Written by Cortney Brown
Edited by: Mel Howard 1992 The warm sun beamed on my face as I rode my trike to my favorite little corner of my world. I could hear the crunch of sand underneath my wheels. When I saw a tree with its ginormous leaves surrounded by sand in the middle of a roundabout, I spun around it a few times before heading back home to a small trailer with mammoth sunflowers that lit the side of our house. This was my favorite place in the entire world. We lived on a military base not too far from Savannah, GA, where the dandelions grew near a babbling creek that glittered, reflecting the sun. Our father and mother would hide eggs in the trees on Easter and I would have to jump over this tiny river to get them. Life was so easy. *** It was 1995, and that’s when I started to obsessively pick the sock lint from between my itty toes, telling myself my father would come back if I just stopped. He had left us. Momma would cry tears in my ear as she held me. I stared at the torn-up wedding picture on her dresser. I would then, for some odd reason, burst into laughter uncontrollably. I honestly could not stop myself until Mom kicked me out of the room. I don't remember if I blacked out as she told us where he was, or maybe she was too distraught to let us know. But my older sister, just shy a year older than me, was annoyed every time I asked. I was 6 going on 7. Momma was scary thin, and her sweet mothering soon turned bitter. We were losing her. The only father I knew took off with our babysitter. I was so confused. It wasn't long ‘til we moved. This was just the beginning. *** In this new place, our momma found another man. I couldn't recall anything good about him. They would fight whenever he would drink, and he drank almost every day. It was deleterious. He was hurting our mother who, at the time, was the only person in our life that didn't abandon us. The person who loved us the most, more than anyone in the world. Who was going to love us when he stole that goodness away? How were we supposed to cope? Our grades slipped, but we started having lots of adventures. Even though we were the kids with dark circles under our eyes and CPS often checked in on us, we learned about the world the good ole fashion way with friends. We rollerbladed through the nature path at our apartments. Going up the wooden bridge, then "Ahhhhhh!" all the way down with 50 splinters in my hand. As bad as our home life was, at least we were with our mother. Our teachers were concerned, but I knew that it would be better to endure with our mom than be taken away with the fear of never knowing the next time we’ll be loved. Then moved more than we ever have, then some more? It's not worth it. Why make an already bad situation worse? Mom tried for a year. I was headed into the 4th grade. We lived in a trailer outside of Atlanta, and she was crying in my ear again as we talked about visiting our dad in Texas. "Don't cry, Mom. We'll be back," I remembered saying. My older sister and I went with our biological father, the one we didn’t really know. While our littlest sister went with her father, the one we only knew who settled with our former babysitter/ his former student/ what in the entire fuck… The dry heat of Texas was a cure for my soul. Cactus, culture, and the music. I missed my father. We hadn't seen each other in a while, and I often forget how good it felt to be with family. You feel comfortable because you're around those that get you because they are a part of you. It was a very hot and sunny July. I kept rolling up the carpet under my feet, nervous of my new environment. Our father kept getting onto me for it. Suddenly, it was August, and I was signing up to go to school. Wait, what? "Why am I signing up for school, Dad?" I asked as we stood at the front desk. The lady behind it gave me a smile. This seemed to happen a lot. Either my parents just hid things from me, or my eyes glazed over when they told me hard shit. Either way, I did love living with my father. And so apparently, Mom was crying because we were moving out, not just visiting. Although he was an absent father, he was funny, and we could see that he tried when we were there. For him, if he didn’t see us, he forgot us. *** We woke up every morning at 4 am. Cleaned the toilet and ate breakfast before me and sis stood on our long driveway waiting for the bus as the sun came up. I was getting better at schoolwork and especially the reading competition. Our teacher would stick our names on the construction paper tree matched with a green construction paper leaf. It was the first time I won an award without it being a participation trophy. I was top of my class, and my father even got a bumper sticker. It was the first time we learned how to clean our clothes from our stepmother. Something I am very grateful for today. Every day after school, we had chores. Chores, then homework, then watching Sailor Moon. Mine was vacuuming. It was a very heavy Kirby vacuum cleaner. After a few months of our daily chores, I looked like little Hercules. It took 3 months ‘til we had to move again. Our mom didn't like how we were being treated. She would call us often, and we would tell her our many duties around the house. Recalling that, yeah, maybe we were treated like servants. So we moved... again. We moved a thousand times. I felt like we were the real-life kids in Mermaid. You know, the one with Cher? *** By the time I was 14, my super healthy, chubby-cheeked baby brother David was born. This was the year I got booted from the Corkers, aka the man my mother once loved that ran away into the arms of a teenager. Strange. Accepting anything at this point. Life is so very funny. It was Easter Sunday, and I haven’t thought of church the same since. I was laying down on the couch, tired from the beginning of my period and the teachings of church, but worse, it was my inner demons fighting after overhearing some folks talk about how the Corkers got together. Still battling those times. Still not coping from the loss of family, I roll my eyes as Mrs. Corker orders me to get up. With not much fight in her as her growing belly swells from baby #3, her mother notices and takes over the heat. I’m in the room, and with the worst attitude that you would expect from an ungrateful teenager, I roll my eyes again as she tries to lecture me about why I should listen to “my mother.” She grabs me by my shirt collar and shakes me. Not hard at all. Just enough for me to push her back and run off to the house just down the hill, tear open the screen to open the window, and chill inside as I watch them drive by, trying to look for me. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. I went to live with my mother after that. To this day, it hurts me that I was separated from my sisters. The only consistent family that I had in the whirlwind of our lives. They were important to me. Our relationship was not the same after that. I'll skip to the good part, but I'll add this much, my teenage years were incredibly adventurous. I must have aged my mother a century with all my disappearing acts. I was a free spirit. I partied. I smoked. I kissed a lot of guys and a few girls too. There was a time where my biggest burst of freedom came from joyriding. While Mom went to the coast to go fishing, trying to hide it from me because knowing me being at the house by myself would mean trouble. I could hear coastal birds on the other line. "Are those seagulls??" “No,” she said. As I could also hear the sea, sun, and wind on the other line. It was good to take a break from one another. No one should ever say it’s easy to love. It’s only easy when everything is okay and shit’s healthy. As I hung up, my ass got to work to see what types of fun I could get into with this window of an opportunity. Of course, it was with Carmen, my best friend. We would walk around the neighborhood, watch Cheech & Chong on her living room television and drink very expired shoe wine we found as decor that her father did not appreciate us drinking. Those were the days. We had to listen to many fights and loud fucking from my mother and stepdad. But mostly fighting. What they screamed was in Korean. So I didn't understand what they said until my cousin came to visit. She told me he kept calling her a “dick sucker.” Dick sucker v. the act of sucking a dick. Whose dick? Apparently, not stepfather’s. What I should have said was, “Did she say, ‘You're welcome?’” But no, I felt heartbroken. All these years, they yelled at each other a lot, and out of all of those words, how many of them meant anything at all? Words of wisdom, encouragement, communicating as a team to raise children in a healthy way? No, mostly it was verbal vomiting. I must have just turned 18 when there was another party at our house, and there was drinking, of course, and card playing. He was drunk, and Mom needed milk. So she told him she was going to get some and brought David along because everyone was too drunk to watch him. He grabbed her from behind to get David, and I saw black. In slow motion, I grabbed him in a choke hold, and he landed funny. To this day, I'm still not sorry for it. He had a meniscus tear. After that, he drank heavily. *** I was going to college for photography and worked at the mall. It was what I thought was just a normal morning while I was getting ready to start the day. I hear yelling in Mom’s bathroom and see Apa’s face shadowy, Mom wide-eyed, and little David trailing behind. Now here’s what David saw. "Apa, don't hurt Umma," David said at the age of 3. He was witnessing his father choking our mother. Mom said he was going to kill her that day. It was a vicious cycle. David was going to end up like us. Emotional issues, grades slipping, and relationship issues. David’s plea made Mom realize she cannot raise children with an abusive spouse. While Apa was out of town a few days later, we packed up and left. During the commotion, my best friend, Carmen, stopped by to give me a late Christmas present. She was so confused, something that I was entirely too familiar with. I didn't have time to let my friends know that I was moving. It was seriously the story of my life. I think she knew we would never see each other again. Later, she accidentally overdosed, leaving 2 sons behind. I still miss her so much. We stopped by the police station to file pictures for the divorce papers before we left the state. I was her witness. Her neck now bore a hand-shaped bruise. I could feel the zing of anxiety on my mother, but also a wind of justice and freedom. We finally answered our prayers. I was getting my mother back after all these years. Life feels easy again. Something that hadn’t been felt in a really long time. The lady police officer had obviously seen it all, and she sympathized with us. It was nice to be seen. I don't know what the laws were for taking kids without the other party knowing, but the station seemed to be supportive of us. Now it's time. It was still early, a brisk late December. Bright pinks and oranges filled the sky, seemingly celebrating with us. This move felt different; we were saving ourselves. Our U-Haul truck was fueled with a spirit of newfound freedom, full of packed goods emptying the house that now just held Apa's insanity. Bare and abandoned, as much as the life we led, we turn the ignition. With $60 in my account and Mother's cunningness to save a few grand, we headed Northwest to Shoreline, WA. Our new start to finally heal.
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Cortney Sloan Owner of North Alabama's Eco Business, Panacea: Feng Shui & Medical Massage. |