My name is Jessica Lane. Lane, a gift from my father, given to me at birth. An un-wanted gift, but a gift none-the-less.
I have countless childhood memories, countless impressions to the start of my growing mind; a fresh canvas.
I am a child of age 4. Daddy’s got that bottle again. The one that contains his angry potion. I’m not old enough to understand why he never sets it down, or why he loves it so much. Sometimes I think he loves it more than us.
I find the words he says confusing. I think I know what ‘I love you’ means, but his actions that follow aren’t the same. Why doesn’t he mean it? Why does he dislike us so? He yells and throws things and not even mommy can calm him.
He played to rough with mommy tonight. I don’t understand what’s happening. He’s made her bleed, and he’s not done yet. He’s throwing things and saying words we’re not allowed to repeat. He’s yelling and he’s got his hands all over mommy and she can’t stop him. I’m so scared, I don’t understand. Doesn’t he love us? What did mommy do?
Mommy’s leaving now. She’s leaving and I don’t think she’s coming back. I watch from the window praying she hasn’t forgot we’re still here.
We’re still here mommy, please don’t go. Please don’t leave us here.
I’m braced on the window by my little, trembling fingers, with only the glass between me and our distance, the glass keeping me from running to her, running as fast as my legs would let me, but he’ll catch me before I get out the door. She’ll remember we’re still here. She’ll come back. She has to.
Daddy seems satisfied, for now. He seemed to have never put down the bottle once. Why doesn’t daddy love mommy?
It’s been a couple minutes. Daddy has calmed quite a bit. What is it about mommy that makes daddy so angry?
There’s knocking on the door. Mommy’s back! It has to be mommy.
I run to the door as it is opened from the outside. A couple of men I’ve never seen before, strange men, greet the open door way and fear drives me to the comfort of the space under my bed. I lay witness to my father unwillingly be forced up against the oven and his hands tied behind his back. Why is this happening? Does mommy know they’re taking daddy? I’m crying and I can’t stop. I don’t understand. Daddy’s leaving too?
I watch out the same window that held me away from mommy. The men place daddy into their car. Into the back seat, like where we sit. Daddy never sits in the back seat.
Where is daddy going?