Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Icing on a cake and a Beating from a belt

When I was 6, my only sibling, a sister, was 15.

Growing up, we had a maid. Her name was Mattie and she loved me to death! She was more mother to me than mother was. She was with us from 6:30 every morning until 5 every evening and she stayed with me when my parents went on vacation as well.

On my sisters 15th birthday, her cake was sitting on the counter looking very inviting. Mother was sleeping since she worked night shifts at the time.

Every few minutes I would walk over to the cake and look at it. Each time I would bend down closer and closer looking, hoping to catch the aroma. Sister was in her room doing whatever 15 year olds do in their room and Mattie was cooking supper.

Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer and I touched that cake. Just a little touch, just enough to get a tad of icing on my finger. Gosh it sure was good. I swiped another little piece, patting down all around where I had snitched so it would not be noticeable I had been messing with it.

Before too long, my good sense went straight out the window and on down the block. Mattie warned me away from the cake several times, but I wasn’t listening, I was enjoying fingers and fingers full of icing.

Around 3, as usual, mom got out of bed to get ready for dinner. When she saw the cake sitting there with not a drop of icing left on it, she went 100% totally ape shit.

As soon as she screamed my name I knew all the icing in the world wasn’t worth what I figured was about to happen to me. Yelling at my sister, she told her to get in here and sit down on the couch. With her belt in one hand and holding on to me with the other, she showed my sister what I had done to her birthday cake.

My sister was mumbling that it didn’t really matter that she wasn’t upset.

Holding me by my hand, she started hitting me with the belt. She would pull way back, as far back as she could, and swing that belt down on my legs and my back and wherever else it landed. We were going in circles as she swung her belt. After several minutes of this I started yelling that I had to pee but she wasn’t stopping. By now, sister was crying, begging mother to stop, please stop, that the cake didn’t matter.

For a brief second mother stopped hitting me and turned toward Kay and told her to shut up or she would get it next. Turning back towards me the screaming and the hitting started again. After several more minutes, I was peeing all down my pants, onto the floor and it was running across the floor. That made her madder and she began hitting me harder and faster for peeing my pants. A little while more of that and I did more than pee my pants.

I was so ashamed. I hadn’t done anything like that since when I was in diapers, now here was sister, mother and Mattie watching me use the bathroom all over myself. I could barely breathe I was crying so hard, I was strangling when I would try to answer her when she would ask if I were ever going to do something like that again.

When it was over, the house was very quiet. Poor Mattie seemed afraid to try to comfort me, and I don’t know where sister went.

Four months after this happened, sister eloped. I was left alone to take all of her madness then.


Disillusioned said...

Gentle hugs. I'm so sorry this happened to you.

Raine said...

me too, today she could have been arrested for that. However when we were growing up it seemed to be "family business" ........ I'm so sorry

DBS said...

Oh my gosh! I am soo sorry. Unfortunately this brings up similar pain that I experienced from my mom growing up. She was very abusive, uncontrollable like you describe when she got raging mad and an alcoholic. Needless to say we haven't talked in 5 years and I am not seeking a relationship ever. There is too much pain and things that I just can not forgive. Although it breaks my heart to not have a mom in my life I don't want that mom. Your story brought all the pain and sadness roaring back. At least I know that I am not completely heartless and ice.

Surgeon in my dreams said...

Thank you ladies, for your comments.

At 48, I am no longer angry towards my mother. I spent a lot of years angry and it just sort of dwindled I guess. I know now some things I didn't know as a child, one of which is that as hard as it is to believe, she was abused much worse than we were.

I rarely see her now. Maybe once or twice a year. I write her letters, nothing personal or deep, just "how are you we are fine" type letters.

It isn't healthy for me to talk with her. She doesn't seem to be able to keep ugly things from leaving her mouth, and I don't seem to be able to stop them from making their way to my heart.

Mostly I feel sorry for her. She has no friends, lives all alone and is lonely and quite pitiful.

I am fairly guilt-free though, even tho I don't visit her. I tried and tried for many of my adult years to have a relationship with her, and she just had other more important things to do.