Broken

CHAPTER FIVE: The Quiet Storm

"She loved mysteries so much that she became one."

Edith Wharton, The House of Mirth

I woke in a world of white and there was no pain. I thought I was dead for a moment. I shifted and caught sight of my reflection. I grimaced at the realization I was still alive. My face was puffy and bruised. My eyes were nearly swollen shut and hideously discolored. I looked like a boxer who had lost the fight, but I had won. One part of me was victorious. Another part of me was disappointed because being alive meant that I had to keep climbing. My memory was a bit confused and I had to fight to remember all that had happened.

I had sustained a severe concussion and the doctor had stitched my mouth back together. My doctor explained that I could have died if the blow to my head had been the slightest bit harder. In a gentle voice, he explained that my confused memories would eventually come back to me and that I needn't worry. I wasn't worried, but I was confused. I remembered everything, but something about it just wasn't right. I was told that the police would be questioning me when I was ready and for some reason this filled me with triumph. It was if I couldn't wait to tell them.

This time I was no longer afraid to tell the social workers everything. Details came out of me in a rush like a dam breaking. I spoke as succinctly as possible through my swollen lips. I made sure they understood that Linda had hit me with the baseball bat, even though Earl's dead body had been found with it. He had died of an aneurysm. I wanted no misunderstanding because I couldn't let them send me back to my Linda. She would likely kill me or I would have to kill her.

They charged Linda with child endangerment and abuse. My doctor argued with the police and my social worker. He insisted the attack was consistent with attempted murder. The blow to my head had almost killed me. The police ignored him. They said Earl had been the one found with the bat. They couldn't prosecute a dead man. I don't know how she got out of going to prison, but Linda never served a day. This enraged me and it took awhile before the anger in me would calm down.

At night I had dreams of a life that wasn't my own, but it felt like it was. I dreamt of man with silver eyes that kept telling me that if we wanted, we could rule the world. He was so handsome and so terrifying. I was drawn and repulsed by him. In the dream he would begin to kiss me, and some inexplicable fear would take over. I would wake in a cold sweat even more confused than ever.

I found out later that the social workers had contacted my father and pleaded with him to take me, but he didn't want me. They asked my grandfather to keep me but he refused. I had no one. No one wanted me and I imagined that pleased my mother immensely. The social workers placed me in foster care but I didn't particularly care as long as no one tried to kill me.

I went through countless foster homes where cockroaches crawled over me at night. Neglect was as common as air. Sometimes, a foster parent wouldn't allow me to attend school. Instead, they used me as a babysitter for other foster children. I took care of them without a single word of protest. I realized no matter how bad things might seem, they could be far worse. I loved the little kids. I remembered Sarah protecting me and I tried to do the same for them. My hands were the only kind ones they had ever known.

Ultimately, one of my foster fathers tried to r**e me one evening after I put the other children to bed. He had been drinking and I found him waiting for me in my room. He grabbed me by the arm, trying to drag me to the bed. I snatched a lamp from a nearby dresser and broke his nose. I ran away as fast as I could but the police picked me up in less than an hour. The social workers labeled me a violent runaway. That was the end of foster families for me.

My final destination in the foster care system was a group home for children the rest of the world had discarded. We were troubled delinquents. Some girls were car thieves; some had gotten into trouble with drugs or other offenses. We were the same in one way: we had survived unspeakable abuse. We were a group of teenage refugees. We smoked, wore too much makeup, and protected each other. We were the forgotten girls, but we never forgot each other.

For the first time in my life, I flourished. The housemother, Fionnula, was sophisticated, beautiful, and kind. We all called her Fionn. She had chestnut brown hair she kept in a chignon most days. The days she wore her hair loose, it was almost impossible to distinguish her from one of us girls. Her brown eyes were enormous and reminded me of the characters in Japanese cartoons. She loved us all and earned grudging respect from even the most wayward of girls. I thought she was the most beautiful woman in every respect that I had ever known in my short life.

I ate three meals a day and to me, that was a novelty. I was able to attend school. My grades improved and my attitude changed. I began to envision a life that didn't have to be horrible.

There aren't that many opportunities for foster children to experience the world. Fionn brought the world to us in every way that she found possible. She introduced me to the beauty of art and fed my insatiable hunger for books. Fionn gave me the tools to overcome adversity and advice I still remember to this day. She taught me the keys to being a lady, lessons that no one had ever thought or cared enough to teach me. She opened the doors of the world beyond the one I had known.

Each day, all the girls gathered for group therapy. Group therapy was all the girls talking about bullshit that didn't matter. Most girls refused to speak about their past in group. Instead, they whispered their secrets to one another in the dead of night when there was only us to hear them.

They all looked expectantly at me to share my past as well but all I would say was, "Your stories are my stories. Our parents were probably sharing tips when they met in the liquor store."

My answer cracked them up and they forgot about asking me any more questions, but what I said was true. We had all been beaten, r***d, starved, and then thrown away for having the audacity to save our own lives.

We played our music, snuck cigarettes in the bathroom at school, and did each other's makeup. I read my roommate Kirsten's steamy romance novels with a flashlight after lights out until she snored in the bed next to mine. I loved Kirsten for her brazen "couldn't give a f**k" attitude. Kirsten was reckless and no longer cared if she lived or died. I understood her feelings. I lived for Sarah, but if Sarah had died, I would have followed shortly behind her.

Pearl, one of the girls I was closest to, referred to us as a collection of broken dolls that no one wanted for Christmas. I hugged her and hid my face in her hair so that she wouldn't see the tears in my eyes. I told her softly, "I would rather have one of us than one of those boring dolls that were cast from the same mold. At least we're interesting."

She laughed, "That's true."

Pearl and I had roughly the same background except that she had been an only child. She was starved for love but she never felt worthy of it. I tried to remind her of how special she was every day but I knew in my stomach and chest that Pearl didn't have long. Pearl was my reminder of how truly lucky I was to have Sarah.

We all had individual therapy twice a week. I said little to Fionn at first, not because I didn't trust her, but because saying the words aloud made it real. I felt as long as I didn't talk about the past, then it could remain a bad dream.

Fionn understood how I felt and said, "Paige, we don't have to talk about what happened but I can help you find better ways of dealing with it if you do." I remember looking at her with doubt, but she had my attention. She coaxed some of my experiences from me over time, not that she didn't already know them. My file was thick with information but she didn't want that. She wanted me to say it.

I refused to speak about most things and only talked about Sarah. I missed her but getting permission to visit her took months. The social workers did grant permission, but I was only allowed to see her twice.

Fionn was patient with me but after six months passed without me discussing what had happened, she said, "You're wasting time. I'm going to tell you a secret about life now and I hope you take it to heart. The people that hurt you only have the power that you give them. That's right, Paige. You can take back everything they tried to steal from you, your dignity, your worth, and your soul. They can't take those things unless you give them up. If you give them those things, then you lose. We both know how you hate losing, Paige. It pisses you off to lose. Well, my dearest, don't let those fuckers win." I was startled because Fionn never cursed, never.

She stood and said, "Come with me." She started to walk out of her little office. I remained planted in my chair, still in shock that she had said the word "fuckers." She sighed and said tersely, "Up, Paige! We need to do something. This may help me almost as much as it will help you." I began to laugh and followed her out the door.

She took me across the grounds of the group home, which were quite expansive. Toward the back and on the right of the property was a small patch of trees. A little brook ran through it. She reached down to the water's edge and scooped up a handful of pebbles.

Fionn held them out to me and said, "Take these." She put the rocks in my hands. She scooped up some for herself. She turned to me, her face full of rage. "Throw them. Throw them as hard as you can." She threw the first one and as she did, she screamed a litany of profanity.

I took a pebble and threw it but said nothing as I threw it. Fionn continued to belt the rocks at the trees and screamed her anger. I threw another and then another until I began screaming, too. "You are a useless f*****g cunt, Linda!" I threw another and yelled, "I f*****g hate you, you worthless w***e! How could you do that to little girls?"

I screamed, "What kind of f*****g father lets his daughter get r***d and beaten? You f*****g piece of s**t!" I was careful not to wish ill on anyone. My Grandma Spencer warned me that what we send out to the universe is what we get back. We threw more and more rocks, screaming the worst profanity ever uttered in those woods. When we ran out of rocks, we scooped up more and began again. We screamed and pelted the rocks at the trees until I was exhausted and sat down. I was no longer angry. I was only sad. Tears ran from the corners of my eyes and trickled down my face. I muttered, "I f*****g hate them, Fionn."

Fionn was somber as she said, "Good. You damn well should. Don't let them win, Paige. That goes for anyone that ever treats you badly. You walk away from them and never look back. Nothing will change what has happened to you but you don't have to let it change who you are. That means they win and you can't let those assholes win. You rise above them, Paige."

Fionn was right, but Fionn was always right. I knew that I couldn't let them beat me, not ever. My tears dried as I thought of the blood that had run down my legs and the sickening, sour smell of my stepfather. I thought of my mother raising the leather strap to slap my face. I thought of Sarah alone in a nursing home. Those fuckers would not win.

Fionn said, "You may keep your secrets locked away and I don't blame you. It's what keeps you from breaking down. Don't be surprised when someone or something accidentally opens the door to them. I want you to remember in those times who you are. You are braver than you know, smarter than you think, and more capable than any person I have ever met. Don't you forget that."

I lifted my chin and said, "I won't let them win, not ever."

Fionn knew I meant every word. She told me in a voice that said more than her actual words could convey, "Sink or swim, Paige. You sink or learn to swim."

My spine straightened and I ground out, "I was born swimming."

My mother managed to get custody of me again when I was seventeen. I didn't know how she did it and it didn't matter. My eighteenth birthday was in less than six months. All I had to do was survive for that long and I had become adept in the art of survival. I stayed nights with friends and rarely came home. I worked as a waitress at night after school and saved every dime to afford a beat-up old car.

I drove to see Sarah the second I had the title and the keys. I didn't want to put her in the car because it was so awful, but she insisted. It was a 1979 Ford Granada, the color of paint primer and rust. It had no muffler and we had to turn the stereo up to the highest setting to drown out the sound.

We didn't care and we took the back roads all the way to the dam. Sarah had once hung a rope from a tree branch there so we could swing into the water. I couldn't get her wheelchair to our old swimming hole, so we sat on the ground next to the river's edge.

Sarah's strokes had left her voice permanently girlish. She said in her sweet voice, "It's not that bad of a car. It's just a little loud."

I had to laugh and say, "I don't care that it's awful. It means I have a way to see you now. My birthday will be here soon and I won't ever have to see her again."

I didn't have to tell Sarah to whom I was referring.

Sarah quipped, "Lucky f*****g you. I'm so nuts, I still see that fat bastard in my room. Oh, and our beauty queen f*****g mother shows up with her false teeth, clacking in my ears every night. It's nice when Becky comes, but still creepy. Lucky f*****g you, Paige."

She sat there for a moment and in a quiet voice, she asked me, "Why didn't you kill her that night?"

I stared at the water. "I wanted to kill them but I realized it was the wrong thing to do. I was happy because I knew in an instant I could put them in their graves. It was frightening, but I felt invincible. I knew they were going to kill me the moment I woke up and I wouldn't see it coming. I could have killed them both right then, but I don't want to kill people, Sarah. I killed Earl because I had no other choice. I will pay an enormous price for it someday."

Sarah was quiet for a few moments before she said, "I would have killed them both and danced a jig on their graves."

I said, "The price for it is very high, Sarah. I don't know what it is yet, but it will be staggering." She nodded and I knew she understood.

I whispered, "It will be okay, Sister Golden Hair. It's almost over." Sarah laughed because that was her name for me. We sang "Sister Golden Hair" as we watched the sun go down together.

My mother didn't care where I went or what I did. She only wanted the money my father sent to pay my child support. She started to speak to me one day about the night she tried to kill me. I stopped her and said, "Karma is a ruthless b***h. I wonder what little gem is in store for you."

She scowled at me as if she wished she had finished me off years ago and started to raise a hand to me. I grabbed her arm before it could make contact. I pulled it down and kicked her in the stomach the way Sarah had years before. I heard the satisfying, "Oomph!" sound come out of her mouth as she fell to the floor.

I stood over her and she put up her hands to block the blows she thought were coming but I knew better. Karma would repay me threefold for whatever I did. I didn't hit her. I said with deadly calm, "If you touch me again, it will be the last thing you ever do in your pathetic life."

I could see the terror in her eyes and that was enough. I walked out the door and didn't return, except to collect a few of my things the day I moved out. Many years would pass before I ever saw her again.