Just Like You

One evening while home alone at our city apartment with my brother and sister; who were several years older than me, a man came and took us away. I saw my sister open the front door and a tall man walked in. I didn’t know who he was, but I heard her and my brother call him Dad. He hurried us to gather some things, wrap in blankets and go out the front door. Both my brother and sister seemed hesitant. Their nervousness made me feel scared as I followed them out to the man’s car, and then we sat together in the back seat. The man told us that he was taking us to a friend’s house. He explained that his friend was a waitress, and she would make a cup of hot-chocolate for us. The drive seemed very long and I eventually fell asleep. … The next morning I woke when I heard my brother’s voice in the other room. It was already light out and I was immediately excited by the prospect of going home to Mom. I got up and went down the hall toward the voices I heard. I found my brother, sister and the man all in the kitchen with the waitress who had made the hot-chocolate. My brother was talking on the telephone and my sister was standing behind him as if waiting her turn. After they talked on the phone for just a short time; the man told me to talk to my Mom, and say good-bye. … I was so excited that I started telling her about the hot-chocolate that the waitress lady made and that we had to sleep over night, but that we were coming home now. She stopped me and explained that we were not going to come home right away. She told me to say good-bye to her as she made kissing sounds and told me that she loved me bushels. …It was the first time I had felt sorrowful pain and the sick stomach that it causes. …After several months, we moved all together into a new house, in a beautiful family neighborhood in Kentucky. It was a very large house with an enormous back yard. Maple Hill Road was a long street, lined with mature trees and big houses with well groomed grassy yards, which ended in an oversized cul-de-sac where our new house sat. From the outside everything appeared picture perfect suburbia, upper-middle-class America. It didn’t take long for me and the four kids older than me, to settle in and begin exploring the neighborhood. There were over twenty kids of all ages living on our street. Group games of hide-and-seek and tag were regular fun; especially when played at dusk in the warm summer air. It was easy to get distracted by lightening bugs and be tagged out early in the game. With so many kids and so many great hiding places, when it was your turn to be “it”, it could take an hour to find everyone. When the weather turned colder the leaves fell from the trees in most yards. We would all work together to rake and gather the leaves into one enormous pile for tumbling, jumping, diving and hiding. When the snow came, large snowmen, castles and elaborate forts were built and some of the longest and fiercest snowball fights you can imagine ensued. Outside of the house, away from the parents and in the neighborhood with all the kids, was a wonderful, safe place to be and filled with childhood adventures and friendships. Inside the house my brother, sister and me were now all calling the waitress (Fran) “Mom”, when we spoke to her and Fran when we spoke of her. …Despite my growing doubt in my Mom, I paced about the living room Sunday morning, watching the street from the large front window, waiting for her arrival. I hadn’t been taught to pray, but I’m sure what I was chanting over and over, “Mom, please come. Mom, please come. Mom I know you love us and I know you’ll come…” was in fact prayer. I saw an unfamiliar car coming down the street and watched as it slowed, entering the cul-de-sac. When the car came to a stop in front of our house I knew it was my Mom. I bolted out the door and across the front lawn, recognizing her as I approached the car and leaping in on the passenger side. With absolutely no hesitation and my belief in her restored, I engulfed her with a full embrace. Mom’s on-time arrival unraveled all doubt that Fran had twisted into my thoughts. Mom wrapped her arms tightly around me and began playfully kissing me all over my forehead and cheeks. “My pipsqueak-booschka” she said as she continued kissing on me. It was the made-up love name she had always called me. She did love me. I was love-able. Just to hear her answer; now crying, overcome with relief, I asked her to confirm out loud, “Mom, do you love me?” “Of course I do! Yes! Yes!” she exclaimed, continuing to kiss me. My brother and sister came running out right behind me and jumped into the back seat of the car. Reaching across the top of the seat, hugging and kissing Mom, they both began anxiously telling her about Fran, how badly and how often she hurt us. Before Mom could even pull away from the front of the house, they insisted I show her my current bruises as they showed her theirs. I wasn’t as eager as they were to talk about Fran or anything else going on in the house. I felt safe, as if wrapped in a warm blanket; serene, sitting next to her with her arm draped around me. I only wanted to stay tightly tucked under her arm, quiet, to feel myself up against her, to hear her voice and go somewhere, anywhere.