The first person I can remember disappearing was my Uncle Phil.
I remember him taking me to the zoo
The gorillas were my favorite.
I would sit on our side of the glass for hours
watching them
pressing my snotty 5 year old nose against the glass,
arms waving relentlessly,
desperate to get their attention.
One day,
a silver-back sauntered over to the glass and sat across from me
I remember the sun glimmering off of his fur
reflecting off of the wonder in my eyes
i sat silently
and put my hand to the glass
on the other side, the gorilla did the same
I remember looking over my shoulder, hoping that someone had seen.
my uncle stood behind me with a camera
tears welling in his eyes.
He took me home and promised to get that picture printed one million times,
per my request.
My little face beamed for a week.
A year later, Uncle phil and Uncle Alan broke up.
I didn’t understand what that meant at the time
I remember being confused
asking my mom what that had to do with me.
Uncle phil came to see me less and less
until he didn’t come at all.
That was the first little crack in my heart.
the first time I realized that loving someone didn’t mean they stayed.
Since then,
most people I loved have disappeared.
when I was 11,
I wrote in my journal that my family was like a magic show
that one minute they were there, and the next they were gone.
But as i grew older, I realized that it wasn’t magic at all.
My dad was violent
his rage tore down the walls of my home like a tsunami
my mom sat in the flood that he left,
asking herself how she got there
how she could get out.
I don’t remember much of my childhood
Whenever I try to conjure up memories it feels like i’m tiptoeing around a place that I’m not supposed to be in
And I’ve realized maybe that box is better left unopened.
But I remember my teddy bear
I named him Bubba.
He seems small now but when I was young he dwarfed me.
One night, I couldn’t sleep
I grabbed Bubba around the neck and brought him out into the hallway
his plush feet softly dragging against the floor
I was relieved when the lights were on.
Down the hallway, my parents door was open
They stood in the doorway
My mom was screaming, crying
I shrunk back into the shadows of the hallway
burying my face in the crook of Bubba’s neck.
Then my dad hit her
i had never heard anything like it
like dropping a book and cracking your knuckle at the same time.
she fell.
Their screaming bounced against the walls
rattling around in my tiny skull until a whimper escaped from between my lips.
They both turned and looked at me
My mom cried into her hands as my dad stood over her
I can still hear my small voice echoing in my head,
willing myself to be brave
“Stop.”
I had intended for the word to come out stronger, with more authority
but my voice broke,
and i collapsed into a puddle of tears
“please stop please stop please stop please stop”
The words spilled out of my mouth like someone turned a faucet on
They mixed with tears as I crumbled to the floor, clutching bubba around his waist
my tears somersaulting onto his little sewn on bowtie.
They looked at me silently for a moment.
“Oh stop it, Isabelle” the words were heavy as they fell out of my mom’s mouth cracking against the wooden floor.
She slammed the door.
The screaming continued
I sat on that floor all night
crying until my little body gave into sleep.
I forgot about this memory for years
until the first time that the boy I thought I loved hit me
The sound of his fist against my cheek brought me back to that moment
turned me into the 6 year old girl that sat on that wooden floor
falling asleep to the sound of her mom screaming,
helpless.
He hit me for a year
and every time i felt his fist I thought of my mom.
the way she slammed that door.
and i wondered if she did it to protect me,
In hopes that if she didn’t let me see what he did to her,
that I wouldn’t let anyone do it to me.
I never told my mom about my boyfriend
I wanted so badly to be the strong woman that she raised me to be
I wanted to believe that I would never let that happen to me
But when it did,
part of me felt at home
like I was filling the role that I was meant to play.
the victim.
It took my mom 12 years to leave my dad
Even now, she lives in his shadow.
bitter,
desperate to escape the cage he has put her in.
If I ever have a daughter,
she will not have a mother that lives in anyone’s shadow
she will have a mother who knows what love looks like
knows that love doesn’t mean tsunamis
that love doesn’t mean disaster
love doesn’t mean bruised wrists and cracked lips
my daughter will have a dad who loves gently
who holds me out of love and not possession.
a dad who cries when she is born,
a dad who makes her laugh as she grows up.
a dad who doesn’t disappear
My daughter will learn one day, like I did, that loving someone doesn’t mean they stay.
But she won’t learn it from us.
All she’ll know is love
and if a man ever strikes her,
she’ll know, as her parents taught her,
that she is worthy of more
that victim is not a costume that she has to wear.
If I ever have a daughter,
I’ll give her my teddy bear
and hope that he gives her all the comfort he gave me,
but pray she never needs it.
