My Mother sat on the edge of her bed in our new home, holding both my hands. I could see something was wrong. Even at a young age I was skilled at reading a room. Reading people. I had a good teacher. With so much instability disguised as spontaneity I had lots of practice observing non-verbal cues. And I could tell something bad was coming.
I could tell because my mother had my brothers safely occupied with The Land Before Time video.
I could tell because my mother brought me to her own bedroom alone.
I could tell because she was massaging my tiny hands as she held them, and her face had changed. This face made my heartbeat faster against my will. This face didn’t smile. Had never smiled. This face wasn’t even aware of the concept of a smile.
I squeezed her hands back and told her everything would be okay. I didn’t know I was lying. She grabbed me by both shoulders, and I could see every blue-mascara-coated eyelash.
“You are Mommy’s big helper and such a big help with your brothers. Now, I know YOU will mind your manners and obey, but you have to make sure your brothers and sister do too, okay? When you’re staying at Grandmom and Grandad Thomas’s before school?”
I nodded. I didn’t understand the subsequent silence. Or the seriousness. This was not the first time I would play the role of the watchful narc. Being a tattle tale was part of my job. A job with the only consistent requirements being “general whistle blowing” and “other duties as assigned.” And so was keeping my siblings in check when they had broken any number of rules, however nominal.
They didn’t understand the stakes. Our parents needed us to behave because they had enough on their plates as it was. We couldn’t contribute any additional stress. They were just stupid kids. They were my siblings. I loved them. They just didn’t know how their actions impacted everyone else yet.
“When Mommy drops you all off at Grandmom and Granddad’s, it will be very early, even dark outside still. Grandmom is going to put the fold out chair/beds and some pillows so you guys can go back to sleep before the school bus. She’ll have breakfast for you and can pack you a lunch if I forget lunch money.”
She stopped talking for a few breaths and stared at me again. “You can’t go back to sleep once you get dropped off there, though.” She was shaking. “You don’t lay down on the foldout beds, okay? You lay on the couch quietly and we’ll put cartoons on for you, okay?”
“Why?” I was confused. I was sure I had missed something important in my latest mission debriefing.
“You just, you can’t go back to sleep. You have to stay awake and watch your brothers and sister. We can get your clothes out for you the night before. I’ll wake you up to get dressed and you can go back to sleep in the van. But you have to be awake at the Thomas’s”.
I knew my siblings were not always as quick to obedience as I was, but they weren’t bad kids. Why the sudden severity?
Also, I was jealous. Why did I have to watch over them while they got to sleep well past the sunrise? Was I my brother’s keeper? The answer was yes. I was.
I interpreted these new instructions to mean my mother’s job was so important that she could not risk my siblings acting up and upsetting our grandparents. Should they decide we were “too much” and no longer watch us, we had no plan B for childcare for four. She was scared, I thought.
“It’s okay,” I pet her arm to assure her we weren’t going to blow this chance for her. I was obviously doing a very bad job at comforting her because she began to cry. Skinny streams from the middle of the eye, and a puffy face almost immediately. I still see that face.
“What is it?” now I was scared.
“Your Granddad.” And then she told me awful things. Things that happened before I was born. Things I would have to watch out for.
“So whenever you are over there, you have to make sure to keep your siblings safe, okay?” She cut off my immediate ambush of clarifying questions. “I said he USED to, okay? He’s not going to hurt you guys.”
“If he’s not going to hurt us, then why can’t I sleep?”
“Because you have to make sure he doesn’t. If anything ANYTHING happens, you tell me, okay? They will have to send me to jail because no one hurts my babies! I’ll kill them!”
By now I was full sobbing, already terrified of what could happen if my eyes ever got too heavy the next morning.
“Get it together, girl. You can’t be crying. You have to keep this a secret, okay? You can’t tell anyone. If Grandmom or Granddad walk by, pretend you are asleep. And don’t tell your brothers and sister anything.”
“I’m scared, Mom. Why do we have to go there?” I remember pleading in this moment, barely able to swallow over the lump in my throat. I don’t remember if she even attempted to answer.
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