next to me. 

"I was walking. Minding my own business." he started. I could see his cheek jumping. It always jumped like that when he was angry. "You had no right!!! She stopped me and asked me to come into the station! I was high as a fucking kite and I had weed on me!!!" he was upset.

"Why did you do that?" my mother just glared at me, "It's not your place to tell anything that involves your brothers. You told them enough! You better not tell her anything more! Keep your big fat mouth shut!"

"Maybe I'll get lucky and Dad will kill me." I said as I got up and left.

On my way out I was stopped by my baby brother Mathieu. 

"Take him down. If I had been a girl, he would have done it to me too." he said.

That's when I realized he didn't remember that I had given up my soul to save him. He wouldn't be of any help.

Every rape I had endured as a child, my little brother had been there to see. I wouldn't be able to talk about that.

I was now under a gag order.

My mother started working at Hearst Esso. She was always around. She still had complete access to my banking. She got me a phone line for my apartment under her name to make me feel safer and to check up on me.

For a while there, things got interesting; I was working with both my brothers and my mother at Hearst Esso.

I was kept under control. 

**

Sam visits

Sam and I still talked on the phone a lot. At one point, she decided to come visit me. She came to my place. It felt like back in the day when we lived together again. I was seeing someone at the time. In a relationship, I do better going out to bars. She was hell bent on picking up this guy Yvan. She was completely in love with the guy since high school. She used to gawk at him at work. Even her former high school boyfriend Marc knew that she was drawn to him.

I used to like him until I found out what he was really like. I tried to warn Sam. She was blinded by her feelings for him, she wouldn't listen to me. We were going out to the Wave, a popular bar/night club in town. She was getting all dressed up. She had brought her favourite halter top to go with her jeans. She looked amazing but she didn't want her bra straps showing. "Ugh! I thought I brought them!" she growled.

"Brought what?" I asked.

"Bandaids!" she looked at me, "You got any?"

I ran down to the restaurant to hit up the first aid kit above the sink. I came back up with 4 bandaids.

"Here!" I handed them to her.

"Do you have anything bigger?" she asked holding them up.

Still out of breath, I shook my head no.

"I guess it'll have to do!" she said walking into the bathroom.

She came out fairly quickly and looked at me, "Do you see my nipples at all through this halter?".

I busted out in laughter!

"THAT'S what you needed bandaids for?!!" I couldn't stop laughing, "Are you gona ask Yvan to look at your booboos?".

"Shut up!" she said, "It's perfectly normal.".

I was still laughing as we walked towards the Wave.

I ended up coming home alone that night. I didn't sleep much. I was worried about my friend. I started thinking about my high school graduation party. I didn't bring any alcohol. I stayed sober that night and carried her twin, Ryan, all night. I helped her pop a squat to pee in the field. She was so drunk that she could barely stand up on her own. Several guys offered to take her off my hands that night but I held on to Ryan and kept her safe while she had her fun. In the morning, I had found everyone in my group a ride. I, however, was left without a ride. I started walking towards town when Jan pulled over and stopped for me. 

Well, that had been a bust for a graduation party.

I had spent the entire night babysitting.

And here I was, now worried about my best friend.

It was like 6am when the phone rang. It was Sam. She sounded upset and needed a ride. I thought about that night I picked her up from Ben's place as I drove towards Lecours trailer park to pick her up. Yvan still lived with his parents. I knew where. When I pulled up to the trailer, she was standing outside with blue streaks running down her cheeks. She stayed quiet the whole way back to my house. I stopped by Timmies to grab us some coffee. When we got back to my place, she curled up on the loveseat a friend gave me. I sat on the floor next to her trying to find something to watch on my tv. That's when she broke down and started sobbing.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I really loved him. I would have left everything to be with him." she started, "You know I've been in love with the guy for years."

"I know but I also told you he's an asshole." I replied. "When I refused to have sex with him, he came back to my work place with his friend to bark at me and call me a bitch in front of everyone I worked with."

"What?" she looked at me, "That's terrible! Well, when he was done fucking me, he pointed to a twenty dollar bill on his dresser and told me to get a cab. Like I mean nothing to him. He made me feel like a whore."

She started bawling.

I pulled off my sock. I picked the lint off my toes, bending all four small toes, I lifted my big toe up near her.

"Hello Sammy!" I said while using a deep voice, "I'm Yvan's penis! I'm so small that I have to wonder if you even felt anything!".

She busted out in laughter!

She knew it was the size of my big toe since she'd seen it too now.

"Seriously though Sam, it looks a lot like my big toe!" I smiled at her.

She looked at my toe and laughed.

"You're right!" She giggled.

"I wouldn't cry over something so small and insignificant. He's the one who lost out." I told her. "He had the whole world for one night and he threw it away. You're worth more than that. You deserve a lot better and I wouldn't settle for a small minded man like that. He's going nowhere. He works at the Plywood. You don't need an education for that job and he's always going to think small. He would hold you back from living your best life.'

She smiled. "Maybe."

The next day Sam left. I changed her passenger side headlight before she left as it had burned out. She didn't know how.

I was in tears watching her leave.

She had been a nice distraction. Court was coming up soon.

**

The assault at work

I was actually assaulted twice at work. 

The first time, a group of drunken young adults had brought liquor into the restaurant. They were inebriated. I was the shift supervisor so it was my job to make them leave. When I did, one guy poured his beer out on my head. And the girl with him, Kathy, spit in my face.

I'm not sure how but I wound up in the parking lot getting jumped by 5 or 6 people. Staff came out to fight! This girl Sandra, she could really fight! I was surprised because of how petite she was. She could throw a solid punch and she got two people off me! David managed one. I ran in to call police. 

The fight was dissipating and the staff was coming back in. I put the phone down.

"I'm going upstairs to change. Things are calm now. I have beer everywhere! I need to change." 

I ran upstairs to my place. There were 2 other units up there. The middle one was rented by Tania (age 16) and the end unit by the stairs belonged to Josée (age 16). Both had moved in with their boyfriends.

I ran in. I changed. On my way out to head back down, I saw that the party downstairs had moved into Josée's unit. Kathy stood by the stairs waiting for me.

As I walked by her she got my attention. She spit in my face a second time. 

Next thing I knew my fist was on her face and her head moved backwards.

The staff downstairs called the police.

I never saw so many police cars show up at once! There was like 3 cruisers around the building! I was in awe.

My staff must have really been scared for me. What in the hell did they say?!!

I didn't think it was that bad. I can take a solid hit; I'm used to it.

I sat with JP in the cruiser as he took my report. "It was an open handed punch." I told him. I was worried I was going to be charged with assault but that didn't happen. When I showed up for court later that week, the crown attorney took me aside and told me I wasn't needed to testify, apparently the crown attorney looking after my case had contacted him. "You have enough on your plate right now." he said.

I walked away feeling a bit relieved but scared I was letting down my coworkers.

The second assault was by a customer. I was working by myself at night. There was only one other staff inside the Esso building. It was about 5am. I was doing dishes in the back.

Mr. Dillon came into the kitchen and made his way back to the sink. I knew him so I was confused. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked like he was going to try kissing me. I usually freeze like deer in headlight but that morning I screamed! I was so proud of myself! I scared him! And the staff next door came running to see what was happening!

These two moments were life changing for me.

I finally learned to stand up for myself. 

I was learning. Therapy was helping.

I was so proud of myself for not letting bad things happen to me anymore!

**

My 16 year old room mate

Living above my work place was hard. Next door to me was Tania, a 16 year old from work. She was still in high school. Emancipated.

Her parents were divorced but with new partners. She struggled a lot with her home life. 

She had moved in next door to me. Not long after, Pascal, her boyfriend moved in.

I could hear him yelling at her. I could hear loud bangs. I heard slapping sounds. I heard crying. When I tried approaching her at first, she told me to mind my own business.

I was struggling mentally hearing those noises. It was trigerring me. I knew exactly what she was living. 

The one afternoon, the fight got really bad.

I tan down to get my boss. Staff went upstairs to get him out.

Tania was all alone. I could tell she was struggling so I was always by her side. I took her out to the club. I loved just being silly with her.

I used to babysit her. Dancing with her at the snowmobile club, I was able to let go and laugh the same way I did with her when she was little. I hadn't laughed like that in years. It felt good.

We looked around for a place together to try and save money. 

We ended up moving near the hospital. I got a used fridge. She found a used stove. We made it work! It was the happiest I'd ever been. As it turns out, Tania was an awesome friend.

**

Superior Court

Nancy, my outreach worker from the counselling service, drove me to court in Cochrane.

I was glad it had been moved to Cochrane.

Court in Hearst is held at the Legion Hall. When my matter was brought up, I looked around and felt like crying. The court officials were all people I knew.

Carol, an officer from my time in cadets, was there. They were all adults that I knew and had been involved in my life at one point or another. It was hard on me. The gallery was filled with people from town. I had delivered the newspaper to some of their houses as a kid. It would be hard to open up with so many people I knew. People that probably wouldn't believe me. My father was a respected member of this town. People had left their children in his care. He had a clean criminal background check. He worked full time in a school around children all day long.

Cochrane would be more fair.

Court is a blurr to be honest. I took the stand. In my right hand, I held a stone given to me by Louise Wilcox, a fortune teller from Kapuskasing. I know it was probably just a bunch of bs but she said it had special powers to make me brave. She had told me to rub it when I got anxious and that it would take my anxiety away. In that moment I prayed with all my might that my friend was right about her little yellow rock. I rubbed it as though it were some kind of magic lamp the whole time I testified. I tried to avoid looking at my father. I avoided looking at the high school student law class too. They called a break because the defense thought I had said something different during my recorded police station interview.

I sat in the hallway and I could hear my own voice from inside the court room. It was weird. The defense never did find what he was looking for.

My mother and I had been kept seperate during our testimonies. I didn't get to hear what she said and I can't tell you if she was there when I testified. I was completely focused on my little yellow stone. It made it easier to speak so it did work some kind of magic.

When it was over, Nancy drove us home to my mother's house. I then drove to my apartment with my room mate who had also come along to support me. I still had to go to work. I felt agitated. I was tired. I was anxious. I felt warped inside. Generally, I really didn't feel good. What if the judge in Cochrane doesn't believe me? What then?

I am going home. I thought. 

**

Day of the Verdict - Hitting Rock Bottom

I was sitting on the leather burgundy sofa, alone, in my mother's living room. The big fat black family cat was sprawled out on the matching loveseat. The house was empty. No one would be home for hours. I knew this. I also knew that even though she had been told to be there for me, that my mother wouldn't be there. I sat in her empty house, holding her cordless phone in one hand; and a bunch of prescription pills in the other hand. Waiting patiently for a call from the crown attorney's office. 

My plan was clear. I gave God an ultimatum. Have someone FINALLY believe me and do something about it! If not, I was taking my pills and when I got tired and lethargic, I'd get into position. I was taking my life, climbing my way to heaven to fight with God! This bullshit is not right or fair! I know life isn't fair but this had gone beyond that. That afternoon, the day I walked into the police station, I had reached a point where I reached a limit of sorts; I couldn't live with this pain anymore.

I sat on the edge of my seat on the sofa. The television was quietly playing reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond in the background. The phone finally rang around noon, it was the crown attorney. The excitement in her voice was almost palatable. "Your father was found guilty." I took a deep breath. I was surprised. I was sure I would die today. I never planned on living. What was I supposed to do now? She asked me if I was okay. I told her I was but I really wasn't. Not even close.

My mother came home around 4:30-5pm that day. I was perched on the edge of my seat on her sofa. Holding on to my sleeping pills, laughing and crying at the same time. She walked towards me, asking me what I was doing. It didn't take long for her to notice the pills. My mother took the pills from my hands. Both of her hands could barely hold all of the medications I'd been prescribed over the past year. I didn't have benefits. I tended to hoard whatever medication I could as I couldn't afford it with any regularity.

She took my pills into her bathroom. I heard the sound of the toilet flushing echoing through the hallway. She came back to sit with me. "You must be happy with yourself now. You got what you wanted." she said.

There wasn't much more to say so I left shortly after, stopping by the pharmacy on the way home to fill a new prescription.

Days after, I came home to an empty apartment I shared with my 16 year old roommate. I lay on my futon and turned on my television. We didn't have cable so I popped in one of many video taped rental movies I often borrowed from work. After a long night shift at the Esso truck stop, I had had a fight with my little brother. His girlfriend at the time, was starting fights between us. After an entire month of PTSD episodes where I slept maybe 20 hours; the memories coming up were becoming increasingly overwhelming. I felt exhausted and agitated over the fight with my little brother. I was going to sleep! I picked up the prescription bottle. I took one pill. Twenty minutes later I still felt agitated and unable to sleep. I took two more pills. These things must be weak, I thought. Thirty minutes later, I was still not sleeping. I took more.  

My therapist happened to call. I thought it was my little brother calling me to yell at me again. I picked up the phone, slurred speech and all, ready to tell him not to worry! His problem was going away! I was surprised when I heard my therapist's voice. I don't remember much. Just her voice "I'm coming. Hold on."

I had taken most of the new prescription I had filled on my way home from my mother's a few days earlier.

**

Hospital

I woke up sitting in a black leather recliner. One of two, set up side by side, in a room barely big enough to hold them. The bright sunlight filtering through the window behind the chairs made it hard to see. As my eyes came into focus I realized I was in the emergency department at Hearst Notre Dame Hospital. I could see empty chairs in the waiting room. I was familiar with these surroundings as I had visited the emergency department frequently as a teenager. I looked around; I was in the small treatment room. I looked up to find a small television perched up high on top of a cupboard in the corner. I could hear nurses chattering in the background as they tended to their patients. I felt disoriented. This is the most sleep I had had in months. When I tried to stand up, I felt queasy at the bits and pieces flooding back to my memory. How many pills did I take? How long have I been here? I need to go home! This is so messed up!

A nurse walked by. I knew a lot of the older nurses but it seems they were all replaced by a new generation of nurses. I recognized this nurse as the former guest speaker at a grade 6 presentation on drugs for the VIP program meant to educate children on the dangers and life altering consequences that can come from doing drugs. She was a recovered addict that came to speak to us about her journey. She looked different, older, but it was her. I recognized her right away.

"I feel much better now that I've slept. I'm ready to go home. I got to go get ready for work soon. I think." I said, rubbing my forehead not being quite sure what time of day or night it was. 

"You need to stay here. The doctor is on his way back. I just called the counselling service, your therapist is on her way in."

I felt knots building up in my stomach. I'm in trouble. This doesn't sound good. I picked up the cordless phone from the other room to call work. Why is my therapist coming to the hospital? 

I was admitted to the third floor, in the small makeshift maternity ward. Our small hospital wasn't equipped with a psychiatric unit. The first few days I had the room to myself. I couldn't sleep. I didn't feel safe in the hospital. Anyone can walk into the hospital and go to the third floor. My father could show up here just like he kept showing up at my work. I was trying to find a corner to barricade myself into so I could sleep a little while being ready if my father were to show up here and find me. The nurses wouldn't let me sleep on the floor. I needed to feel safe. I was scared to sleep. I was agitated easily. I tried to leave. My therapist and I had it out the next day and as I decided to walk out in search of safety, she told me she was putting a psychiatric hold on me. I just looked at her in complete disbelief. By this point, I had a hospital room mate. My room mate, a young woman with a small pregnancy belly protruding from her light blue hospital gown, faithfully held her vomit pan everywhere she went. She appeared weakened and frail. She was younger than me. I had seen her around, back when I was still in high school I think or maybe it was from when I attended army cadets. Where ever it was, it still remained that I didn't really know her. I hated sharing a room with a stranger. I didn't feel like I could leave the lights on all night without disturbing her during her hospital stay. Feeling betrayed, I decided to barricade myself into the third floor common room. If he's going to come looking for me, I was going to be ready.

From the common room, I could hear everyone that came up on the third floor. The flower delivery lady. I heard patients' friends and families excited to visit. What I was not prepared for, what surprised me the most, was when I heard my grandfather's voice from the nurse's station. They were sending him to my room. I got up and went looking for him. I brought him back to the common room with me. "Your mother told me you were here." He handed me a plastic bag as he took a chair next to me. "Your grandmother. She sent you cards. And pens and a pad of paper. Do you need money? Is there anything I can bring you?". All this concern for me. I had forgotten about him in all of this. I had hoped I'd never have to face him. Not because I was scared of him but because I was always scared to let him down. "No thanks. I'm good. I don't think they're going to keep me long. I should be out in a few days." I have to get back to work. Rent is due soon. I left the cheque for it on the counter. When my room mate gives it to the landlord, I need part of this pay period right now to pay that. My 16 year old room mate owes on back rent. I am going to be evicted if that cheque doesn't clear. 

I sat across from my grandfather, unable to find the words I needed to explain. My grandfather cleared his voice. "My father was a drunk. I have taken beatings and I watched my brother take a beating so bad he became permanently handicapped from his injuries.", his eyes were filling with tears as he spoke, "We had this medication kind of like tylenol today. I took the whole bottle one night. I was in so much pain that I didn't care if I woke up. I sweat a lot that night. I soaked my straw mattress. I was so discouraged when my eyes opened the next day. My mother had died. My father remarried with this widow who had 19 children. Myself and my brothers and sisters, we couldn't do anything right. Everything was our fault. That's when I decided to leave. I was young but they decided to try me in the bush camp anyway. I'd leave with my father to go work in the bush and cut trees. I got paid a small allowance. I was housed and fed. When the camp shut down for the season I headed north towards Ontario.". 

I sat and listened but I felt guilty as I watched the tears roll down his cheeks. "I know what it's like when your parents don't want you." he went on, "I was paying rent for you to stay at home when you came back from your schooling. Your mother told me how you put them out a lot by having to give you back your bedroom. She wanted $2000.00 a month for you. I gave it to her. I sold my house, we don't have room for you where we are now. Had I known this, I wouldn't have sold my house.".

I didn't know what to say. This whole time...he paid her to keep me? And then he gave them $55,000.00 to buy a house so there would be room for me. All of his savings, years of his hard work, blood and sweat, he used all of it to help me. Or at least, he was trying to help me.

My third day in the hospital, my therapist came to visit. She brought me down the hall to the other wing of the floor. Unlike the second floor, there were no patient rooms to that side of the third floor. There was what appeared to be a small board room which she led me into. The room was too small for the furniture it held. There was an oval wooden top table surrounded by blue wheeled padded desk chairs. I was instructed to grab a seat on one of the blue chairs. I looked up at this man, a doctor the counselling service brought in. A psychiatrist. He appeared older with his long white hair worn like a crown upon his bald head. He wore wiry frames over his rather large round nose, which he made a point to push down and look overtop of to look at us as we entered the room. Trying to squeeze by, I picked the 5th chair from him to sit in. My therapist squeezed past me to sit next to him. "Bonjour docteur Lapointe,..." she started. 

Dr. Know. From Artificial Intelligence. That's what he reminds me of. He spoke to my therapist as though I were completely absent from the room. He never asked me anything directly. I sat there feeling like a child watching a parent discuss her health with the doctor. I don't even know why she bothered to bring me here. I was clearly not needed in that conversation. I felt more confused about what was going on than anything.

That afternoon my therapist came back and the nurse brought me some medication to try.

I was told I was suffering from severe depression and that I needed to try this anti-depressant. The nurse handed me a white cup, similar to the cups the Health Unit used as part of their fluoride program back in the day, but these cups were a bit smaller. I looked at the pills, took the cup and emptied the contents into my mouth to wash down with the nasty hospital water. I don't know why but that hospital's water tastes as though it has dirt in it. Ice helps mask some of the taste but not all of it. Maybe dirt isn't the right word. Metal. The water tastes like metal.

As I finished eating my lunch, my mother appeared through the doorway to my room. She walked me outside where I would sit to quietly smoke a cigarette. I was enamored with the idea that just one of those nasty little cancer sticks took 7 minutes of my life from me. I took it on as a personal challenge. My mother sat next to me, pulling out her own pack of cigarettes to have a smoke with me. "The showers at the school," she asks "where did he keep the towels?"

I held my breath looking at her.

I thought of the towels in the fan room upstairs in the gymnasium at my parents' work. Being custodians in a school sure had its benefits.  

I let my breath out. The pink towels. My mother had bought light pink and mint coloured towels for the upstairs washroom. We never used them. Those are the ones my father grabbed. The ones in the bathroom are dark green and peach and being as OCD as she is, my mother would have noticed those faster than she would have noticed the missing towels that were never used.

"What towels?" I needed to know if she knew.

"My pink towels! They're the ones missing!" she exclaimed.

I didn't care about the towels. "I need to go back upstairs. I'm going to be late for lunch.".

My mother looked confused. "Sweetie, you just had lunch."

I didn't remember eating. "Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes! You were finishing lunch when I got here." she finished.

"Did you ever notice how your pyrex glasses, those expensive sets you bought, have you ever noticed how you're missing two glasses?" I retorted.

After a long conversation, my mother left in search of the towels that my father and I used to shower at school, her missing glasses he used to ply me with alcohol or God knows what and my missing torn swimsuit hidden behind the boiler at the school where they both worked. Those were things I had not seen since I left for college at age 18. The most important thing on my mind at the time though, had everything to do with the fact that I was sure I had missed lunch. Dinner came but lunch never did that day.

They decided my antidepressant dosage was too high when I refused dinner because I still wanted lunch.

**

Homeless Again

I was sitting in the common room at the hospital with my grandfather laughing. He was telling me about my grandmother's latest war declaration at the retirement home where they rented a small unit. My grandmother played cards with some of the other elderly ladies in the common living space. It was a pretty nice setup for my grandmother who enjoyed playing cards and building puzzles. Unlike at their house, she didn't have to navigate a flight of stairs to get to her puzzle. My grandmother knew a lot of people but she pretty much kept to herself. She never went out with girlfriends. Other than volunteering her time at the used clothing depot, she wasn't one to really mingle the crowds. Sharing space with complete strangers could sometimes cause a wrinkle or two that need ironing. My grandfather would sit quietly and tell me what she was up to! We would both laugh at the same parts of his story because we both could see her walking in trying to take charge of the room. She had strong opinions she was never shy to share. 

Suddenly the room grew quiet as my mother walked in. We stopped our chitter chatter. "Rachel came to see her daughter!" he exclaimed loudly! My mother sat sheepishly next to me holding a plastic bag on her lap. The silence became almost awkward. 

"Did you stop by my house first?" he looked at my mother. 

"No. I just came here to bring her a few things and maybe talk a bit." she explained.

"Oh well my girls, I'll let you talk." He rose to his feet.

I got up from the lazyboy chair I had been holding hostage for a week now.

I gave him a big hug and kissed his cheek as he pulled away.

He'll always be the man to save me from the big red blanket, my hero.

I walked him to the elevators as an excuse to hug him again.

Then I watched him disappear behind the doors as they slid shut. 

My mother had waited behind, back in the common room. I headed back to see what she was up to. I sat back down in my sprawled out chair, looking at my mom asking "What do you have there?".

I'm pointing to the grey plastic bag she had on her lap.

She began unrolling the bag to open it.

"I found the towels. I found it all." she says.

She hands me the bag. Looking inside I find one of the pink towels from the school.

I didn't feel good. "Can we go outside for a smoke?"

My mother brought her trophies home with her. I didn't want to look at them. I had bigger problems. My boss, Francis, he had fired me through registeted mail. No severance. He was also refusing to pay me all my banked hours. I had 84 hours in the bank because he needed me to work but refused to pay overtime pay. If that wasn't enough to deal with, after 3 weeks in the hospital, I was evicted from my apartment. My roommate had already moved out. My stuff was still there. My banking was going to shit. Payments were bouncing. Car insurance. Student loans. I was leaving the hospital with nowhere to go and no money. My mother told me I couldn't live with her in her big empty house she shared with my baby brother Mat.

There were rules put in place when it came to visiting my mother. 

1. If my little brother was there, my mother told me not to come over. 

2. If I was visiting and my little brother happened to show up, I was told I would have to leave. 

She didn't care that I was homeless. She prioritized my little brother. 

My little brother hated me for coming forward. You could see it in the way his cheek twitched. To him, it was like I had betrayed him. 

He was verbally abusive every time he saw me. I cried a lot. His reaction hurt. He watched me get raped for years when we were little. I think the worst betrayal in all of this is how my family treated me. I was homeless but I was still expected to drive my mother to Kapuskasing to buy flowers for her back yard at the greenhouse out there. I was still expected to take my mother shopping to Walmart once a month.

Where was the rest of my family? Aunts? Uncles? Cousins?

I was homeless in Hearst. This shouldn't be happening yet it was.

And then came my therapist, saving my butt one more time! I was friends with my brother's friend Ricky's grandparents. They showed up at the hospital when I was released. They were taking me home with them. My therapist just happened to be their neighbour. We worked out an agreement. I rented a room from them. They knew I had nothing but they were willing to help me get back on my feet.

We went to my apartment to empty it out together. They got me a storage unit to store my stuff. 

Within a few days of being released, I went to McDonald's to see if they would hire me back. Lucky for me, someone from the original opening crew was the store manager. I smiled at Dan when he said there would always be room for me here! 

I needed a job. I needed back up on my feet. I'm grateful Dan was there for me when I was at my worst.

**

Ricky's grandparents

Ricky's grandparents are amazing people. They were at the hospital when I was released. I wasn't ready to follow them to their place yet though. I needed to go see my grandmother. I hadn't seen her in 3 weeks. She was my best friend. I needed to touch base with her. I needed to appologize for what had happened. She thought she had a cold from a tickle in her throat last time I had seen her. She kept sending me out to buy Halls. I hadn't seen her in 3 weeks. I ran errands every week for her. Every third week, we had breakfast together every morning. I needed her.

I had been warned that family from the USA was visiting in town. I was just being released. I wasn't in the mood to see anyone but cousins were there when I pulled in. I had been warned not to discuss anything that was going on with them. I was supposed to go to my mother's for a family dinner that afternoon. I was in no mood. 

I went to my mother's after visiting my grandmother. She and my grandfather were leaving to go to my mom's house shortly so I left thinking I'd see them at my mother's house.

I walked through my mother's house. When I got to the kitchen, I opened the cupboard. The missing little pyrex glasses were in the cupboard. I don't know why it surprised me but it did. I was taken aback by it.

"You just put them back in here like nothing happened?" I looked at her holding back tears, just wanting to cry.

"It's a set." she said, "An expensive set."

"Yeah, I don't know if I'm up for this." I told her.

Everyone was in the backyard. I could hear the chatter and pool splashes from inside the house. 

"You're going to embarrass me now?! At least go in and say hi to everyone." she urged.

I walked around the backyard. I went to see my grandmother but she was busy.

I kept to myself this time.

There were two distant cousins I hadn't met yet. They were in the pool. I went to see them to introduce myself. I liked Cody. 

And then I got a surprise visit from a really good friend. I started crying as I hugged her. She was leaving Hearst with her family for good. I didn't think I'd ever see her again so I hugged her tightly before letting go.

I left my mother's place with family still all over her backyard, and headed to Ricky's grandparents' house, my new home. I was nervous. Like I knew them but like, how well can you really know anyone? When I visited, I spent my time outside with them. Ricky's grandfather was teaching me how to fix my car and I helped him fix his cars and I helped with small engine repairs. He was retired and loved putting around his backyard fixing stuff to pass time. I was there to work and to learn. I hadn't spent much time in their house before. It felt weird but I lived there now. It was better than the women's shelter in Kapuskasing, at least I'd be close to my baby brother, I tried to spend as much time as I could with him. He was my main worry now.

My mother was complaining to family that Mathieu's friends were always over, eating her out of a house and home. Poor Rachel, working two full time jobs and her kid makes it harder for her. I'm pretty sure my grandfather helped her financially. She was having issues getting to my income because I juggled my money between three accounts. She cried to anyone and everyone who would listen. Mathieu was now being used the same way I had been. Everything was his fault.

I know exactly what that feels like.

I went to the sentencing in Cochrane. It was maybe a week after I was released.

I thought the sentence was a real joke.

So did the Crown attorney. She told me not to worry, that she was appealing the sentence.

Intermittent sentences shouldn't be allowed when someone tries to suffocate everything that you are. I was a college drop out because of my parents. Everything in my life was unstable. 

I have to admit, it did give me an odd sense of happiness watching him be walked out of court in handcuffs. At least now, he couldn't hurt anyone on the weekends! It was something. Better than nothing.

Guilty. And no one in town would know because he was friends with Marlene at the local paper and his new girlfriend was still part-time editor for the same newspaper.

The more I talked with my grandmother, the more I realized that she was right. I needed to move out of Hearst. I'd have to save up. Leave. Start over. This whole thing would always be in my way now. She understood triggers. She understood me. 

**

Grandpapa goes to the hospital

After the sentencing, my grandfather got sick. I'm sure the stress of everything probably caused it. He spent a week, maybe 2 weeks, in the hospital. My grandmother didn't like being alone, so I offered to sleep at her house with her. I still wasn't one hundred percent comfortable with my living arrangements. It's not Ricky's grandparents' fault. They were super hospitable. They always left me a plate in the fridge when I missed dinner. They went above and beyond. I just have a hard time accepting help. I've always been a burden to my family and I hated being a burden on them. I didn't want to become someone else's burden. I paid rent but it wasn't much. I helped the old man fix things but not to the extent where it should be considered as rent. I just enjoyed fixing stuff and learning.

I packed a bag to go stay with my grandmother. I was excited. Kinda like a little kid going for a sleepover at their best friend's house! I bought us snacks! I had new pajamas that Ricky's grandmother had given me when I moved in. I double checked everything. I was good to go! Girls' night! Here I come grandmaman! This is going to be sooo much fun.

I got to her place and let myself in. I dropped my bag in her bedroom. I couldn't find her. The bathroom door was open a crack and I could see the lights were turned off inside.

I went looking for her inside the building.

She saw me in the hallway and came to find me. We went back to her place. She asked me if I could run out and buy her some Halls. Her throat was still bugging her.

"Did you go see the doctor?" I asked.

"I don't want to worry your grandfather. I just need some Halls." she insisted.

I took her $20 bill and went to the corner store to buy her a few packs of halls. I also got her some gingerale thinking it always helps me when I'm sick.

We watched the news. I brought my crochet. She couldn't see very well anymore and she had stopped crocheting. I still brought my crochet with me to her house. Crochet had become our little secret. 

I was six years old the first time I crocheted my first project. It was a simple square. I ran home to show my mother. I was so proud.

"Look Maman! Look what I made!" I was bursting with excitement.

"You know it's not real crochet what grandmaman does. She taught herself how to crochet. It's not real crochet." she nonchalantly told me. I was heart broken. Not real crochet? My square looked real to me. From that moment on it was something I hid from everyone except for my grandmother. I didn't want anyone else to make fun of my work.

I kept it all hidden under my pillow in my bed. I crocheted at night when I couldn't sleep. It helped me calm down and get back to sleep.

After a few games of crib, my grandmother decided to call it a night. She told me I could sleep in her bed with her. I was happy that I would get to sleep in my grandfather's spot. Childish maybe but it made me feel safer. My grandmother and I spent some time chatting before falling asleep. This was definitely the best sleepover of my entire life! I told her all my secrets that night. I told her everything I had kept from her over the years. I fell asleep feeling at peace.

In the morning there was someone playing basketball in the school yard next door. I was woken up being triggered by a memory. I was crying and screaming. I was reliving a childhood rape by my father triggered by the dribbling sound coming from outside. My grandmother came running into the room. She held me through it and told me to breathe. She told me to focus on her voice and that it would pass. And it did.

I was grateful to her for this time alone together.

The time I spent with her, she taught me how to breathe through it. 

"It's okay to fall. Cry and scream until you can't cry and scream anymore then roll up your sleeves and get back up. Don't ever give up. Promise me you'll never give up." she told me.

"I promise " but I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep my promise.

I had no vision for my future. None.

I had never planned on making it this far.

I felt so lost. 

**

Grandmaman passes away

My grandmother's sore throat turned into a chest cold by fall. I kept going out to buy Halls for her. My work schedule changed with my new job. I'd still try to have breakfast with my grandparents as often as I could but I'd for sure show up on wrestling nights. My grandfather pulled out a pail of napolitan ice cream which we would both attack with a spoon as we watched wrestling. This is a tradition we had since I was little.

My grandmother still wasn't feeling well when winter came. She had been feeling light headed. Some time around the end of November or beginning of December, she fell in her bathroom and broke her hip. She was sent to the hospital. She had surgery. She didn't appear to get any better after that surgery. I made sure to visit her twice a day every day. Before and after work. 

We still had that pact where she was the first person I would go see on my birthday.

I had worked overnight in the store that night on a maintenance shift. I left work for the hospital excited to go show her my latest crocheted blanket. It had taken me a while to finish it; I had started it the previous June or July at her house. It was finished. 

When I got the the hospital, there was family in the hallway. I walked into the room. My mother was there. My aunt was there. I looked at my grandmother. "Why is everyone here? What's going on?".

"I have cancer. It started in my lungs and is now rampant through my whole body. There's nothing they can do. It's too late." she stated as tears rolled down her face.

I couldn't breathe.

There was too many people around.

I had to leave.

I threw out my crochet project on my way out.

I didn't have a birthday that year.

Everyone forgot including myself.

The cancer progressed rather quickly. While everyone else looked after my grandfather and made Christmas dinner, I stayed at the hospital with my grandmother. I managed to get her to eat some cake. She hadn't eaten in days. Her nurse made a comment about how good I was with her. "She's my best friend." I told him.

"Go to my house. Look on the freezer in my little storage. On the freezer, I left my suitcase for you. You're going to need it. You won't be able to stay. Go!", she kept insisting.

I never went to look. 

There was no way I was leaving her alone on Christmas.

They had just switched her from a ward room to a semi private room. At least they weren't transferring her to the same room my paternal grandfather had passed away in. In my mind, that meant there was still hope. Like this wasn't really happening. She would pull through. She had to. I need her.

She always makes everything okay.

Every time things were unfair, she fixed it.

She always made my world peaceful.

She was my calm place.

Before New Year 's came, she was transferred into a single room.

My heart sank.

The nurses kept saying how strong her heart was. Her veins were no longer taking fluid. She had swelling in her limbs. 

She appeared to decompensate by the hour.

At one point, my grandfather asked my grandmother "My love, do you want me to go with you?".

"Stay with the kids. They still need you." she told him.

I had seen many tender moments between them before but that one made me cry.

My mother sent me to pick up Mathieu. While I was gone, my grandmother passed away. When I called her room to ask my mother something, she yelled at me. I had no idea why she was screaming. When I got to her room I was told my grandmother had passed away. It felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me. It was hard to breathe. I'm not sure what I said on my way out but my uncle grabbed my arm, "Don't you ever talk like that!". I pushed my way through and went home. When I got there, Ricky's grandmother must have seen something on my face as I walked towards the door. She caught me right on time. My legs fell out from under me as I began to sob violently. 

This was by far the worst pain I had ever felt. Ricky's grandmother helped me to my room where I fell asleep sobbing into my pillow.

That night I dreamt I was camping with my grandmother. Every time I ran to her to hug her, she vanished like smoke blending into the air.

I woke up sobbing often.

I had just lost the only real mother I had ever known. The hugs. The hand holding. The secret crochet projects. My first birthday hug every year. It was gone. It was all gone. I was now responsible for making my own light in this world.

The wake is a blurr. My mother threw a tantrum when they were getting ready to close the coffin. She made a real scene throwing herself into the coffin. When she was pulled away, she was holding to one of the blue buttons from my grandmother's outfit. I'll be honest, she was all done up in there and she looked beautiful but it wasn't her style. My grandmother dressed like Temple Grandin. She liked plaid western looking shirts. She wore jeans with an elastic waist. She wore men's socks that looked too big with blue and yellow stripes around her calves. It just wasn't like her to wear girly blouses with a pant suit. Blue wasn't even her colour. She loved red! Most of her shirts were red! I just didn't know what to make of this. Nothing made sense.

The funeral was held at the church. I love the wood ceiling in that building. I was made to sit next to Melanie, my brother's girlfriend. She took the kleenex box and hogged it. I sat there brooding over how she barely knew my grandmother yet cried more than me. 

There was food at the KC Hall caterred by the Daughters of Isabelle afterwards but I didn't stay. I went home. I was exhausted.

I started taking leaving Hearst more seriously. I'd need to save up. With my loans and my new to me maxed out credit cards, it would be hard to survive. I had to come up with a plan so I could save up and leave.

A few days after the funeral my grandfather and his children got together. My mother was smiling. "Claude came down thinking he was getting money but he's dumb thinking that, because her estate defaulted to her husband. There's nothing to give out." she started, "Your grandfather gave me part of her savings. He gave me $20,000! Claude isn't getting anything!". She was laughing.

I sat there wondering if my aunt and my uncle, her blood siblings, got anything.

Over the next few months my mother started buying these expensive porcelain dolls and these hand made teddy bears. She was buying all kinds of expensive collectibles. She bought a bunch of little real silver frames to display black and white pictures of our great grandparents. She would display these things around her house. 

She spent it on lavish decorations and clothing. If I had to guess, I'm pretty sure my grandfather gave it to her to help her keep the house and not to decorate it.

My grandfather started spending more time at her place. My mother became a closet smoker. I couldn't stop laughing because she accused my grandmother of closet smoking for years. Here she was, doing the very thing she accused her mother of doing!

Where was I during all this? I just kept opening the cupboard where the little glasses were. Looking at all 8 glasses reunited after years of having been kept apart. The expensive set. I looked at them every time I walked into that house. It made my stomach turn.

She was going on pretending nothing had happened.

I was barely holding on. I went to the pharmacy and paid to fill the expensive antidepressants I couldn't afford. Anything that might help skew this reality a bit. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

I'd stand at her kitchen counter with the cupboard door open.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Which two did my father drug me with?

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.

Humpty Dumpty took a great fall.

All the King's horses and all the King's men could never put Humpty together again.

I am Humpty Dumpty.

Which two glasses did he throw at me to make me fall off my damn wall?

**

Ontario Court of Appeals: Criminal Appeals Division

I drove to Toronto by myself. I decided I was going. I knew I needed support so I called my friend Stephanie. She and her mother were to meet me at the motel room the Crown Attorney's Office had booked and paid for me. We were meeting up the day before but on my way out there, my clutch began slipping really bad. I didn't even know if I would make it to Toronto and then back home but I had to keep trying! It's not like I could pick up a phone and call my parents for help. I had just enough money for the gas to get there.

I made it into Toronto really late that night. It was dark. The streets were empty. No pavement. All cement streets, with odd tracks and grooves in the streets.

It was my first time driving in Toronto.

I kept looking up at how tall the buildings were. It felt like that winter in Hearst where the snow curbs got so high that you had to stop at every street corner to really look for traffic! Kind of like driving inside this huge maze!

Toronto was interesting.

I parked in the underground parking for the motel. Steph and her mom were already there waiting for me.

I ran to Steph and hugged her tightly. Then I hugged her mom. I had to go up to check in still. Steph had used her credit card to use as a deposit to use the room until I got there. I dealt with that first and then we all headed up to the room. Steph and I slept on the sofa bed while her mother slept in the bed. 

I fell asleep quickly.

I was exhausted.

The next morning I was to meet someone from the Crown Attorney's Office in Toronto. They would walk me to court.

The Appellate Courts building was beautiful. It was all stone and marble. 

In the entrance there, I met a very pregnant Benita, the Crown Attorney specializing in the appeals process. She pointed out the defendant 's attorney. It appeared my father hadn't made it here yet. I had no idea if he was coming but with Stephanie by my side, I felt like I could handle it if he were to show up. I would just keep my focus on her and not look at him. 

It didn't feel like it took long before we were called in.

I walked into the court room. This court room was different. It had like a huge counter running through the front of the room with a door behind it. 

Benita was talking to me.

It appeared my father was a no show. It would be easier for me.

"All rise!"

The door opened. One judge walked into the room, then a second judge and then the third.

I looked up at these very intimidating men.

I didn't know if they would believe me.

We were told to sit and Benita kept standing as she presented my case.

She read details from my testimony.

Hearing my life, or a very personal piece of it, being told by someone else was hard to hear. It was a very surreal experience. Tears flowed and no matter what I did, they wouldn't stop flowing.

Benita held my hand for a second before sitting down asking me if I was okay.

I nodded I was okay.

My father's appointed defender clearly did not know the case. He stumbled on his words as he fumbled through his paperwork. His client was missing in action. He looked confused and his story was confusing to follow.

He tried to trash my character. He tried to trash the judge in Cochrane for using the words "leacherous nature" in his rendering of the verdict. I couldn't tell if the judges were buying into it.

When the arguments were over, the judges retreated to their chambers. We walked out.

Benita had me stay to chat for a bit about what could happen next. I like to be prepared so I appreciated her for that.

My memory blanks out after that. Next thing I remember was driving through North Bay with my bum clutch. I was afraid I wouldn't make it up the hill but I somehow did! Around Tilden Lake, my clutch was really not working. I was trying to make it to Temagami. I drove slowly on the shoulder with my fourways on. I couldn't afford a tow. I had $60 on me.

I was close to Temagami when a police car drove past me in the opposite lane. His lights turned on. I stopped my car and turned it off. I rolled down my window.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asks.

"My clutch blew. I can't afford a tow. I'm trying to make it into Temagami." I started.

"You can't drive on the shoulder like this, you could get hit!" he insisted, "It's less than 10km. If you want to try, I will follow you with my lights on."

He walked back to his car. I started mine up and started driving. At some point we hit a bit of a hill in the road and despite everything I tried, my car started rolling back. I put the breaks on. That's it. It's as far as this car will go. I put my arm out the window like I was riding a bike and stopping. 

He came out of his car and walked back to me. "It's done?" he asked.

"I think I'll take that tow now." I smiled.

The tow ended up costing me $60. I had the guy drop it at the Train Museum or Station. I walked inside to talk to someone. "Do you mind if I park my car here for a few days? My clutch blew and I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to get it and myself home." I asked.

"The museum is under construction right now. You're more than welcome to use our parking lot for a few days." she says.

Well, bonus. 

At least I had that going for me.

I walked back to my car. I was hungry. I was thirsty. I found some random water bottle in my trunk and some gum.

I sat in my car until it got very dark. I fell asleep. I walked to the gas station by the water to use their washrooms. I didn't have any money. I didn't have a cell phone. I was stranded. During the night, I sat on the cement curb in front of my car. I lit a cigarette. I didn't know what to do. I was trying so hard but I was always failing at everything.

I just cried. I felt defeated. 

The next morning I was sitting on my cement curb smoking and sipping at my water bottle when I noticed a familiar vehicle pull into the parking lot.

It was Ricky's grandparents. When I hadn't come home, they decided to come out looking for me! I was in awe! Out of nowhere! They just decided to hop in their minivan and come looking for me! No one had ever come looking for me before. I felt terrible. I was costing them money now and I was too broke to pay them back. I felt terrible for making them worry.

"I didn't know we'd be bringing a car back." he says, "Did you ask how long you can park it here?".

"They said a week." I replied.

"Okay, well, we'll go home and come back in a few days with the tow bar. Until then you can use the red car to get to and from work or we'll drive you." he told me.

About a week later, the Crown Attorney's Office sent me a surprise cheque for my mileage. I didn't know they were going to help. I took the cheque, we went to get my car and I bought a new clutch! Boom! All my problems were solved! I bought lunch and gas for the tow back. This was going to work out after all. Maybe things would be okay for once.

**

An Act of God

I was back at my routine. Except instead of seeing my grandmother, I stopped in twice a day to bring my mother a Timmies coffee before and after my shift. 

It was something I knew she missed as my father used to get her coffee every day.

My mother wasn't speaking to me much anymore when I stopped by. She was upset with me. Her divorce was my fault. She was the only one of her siblings to be divorced. She was embarrassed. "Children are the main cause of divorce." she told me.

She said many things to hurt me.

There are times where she completely ignored me.

I still stopped by her house with a coffee in my hand for her twice a day. I put a coffee on the table next to her, kissed her cheek, told her I loved her and wished her a great day. Then I'd leave. Before heading home from work, I'd bring her a coffee, kiss her cheek and wish her a good night.

I hurt too but I had high hopes we could start over she and I. So I kept trying. I kept showing up. I did the work. I tried hard. I just wanted her to love me. Why couldn't my own mother love me?

It was before my shift when I parked in my mother's driveway to bring her a coffee. I ran in. I was running late that day. I needed a work sweater I had loaned Mat. 

It was cold out. I needed that sweater.

I ran out of the house to get to my car but it was gone! Like it wasn't in the driveway anymore. Then I spotted my car between the trees between my mother's driveway and her neighbour's driveway.

I can get it out. I thought.

I opened the door and sat inside. The windows were broken. 

I just started crying.

I walked in the house and called work to tell them my car had been in an accident. 

The other car was gone. It was a hit and run.

I called the police. 

I was sobbing hard sitting on the front steps to my mother's house waiting for them to show up. It didn't take long. Like minutes.

I had just fixed the clutch and the body had been repaired. It had a brand new battery and tires! I had gotten a loan called "Noel Populaire" where the Caisse Populaire gives you credit to buy from local merchants to boost the local economy. I had picked a loan for Canadian Tire. There's no interest and you have to pay it back in full by a certain date in April. 

It took everything I had to pay that loan back in one lump sum. And now it sat totalled between two driveways. 

A priest ran a stop sign, drove over my mother's front lawn and punched my car in the driveway. He then kept driving his busted up car to finally park it two blocks away near the post office.

I called the number on the back of my inssurance card.

"It's an act of God! You have to fix it!" I pleaded, "I need this car.".

I was told that driveways are 50/50. 

They agreed to pay for the tow. My car was towed to Kapuskasing.

I felt defeated.

I borrowed Ricky's grandparents' car.

I went out there to empty out my car my next day off.

I couldn't stop crying. I had put so much work into that car. I had survived hitting a moose driving back from Coppell with it. 

I had a real serious attachment to my car. I bought it for $300. The first time I fixed it up at Canadian Tire with my friend Mark who was a mechanic there. It had memories of jokes and laughter. I painted it with boat paint myself with the brightest colours I could think of! I was still supposed to hand paint pink peace/love flower design where the two colours met. If you wonder why I painted my car in such neon ugly colours, the reason was simple...I could never find it in a parking lot! Before I could afford a car that came with a key fob, I could spend hours trying to figure out where I had left my car. The bright yellow and neon green made it very visible and I no longer wasted my time trying to remember where my car is. That's when I first noticed my memory being affected by my trauma. I started losing everything from my car keys to my wallet and then I started losing my car. I'm not even sure if I had walked by it several times before finally recognizing it. I was finding solutions for my problems as they arose. I tried to make things easier for myself. Ricky's grandparents let me use their car port. I used a roller brush to paint my car! I laughed the whole time. This was going to be some ugly car! I wasn't trying to make it look good, I wanted it visible.

My little brother hated my paint job. He said everyone looked at him when he borrowed my car. But that was sort of the point. I'm pretty sure he had something to do with the engine blowing in my first car. If he didn't want to be seen in my car, all the better because it kept my car safe from getting beaten on the back roads. He was hard on his vehicles back then and I invested a lot of time and money to make my car reliable to get out of Hearst.

Maybe it was too bright because it had become a target for a old priest.

**

The Appeals Decision

I was at my mother's when the Crown Attorney called. She had given me the web address to go check to see if the courts had renderred a decision for the appeals. I was constantly checking on Mathieu's brand new computer my mother had bought him. He was really good about sharing his stuff with me.

When she called, I ran downstairs to the computer to read it.

May 19, 2004.

They were giving him 24hrs to surrender himself to the police station. Until then, I was under police supervision to ensure my safety. I was closing the store that night. I was surrounded by crew so I felt safe. I was in my happy place. If he came for me, I was okay with it because there were witnesses everywhere around me. I loved the crew I worked with; some of whom had been there the first time I worked there. I felt like they were my family now. They made me smile. They made me laugh. And my new store manager was amazing! I totally adored her! I hung out with her a few times but afraid to become a burden, I still kept my distance.

On May 20th, my father failed to turn himself into the police station by noon so I was told to stay put.

I was at my mother's house spending time with Mat when the call came in. 

Apparently my father's attorney didn't notify him of the decision. He wasn't ready because he didn't get that 24hrs to get his affairs in order.

I ended up going to work after. I still had for figure out my next step from here.

My boss was selling her car. I really wanted it. She told me to go to Scotiabank.

**

Consolidation Loans

I walked into Scotiabank trying to see the mother of two kids I worked with. I had been told she could work magic! I needed magic at this point.

The loan officer was super helpful! She took the balance still owing on my student loans at the Caisse and she put it together with my new to me credit cards to give me a smaller payment.

I was impressed. 

And then she told me I could get extra money for a new to me car!

It wasn't enough to buy my boss' car, but I was thrilled just the same! I had found my way out of this mess.

Everything might just be okay.

Ricky's brother moved in with his grandparents and I. I had found this car on auto trader. Another Toyota. It was in my price range but it was in Sudbury. I asked my new roommate if he could come with me to help me bring it back. He seemed happy to help. I was so happy! He was becoming a good friend. So he and I left in a Tilden rental car for Sudbury to pick up my 1992 Paseo.

He followed me back in the rental car.

I was back on track. It needed struts and a few things to pass the safety check. I paid to have the work done. Ricky's grandfather didn't have a press. Within a few days, it was on the road and so was I! 

Plans to save up and leave resumed.

I went to the Guardian drug store in town and I bought a yellow duck similar to the one Mrs Young had loaned me that New Year's Eve of 2000. A yellow duck had brought me luck then and I needed one to do the same for me now. I kept him in the back window. 

Yellow is the colour of sunshine; it's always been my favourite colour!

I had recently had a legal name change. I didn't want any of the names my parents gave me. The government had been on strike so I never finished updating all my paperwork.

I made sure all my paperwork was in order before leaving.

I spent many nights looking at meanings of names and looking at my face in the mirror when I lived above Hearst Esso. One day, I came upon the name Mandy. The book I had said it meant "deserving of great love". Keeping in mind one of my favourite movies, Field of Dreams "If you build it; they will come.", I thought the name suited me better than Valerie.

I knew I would need extra love and a lot of patience to succeed. 

I had high hopes that some day I would find my real family. A place where I would be made to feel like I belonged.

I just really wanted to have a place to go to where I finally feel like one of the group.

I have spent my entire life tearing myself apart to try and fit in a mold I was just too big to fill. It doesn't matter what I do or try, my family has never loved me. 

I even loaned part of my criminal injury compensation award to my little brother to get him out of trouble; money I desperately needed for myself at the time. My mother was forceful about the issue; she swore she would pay me back if he didn't. I did it because I loved him.

To this day, he has yet to pay me back.

He hasn't even tried.

My mother hasn't attempted to pay it back either.

***

Unlike my brothers, I can't pretend that none of this happened anymore. I tried. I had forgotten almost completely and then the memories came back with a vengeance. C-PTSD is not easy to live with. 

**

I wasn't okay

I tried rebuilding my life but I wasn't okay inside. Far from it. 

My baby brother had come out to spend time with me. It made Stephanie really upset. She told me that I had put her mother on the spot when I called to ask if my baby brother could come back with me. I wasn't trying to put anyone on the spot. I just wanted to keep my baby brother safe. I figured showing up with him without asking first would have been putting Connie on the spot. Had she said no, I would have been okay with it. I don't know. There was a lack of something there. 

Larry, her step father who knew everything that had happened to me, put his gross disgusting lips on me the night before I left. I felt like a deer in the headlights. I didn't expect that. I brought my baby brother to work with me the next morning. I was afraid of how he would be treated when I wasn't around. Maybe Steph's place wasn't as safe as I thought it was. 

I worked as a swing manager at McDonald's in Leamington. One of the other managers joined me on break. I stood outside with my pop having a smoke. I felt bad for my brother spending the whole day in a McDonald's. The 2nd assistant manager, Christine, said she had room for us at her house. She was getting off work early and offered to take my brother home with her.

It didn't take very long, Christine made Mathieu feel at home. She gave him a room in a winterized porch. I was put in a bedroom upstairs. I had never lived with strangers like this before. Her daughter Jen and her boyfriend had a room on the main floor close by Mathieu's room.

A few days after we had settled in, Christine and I discussed rent. She wanted a lot of money and I was put in a position where I didn't have a choice. I knew it would be hard to pay her. I had loans. My mother would randomly wipe out my bank account. I had no idea how I was going to pull this off but I knew I had to. For Mathieu. I didn't want to send him back home until he was ready. He had come back with me for a reason.

We settled into our new home slowly. He would walk to work with me. He would tease me about my feet. I was in cadets for a few years and as a result, my feet naturally started pointing out when I walk. He told me that I waddled like a penguin. I laughed and pushed him joking with him. Things were starting to feel normal.

McDonald's wasn't too far from Christine's house. We'd walk past the hospital on the way. Mathieu made a few friends from my work place. He was considering moving in with me and registering with the highschool out there. He heard they played football, a game not available at the high school in Hearst.

I was worried about the finances. I was stressing out over it. I tried my best to put it aside to enjoy the time I was getting with him. I was on the lookout for a solution. I didn't know anyone in Leamington yet.

Christine had a few friends. I never paid much attention when she talked about them. She was madly in love with this trucker. He was friends with her ex husband. For a few months I kept hearing about him. I'd smile and nod. I really didn't care. 

After about a month, I started realizing that Christine was having issues. She was acting different. It was my first exposure to a drug and alcohol problem. I wasn't sure what to do. Things started getting really scary with Christine.

I was afraid to stand up for myself. She ate my food. She made everything more difficult for me. 

I was letting my brother practice driving my car down by the ferry dock. We were bored. There were these exaggerated speed bumps. My car was low. Instead of hitting the speed bump at an angle, my brother took it straight on. He took out my exhaust. I tried fixing it but it kept falling apart. I didn't have the proper tools. I couldn't afford a mechanic. It was just extra stress for me.

One afternoon I came home from work earlier than planned. Christine's friend Bernie was over. His kids were bouncing around the livingroom. I noticed his eyes. 

His son had punched the principal and had been suspended from kindergarten.

I was telling Christine that I was going to take another look at my car to see if there was anything I could do.

Bernie followed me out. He gave me his phone number and told me to stop in. He said he could help me fix my exhaust.

I thanked him and went about my business. 

I didn't know the trucker dude she kept talking about was Bernie. I would get hit with that later. When I asked Bernie what he did for a living, he told me he was a fisherman. 

**