Raised in a home of sadness and despair, father died, before he could be there, I knew no where to look for care.
The teenage boy next door took my hand, invited me to come and be his friend. A precious moment of appreciation and love, I was invited to join an adventure.
Avoiding his sister, my best friend, we ran off to hatch a secret Shenanigan. Something fun, private, shared.
We snuck into the old garage and slid under the Pinto Wagon retired to blocks, and he laid me down on the stained, greasy, brown carpet.
Hush he said as he pulled my pants down. I looked away. Out of the corner of my eye seeing my single mother with the lawnmower go by.
Taught to listen to those older than I, I laid still and silently cried.
I know what happened, but can’t remember why. And why again, and thrice besides.
In a moment of comfort and care one night, I told my poor mother what we did under sight. Expecting reassurance, love and insight, I was in for quite a fright.
She ran from me tearfully straight for the phone to translate the fate of how to condone, imploding, exploding, for both of us.
Her uncivilized shouts of justice, informed or impaired by nothing of care.
The Police, were quickly called to bear, terrifying a mind too young to compare, right, wrong, trouble, disgrace.
Who did what, and and where was the mistake?
All I knew was it was all unsafe. My bedroom locked from inside was my place. Hours of begging and pleading it took, to open the door (I’d have broken it down) A chicken pot pie, won entry eventually, and a lifetime of comfort food was born.
A lesson unrivaled, that I was the only place that was safe.
I was the master of my own space.
I was 3.
Welcome to your soul, your heart, your self. The reliable source of love, stability, peace, kindness, discernment, and survival. It’s good to know that your there in a pinch.