Destroyed
I always thought I was a pretty smart boy growing up. I mean I was always sort of advanced for my age or so I was told often. I let go of the bottle and learned how to walk before my first year. I was potty trained before I hit eighteen months and before I hit three I knew how to read. Not long books or anything like that but enough to impress. I was able to join my older brother who was going to start his first school year at the age of five. I was about to be four. It was some little shindig called a migrant school. Few things I remember about this place. Mostly just crying kids, peeing their pants while standing by the door screaming for their mothers. Not me though. I just sat and read and tried to learn as much as I could. I was the type of kid that always obeyed and did what I was told without question or argument. I remember many people saying with lots of conviction how I was destined to become someone successful and important. By my fifth year I understood many things but not everything. One particular thing I couldn’t understand was why my father would smoke marijuana and then hypocritically tell us that we should never do that. That if we did and he ever caught us that he would beat our asses. I don’t see why a five year old would do such a thing but yeah he would threaten us like that. That is why while in kindergarten, as we were watching a video on how it was not good to smoke marijuana because it would fill up your brain with smoke and damage it, (Why would they even show something like that to kindergarten kids right? Well because there are piece of shit parents like my father. That’s why!!!!) it occurred to me to say the unthinkable. I said, “ So you’re telling me Mrs. Gonzalez that my father has his brains full of smoke like that, because he smokes some of that stuff everyday.” Another thing that boggled me was why he had to get so enraged sometimes for no particular reason and then just start unleashing ass whoopings for everyone starting with my poor mother. I cannot sit here and say he beat us to a pulp (not at that age any ways) because I would be lying. But he did kill the part of my brain and heart that is supposed to store happy memories and replaced with a wall. A wall that just kept getting thicker and thicker. Like I said I always obeyed and never questioned, so when he would look at us with those piercing green diabolic bloodshot eyes, I knew that meant I was supposed to keep my mouth shut and not question what was happening. So I did. For many years to come. Little did I know I was building a wall so thick I would never be able to break through it.
This is how learned to just block everything out and always keep a straight face when asked certain questions. Now that should be pretty difficult considering the fact that I was only six years old. Kids and drunks don’t know how to lye without giving out hints or some sort of clue giving them away, but I was so on top of my game, I mastered the art of hiding emotions behind a good red heart. I always greeted every morning with a smile and full of excitement. I was ready to learn something new. We were back from spending the weekend at my grandparents house. What seemed to be a perfectly normal routine Monday morning turned out to be such an incredible chapter that shifted my life in its entirety.
We were given our assignment and as usual it looked like another easy one. For me at least. I started and just as fast finished it. Wow!! I prided myself for almost always being the first one to finish. But to my surprise I had missed one of the questions, so I set the paper back down, read the question and well answered it without a doubt in my mind of what was yet another aced assignment. I slid my chair back and slowly started to get out of my chair because I didn’t want to look too cocky. As I progressed to take my first prideful step towards the teacher’s desk I felt what I would’ve disregarded because that’s what a normal kid would have done but then as I tried to take another step it came fast and hard. A pain so extreme, so piercing, and so devastatingly horrible my eyes had started to tear up without me even realizing it. A huge knot had grown in my throat that I couldn’t even blurt out anything more than a mumble. My body reacted by crouching down and putting my hand over the area where it hurt instantly. I was leaned against the desk when the teacher finally came to my side after what felt like an eternity. She put her hand around me and whispered to my ear what was wrong. It took a lot to simply pick up my head and face her. I don’t know if it was more embarrassment or the pain or both that caused that slow contact. I could hear some of the kids mumbling and others chuckling. How would I come back and face them tomorrow? The pain seemed to be growing. “Where does it hurt?” she asked. I just looked at her with a blank and hurting expression. I still couldn’t talk so I couldn’t say where the exact point of the pain was. She hadn’t become a teacher just for the money. She understood kids and knew something was terribly wrong. I saw the concern rush to her beautiful face. I kept trying to tell her where but before I could point she knew exactly where it was coming from. I think she had boys of her own. She quickly wraps my arm around her shoulder and half drags me towards the door. We get out to the hallway and I lean up against the wall still clenching the part of my body that yielded me pain that was unimaginably horrific. As she rushes down the hall yelling to the nurse the pain seems to start to ease up. I can finally start to breathe a little and my eyes are able to hold back some tears. The nurse’s office wasn’t that far from the room so she was back at my side in no time. Hugging me and telling me everything was going to be okay. The nurse, who had probably been a part of the school since it opened 30,40 years ago, came at a very snail like speed. By the time she reached us, I was able to move a little so the teacher helped me to the nurse’s office. I wasn’t going to try and jump up on the bed they had there so I just sat in a chair that was also old and very uncomfortable. Being it was such a small town, everybody knew everybody so the secretary had already contacted my grandfather. She informed me that he was on his way over. Aw I felt such a relief knowing it was my grandpa coming instead of his son who scared me shitless just thinking of what I was going to tell him what had happened. It was not easy talking to this man about anything let alone something like this.
I heard his voice from far along the hall. A huge smile broke my face even though I was still feeling the pain a little bit. I stared at the door entrance for what felt like years, to see his consoling face and smile, which were both, soooo heartwarming. I loved that old guy so much. “OH my GOD!!! HE had come! WHY had HE come? How had HE known? What do I do now, I asked myself”? I really wanted the pain to come back so my throat could knot up and then couldn’t say anything even if I wanted to. What was supposed to be a dark wrinkly face peer through the door somehow became the image of his son. His green catlike piercing green eyes looking at me with what appeared to be a look of comfort instead of concern. How was that possible? I had heard the secretary say clearly that my gramps was the one who was going to come get me. Well turns out he had just arrived at my gramps house with his no working lazy ass, so he decided to tag along. He wanted to know what kind of trouble I had caused. I guess he wanted a reason to beat my mother and me. Me for doing whatever it was and her well just because I was HER son as he repeated many times before. Even though I was HIS first born. Well at least I had my grandpas back. Or did I? Where was he? I had heard his voice clearly. Had I just imagined it since I had been waiting for him? I prayed to God for the best. Then he came in. He had been signing the release papers. THANK YOU JESUS!!! By now, his son had told me he was going to take me straight home so I could tell him exactly what happened. Not the hospital eh. I felt a shiver run down every vertebra in my spine. Why was this man so scary? My grandpa quickly hugs me and asks me if I’m ok. I ‘m about to start crying. He says before I can answer, that we’re going straight to the hospital so a doctor can examine me. His son tried to make an argument that I looked fine and that he should just take me home. What a cold bastard. “Ha! You lose punk,” I thought. I was good. My gramps had my back. He knew the piece of shit son he had.
While at the emergency room, HE just looked at me with these eyes full of disappointment. Like he had better things to do, that motherfucker. My gramps noticed his frustration and told his ass to leave if he couldn’t make time for his first-born. I feel so uncomfortable having to go in there and tell the doctor what happened and why it hurt where it hurt. I was really thinking long and hard at what I would say. Was I going to say the truth of what had happened or make up a story? I had never lied before so I didn’t how that would turn out. “Daniel Garza!” yelled out the nurse. That was my cue. “You’ll do fine,” I heard an unfamiliar voice say. I think it was my subconscious talking.
“Hi there big boy,” said doctor Falcon as he read my chart. “Mr. Garza,” he saluted twice. First my gramps and then his son. “I see you’re having some pain son. “Can you please take your clothes off so I can examine you?” he asked and I felt my whole body flush with embarrassment turning red and feeling my pores open releasing small amounts of sweat. He noticed, so pursued to touch my shoulder and say, “Its okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help you.” He tries to reassure me with a wink. Not knowing I had heard that before but the complete opposite had happened. Neither my grandfather nor his son left the room so that made it even more uncomfortable. I undressed and was propped up on the gurney. I stood there nervous, shaking like a leaf. How was it that they were just going to stand there and let this man put his cold glove covered hands on me? I was feeling a sense of disappointment now looking over at them with hurt in my eyes, which I know my gramps noticed because he gave me a look of consolation saying everything would be alright. Right there is when I should have broken down in tears as I so desperately wanted to and blurted out the truth. No matter how hard I fought the tears just wouldn’t come and nor would the truth. Not then, not ever I told myself. The doctor looked and touched which was really uncomfortable by now. I didn’t know if he was actually enjoying it or what. He turned, looked at my gramps and father with a different expression and then turned back to look at me. He says to me “You need to tell me the truth ok. That’s the only way I can help you. Did you hit yourself playing around because I don’t see anything out of the ordinary?” Hmm. I thought. Simple question. “No!” I quickly answered, not having to lye about anything. Cool. We’re done. Let’s go. I rapidly hopped down and reached for my clothes. Then he hit me with it. “ Did anyone else touch, I mean hit you there,” he asked. That son-of-a-bitch. He fucking asked it. “Oh my God he knew”, I thought. I acted as if I hadn’t heard him but that didn’t go so well since my gramps had caught the question. And so had his son and now I could feel their eyes upon me. I turned to look at my fathers first so I could use my grandfather’s sympathetic gaze to console my grieving heart. HIS gaze was more piercing than before. He looked at me the same way he would look at me after he would put a beating on my mother. My brain automatically registers it and sends out millions of messages to my whole body so my body could follow my every command and not say what I was really supposed to say. I then turn to meet my gramps eyes to try and get the strength I need to relieve myself of the pain I was still going through but not from where it had been hours before.
Something HAD happened over the weekend. But how was I supposed to explain WHAT had happened. I looked at the doctor and slowly answered his question. “No” I said “Nobody hit nor touch me there either.” By now I am slipping on my shirt over my head, which helped me shake any tears that had half filled my eyes. “Now is too late to cry,” I thought to myself. I was really hoping the doctor would just leave it at that but him being a professional, he couldn’t just let it go like that especially after I answered him with such a non convincing tone. Only this time he just asked, “Are you sure?” I didn’t have much time to think about it so I took a deep breath and with that breath I buried what HAD happened deep into my heart and mind and just blocked it out. “Yes I am sure.” I answered the doctor with the biggest, fakest, friendliest most charming smile I could.
How was it supposed to be easy to say what had happened? I looked at my father and thought of the beating I would get because he was somehow going to say it was my fault it had happened. And then there was my grandfather who I know hadn’t bought my answers at all. But how was I supposed to say something so horribly wrong like this to him. How simple is it to look at him in the eye and say, “Yes gramps. Something happened. You know that day at your house when we were done playing and you told me to jump in the bathtub with uncle Joe. Well it just so happens that uncle Joe, your son by the way, likes to show little boys how their private part works. And me being the obedient, non question asking, determined to learn young boy that I am, went along with what he told me to do. Yeah he even showed me how putting his in my mouth would make it shoot out some white stuff, unlike mine had. I guess that could have contributed to the major pain I have just gone through. What do you think?” OOH nothing hurt more than my heart. I knew better than to have let something like that happen. Or did I? I mean I was six years old.
I never told my grandfather what happened. Nor had anyone else heard my story until now. I want you to know that this world has a lot to offer even if you live in a state of unhappiness because of blocked thoughts or memories. I will not lye; by saying it is easy because I know it isn’t. But I will tell you this. If you know someone who you feel you can trust with your blocked memories, please confide in them and tell them. You see I will never be able to know if my gramps would have been able to save me. But there is still time for you.
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