The Innocent Eyes of a Child: Everyone's Little Girl, But Nobody's Child

By Trea Jackson

In the Innocent Eyes of a Child, follows the story of a girl, named Brighteyes, who was born into dysfunctional family. She was subjected to years of abuse. At the age of five, she is abandoned by her abusers and ends up in the foster care system. She journeys through the foster care system going from home to home. She tells her story through he

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: May 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781649908858

Trea Jackson

Raised in Chicago, IL, until age 5. After that became a foster child-moved all over Illinois. Spent some time in Florida and California in foster care. Graduated from Roosevelt University with a master's degree in Psychology. Works for the Illinois Department of Human Services as a social worker I started writing fantasy stories at age seven. These stories were always the same of what I wanted my life to be like. These stories lead to more realistic stories of what my life was really like. Writing helped me survive the foster care system.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

MY CRAZY WORLD

W

hen I was two years old, my fondest memory wasn't receiving my first doll or anything like that. It was waking up in the middle of the night and finding Dee crying. My father was nowhere to be found. My house was a crazy place all the time. All they did was fight, scream, and yell at one another. My father would throw things around the house and sometimes, he would grab her. After all the screaming and fighting was over, he would just walk out of the house. He would go downstairs to the bar and put even more liquor into his body, than he already had to begin with. When he returned home, he would just act as if nothing had ever happened. Even Dee would play the same game. She believed that if you act like it never happened, then it really did not. But, in reality, it really did happen and will again.

My father was an alcoholic and went out drinking every night. He would come home late and the fighting would start. I would hear lots of yelling, hitting, and screaming. In addition, to things beings thrown and broken. It would then get quiet after that. Peeking from around the corner, I would see Dee picking up the broken things off the floor. Afterwards, she would go to the bedroom, where it smelled so bad. He would not be able to hold all the alcohol he consumed and would go on himself. Instead of leaving him in the wet pants, she would help change his clothes. He would help a little, but for the most part he was completely under the control of what he was putting in his body. This was a repetitive cycle that was very normal in my life.

Seeing this behavior from such a young age, you start believing that this is normal, but then you find out different. I was awakened, and after that my entire image of normal was completely messed up. This was my normal life from the time I came into the world. From people looking in, they would see dysfunction while I saw normal. I was walking around in a daze. As they spent all their time and energy fighting—trying to kill themselves—they failed to realize that they were still parents. Whether biological or not, they were the adults. They were supposed to be taking care of me, but that just was not happening. From the way it looked, it was not going to happen anytime soon, either.

I was just a little girl, but I wished it would all stop. I wanted to be normal and just a child. All I really wanted was to go to the park and not have to worry about if something happens to my parents. Who would take care of me? What would happen to me? I was a kid, and I was not supposed to worry about things like that, but in my mind, I felt that it was completely necessary. Dee was not an entirely strong person, and she was getting weaker. There was something just not right about her. I didn't refer to her as mother, as she wasn't. I called her by her first name. I felt no love from her, and no love was ever returned to her. There was no exchange of any emotions. It was as if she hated me and had a great deal of bitterness towards me.

Growing up, and by the age of two she developed polio. She had to have several surgeries so that she could walk. After the surgery, she was left with scars and a limp for the rest of her life. But at least she was able to walk because many were left paralyzed permanently. What she went through was rough, but not the end of the world. The other girls teased her a lot in school. Sometimes, kids can really be so mean. When they think that their being funny, other people get hurt. Everyone has disability, some way or another. No one is perfect and that's the bottom line. I think a lot of people judge other people way too much, and that makes me pretty upset. That's how some people are, so you just get used to it.

After you see this happen to you or someone else so often, you start thinking that there's something wrong with you. Then you try so hard to become something opposite of what they're saying. When they say that you are going to fail at something—you just try that much harder to prove them wrong. She would get so upset when people would make fun of her about the way she walked, but after a while she just got used to it and moved on to the next best thing in her life. That next best thing was thinking up excuses of why she can't do certain things because of her past life experiences. She blamed everything in her life on the fact and came from a messed-up family. But, in her next breath, she would say she had a wonderful family. She would even say she was daddy's little girl. So perhaps, both was true for her. Maybe she didn't have the fight in her. Perhaps her parents did not provide her with the encouragement that life goes on and abilities are born out of disabilities every day. Was I supposed to be figuring this out? Her dysfunction became mine.

Maybe she was stuck. Nevertheless, I was the child, and I wasn't supposed to figure it out. I do not know what she could have done with her life really. I would like to say that she could have done anything with her life. But not knowing how bad her circumstances were, I honestly could not say that. She did use a lot of excuses to explain why she couldn't do things or why things were the way they were. As a child you believe those excuses. The abuse that caused such pain and the cries went unheard. I learned a few excuses of my own as well to explain the bruises. I was young, so I used what every other kid used—I fell. I also think she really had some other problems that were under the surface, but I couldn't see because I was a kid. I knew that something was wrong with her, but I just didn't know what. Did she know what I was thinking about her?

She would always talk about her family life when she was a child. It would always go something like, her father was this mean man who would drink all the time and her mother had the same problem. All she would do is drink all the time with the only difference is that her mother would fight back with her husband. I can't say either one is any better for the kids who must witness this madness and get the wrong idea. I understand that Dee came from a messed-up family. But judging from that, I thought that she would really fight harder to ensure that the kids in her care wouldn't have to go through the situations as she did. I know that she didn't plan it this way, but the choices that she made put us into predicaments.

They all thought I would not remember the abuse and other maltreatment they gave me. Being locked in a closet because I was crying caused great terror for me. I was crying because I was scared, cold, or hungry, but no one was there to help me. I was left in there for hours alone. I felt isolated with all the silence that came after the eruption. Not long after, they would just leave the house. I would bang on the door for hours, but no one came. My knuckles were near raw from the banging.

I had a brother Donnie who was starting to follow in the footsteps of his father. He was much older than me and all he did was tell me mean things. He hit me all the time and would make me hurt so bad to where I couldn't move. He'd always laugh and give me this evil look after he would do this. Sometimes, I felt so out of place and like I did not belong in this family. I hoped so badly that someone would take me away from this awful place called home. I would always pretend that it was big bad nightmare, and it was going to end soon.

He was always around Dee and they acted like I didn't exist at all. At the time, I didn't know which one was better, acting like I didn't exist or to bare the abuse that I was receiving from both. With Dee always yelling around the house, ironically, my only escape was the closet. The closet that served as an abusive punishment and lockup for crying became a safe place for me. I would always be in there no matter what. Sometimes, I would just lay back and pretend that I was anywhere, but here. They would never notice that I was gone, not even my father. I just wish that he would go away and far away. I wanted all of them to disappear just so I could escape what they were doing to me. I mean he wasn't doing anything for me. He was just doing so much to me. The abuse was direct from them and then there was the trickle-down abuse from Dee which was worse than the physical.

Donnie just did what he was seeing and repeated it. When you are so young, they think you will not remember, but you do. The horrors and the nightmares they created for me still haunt me today. All the fighting and yelling just made me so scared and I wanted to disappear. It was such a fearful feeling I felt when the angry words would start flying. They were just like birds in the sky. I knew when trouble was coming. In my mind, I did retreat to a safe place. I think every child who is living in dysfunction, especially abuse, would just mentally disappear.

One day, I almost did disappear. No one was really watching me. I was left home alone a lot. I guess, I was leaning over out the window a little too far. So, I fell from the window. I landed on some grass which saved me. I was taken to the hospital. I was lucky though, I had no broken bones, but a lot of bruises and scrapes. I was a little beat up from the incident. I also had bruises on me from before the accident. The police were called, but they did nothing. No questions were asked. A few days later I went home.

Another time, I saw my father and Dee fighting so I ran away. I ran into a busy street and all the cars swerved, so they wouldn't hit me. One car came within inches from hitting me. The driver got out of the car in a panic to see if I was alright. I remember he bent down at my level to talk. He probably wanted to know the common question, why in the world is this child in the street? I said nothing to this man. The police showed up, took me by the hand, and gave me to my father. I remember watching the police officer walk away and so badly I wanted to say something. But I was too scared being in the arms of the abuser. I had visible bruises in plain view. Again, no questions were asked. Little did the police know— I was probably safer in the street taking my chances with the cars because the chances I was taking at home were more dramatizing by a long shot.

Every child describes abuse differently, some don't even refer to it as abuse. It's just something that happens. I did not know the word abuse. In my life, it was something bad that happens. The rage that came along with it was the scariest to me. It was the look in their eyes, and you knew what was about to happen. Then there were the other times when I was caught completely off guard. I would be smacked, punched, slammed into a wall or to the floor; I would be hit with anything they could get their hands on. When I saw it coming, I could try to run and hide. This would make them angrier, meaning that I would get it worse. You would think that it was always related to something that I did. It was annoying stuff or normal kid things, like forgetting to do somethings or making a mess. People always say, Don't cry over spilled milk. Well in our house, you would cry because of what you'd get after you spilled the milk. You tried to be as perfect as you could to make them happy. You'd go that extra mile just to avoid it. I would make sure my clothes were neat, my sleeping area was clean, and there were no messes that needed to be cleaned up. If I did spill something, I would hurry to clean it before anyone would walk in and see what I had done. Sometimes, my heart would beat faster and faster when I would hear footsteps. I was so scared.

After the scary moment was over, I was left broken on the floor. I was in pain and all I wanted to do was cry. I had these painful marks on my skin afterwards. They didn't disappear for a few days which was just in time for the new ones to appear. The bruises and marks on my face were quite visible, but the others could be hidden under my clothes. I was forced wear certain clothes to cover them. I was always groomed to the fact that the people would come to our home and start asking questions. Afterwards, I was hidden away for a few days after the scary moments, so no one could see what they did to me. There were no doctor visits ever. I had to just play along.

One day, my father just walked out. After that I never saw him again. Dee never seemed to get over it, either. She kept getting into relationships with complete losers. She kept looking for her prince charming. Someone by the name of Jim Brady. But she never found what she was really looking for. She was looking for love, but all she ended up with was a broken heart. It did not matter to her though, just as long as she had some guy there with her, loser or not. I felt bad for her though. She was always telling me that all men were bad and all they'd do is hurt you. All they do is use you and walk away, she would say. Dee would warn me that they were all like my father. It just trickles down—one generation to the next, with the good and bad. Her mother preached to her on a regular basis that you must have a man to feel worth something in life and to feel happy. Her mother put the blame on the woman, if you cannot keep a man, then it is your fault. She really felt that this was true, but it was so far from the truth. If she would have found all this out before all this pain and heartache, maybe she would have been happy with what she had, instead of searching for whatever she was looking for.

I think that everyone was told something that they later in life found wasn't true. The truth was based on only opinion. The adults in my life were all just out of it. They checked out a long time ago. All the adults in my life have let me down. When Dee told me that all men were bad, I thought somehow in the back of my head that she did not really believe it. If she did, then why was she still looking for this so-called Jim Brady? My father was told the same thing about women—that all they wanted to do was use men. His father told him that repeatedly. So, coming from his cheating father, I would not have listened to a word he had to say. The messages they were sending me was putting negative images in my head about the world.

Once we went to go see my Dad's parents. This was the only time I saw them. We rode the train all the way to Jena, Louisiana. When we got there, we took a cab to the house where our grandparents lived. My grandfather, Manny was a fair skinned man with dark hair and brown eyes. He was kind of short. My Grandmother, Hanna, was average height, had long black hair, brown eyes, and was medium skin toned. She was darker because she was Native American, so I was told. However, that explanation would change over time. I was pretty mixed up. On my mother's side, my maternal grandfather was Swedish and Italian. My grandmother was Hispanic, she was from Madrid, Spain. Both of my grandfather's looked exceptionally light. The dark skin in the family definitely did not pass to me. Hannah said, My father hated himself because of his mixture. People sometimes don't accept folks with that kind of mix. She said, I was lucky because I just look light and being lighter was the best gift of all. Race is a tricky thing, and it is amazing how some kids come out looking nothing like their parents. It's all about the gene pull and which is stronger. I am the only one in the family that has green eyes. Sometimes, you can't tell just by looking at a person what they are and their genetic makeup.

My grandparents had lots of problems with their marriage. My grandparents didn't say it, but my grandmother sure gave a lot of body language. She didn't approve of her husband's drinking. She also didn't like that he started giving his son beer at only eight years old and let him smoke as well. She was a strong woman to have to put up with that behavior every single day since they have been together. There are other things, like the other women and the violent behavior. So, if you wonder where my dad got it from, you don't have to look too far. I guess what they say is true about dysfunctional families— that if you do not stop the pattern, you can repeat it. Considering these patterns are so strong in my family, I better be careful.

Donnie really started from where daddy dearest left off. When I would cry, my dad would tell Dee to shut me up or he would. Most of the time my dad would not even give her a chance. He would just grab me and smack me. Then I would just cry louder and louder, until he would just walk out. Then she would yell and hit me some more, out of frustration. But now, he is gone. The abuse that I did not receive from my daddy anymore, I started receiving from Donnie. He was so much bigger than me and he always had this mean evil look in his eyes. He would just stare at me, like I'm going to get you and get you good. The sad part is that he always did something a little worse than the time before. But when Dee would ask if he did it, he would just nod—protesting what I said. Of course, she would believe him. He wouldn't even get into any trouble for what he had done to me. In addition to the names, he would call me, he would say that I was a mistake. Everyone wished I were never born; he would tell me all the time. He said, The truth is that you don't even belong to this family, not really. You only half belong to this family. When dad walked out, he should have taken you with. That is why my mom hates you. Was this really true? Maybe that's why I don't call her mom and feel the way I do about her. He was mean, spiteful, and loved to cause me pain. He loved telling me this story over and over. Over the years, it became the truth. All I know is that I feel unwanted.

It seemed that there was no time for me and not a soul cared whether I lived or died. Then this boy would make me feel even worse. Sometimes, I felt I really did not belong to this family. I truly knew that I wouldn't be part of it too much longer. I had this reoccurring feeling and dream, though it scared me, I was ready for it to happen. Not knowing where I would end up, but then again, I didn't even have a clue where I was. I didn't know where I was going in this so-called family that God for chose for me. Not feeling part of this family probably was the start of all my problems. However, not a person ever noticed or even gave a second look. It was as if I didn't exist.

This feeling of not fitting in felt even worse than when it first started. I never felt this bond that most kids felt with their mothers. There was even some thought that she was not my biological mother at all. According to Donnie, the story was that my father just brought me home one day. He had married another woman named Katherine. She was my biological mother. It was really killing me that I felt I didn't have anyone to relate to. Dee never made me feel any better either. She always believed Donnie when he said that he didn't do anything to me. Besides from that, they would always talk. Whenever we went somewhere, it was always his choice. Like once a month, she would get her check and some funny looking play money. We would go to the grocery store to go shopping. I would get to choose a box of cereal. I would always choose the fruit loops or Strawberry Shortcake. They had bright colors that made me feel so happy. Bright colors always brought such happiness to me, especially pink. It held a magical spot and that was a happy moment. We would go to McDonald's and go to the movies. It would always be a scary movie. Whenever I thought of a scary movie, it would make me sick to my stomach, but I had to go see it, anyway. I felt from such an early age, that it wouldn't have really mattered if I ever said a word because no one would have looked my way. This was especially true for my so-called family.

Donnie made it even worse by calling me a weirdo all the time. He would say that I was found somewhere under a bridge. For some reason, I found that to be closer to the truth than being in this family. In some ways, I guess he was right. I never talked or gave any eye contact. I did not want to be held or kissed by anyone. Or did I? Perhaps it was just these people I couldn't be close with. I see other kids get held and receive hugs from their parents. I want parents like that. I want to be loved and cared for. I want a family like the kids I see. I don't quite understand why I can't have what the other kids have. I would watch on television, the re-runs of the Brady Bunch and Good Times. In later years, it was the Cosby Show. So, I would pretend to join their family on the show which made me feel better. There were a few other shows on television that I was considering. One of them I think, had a few too many kids, so they have their hands full. It was nice to pretend even if it was an escape, just for a while. I think it was well worth it.

I was watching Good Times when I saw something that was happening in my life. There was a girl named Penny, who was being hurt by her mother. I looked at the television screen intensely because I thought I was looking in a mirror someway. I thought, Oh my god, she was just like me. This is where I got the word abuse. I wish a family would try to protect me like they did Penny. Furthermore, I wish there was a neighbor who would offer to adopt me. It made me feel better knowing that I was not the only one this was happening to. I learned from the Brady Bunch that family time can be happy time. It made me smile. It made me forget even if it was for a little while. The Cosby Show gave me more happy family time with the addition of both parents being professionals while being good parents. Later, I learned from a Different World, that college was a possibility and fun. I learned most of my ambitions and life lessons from these sitcoms and a couple of total strangers. They helped me get through, but reality quickly returned.

At age four, the abuse got worse. The abuse started to change. I never thought it could get any better, either. Sometimes, I felt so much pain and anger towards them for doing this to me. Maybe I could have dealt with it better if it weren't happening so often. I really felt like disappearing into another world. That's just what I did whenever it was happening. I would just pretend that I was far away in a beautiful and wonderful land. I was far away from where I should have been appreciated to begin with.

I started school at Littlehorse. I was terrified of going to this place every day. My teacher was this short white lady with curly brown hair. She was nice, but noticed I came to school in the same clothes every other day. So, she brought me some clothes in a brown paper bag. During recess I changed into the clothes while using the coat closet as a dressing room. I was nervous because I had some bruises on me, but most of them were on my back. There was a painful bruise on my upper leg and stomach. I was very shy and timid. I was always so nervous and sensitive to fighting. My behavior raised some eyebrows at school. Questions started to be asked, however, just like the others before— nothing was done to stop it. Teachers called home, but Dee never answered the phone. I didn't talk much because I found it easier just staying quiet. Staying lost in my own little world was a safer place. Most of the time, I did not want to come back to this world, but I did. I did not know why, though. Why come back and deal with all this stuff? My world was like a friend that I could play with and then after, I would go home. But in my case, I got to choose all the games we'd play. Why would I want to communicate with the real world? Sometimes, kids go into their own little world because the real world isn't being too kind to them.

My life was normal, at least from my standpoint anyway. Normal is what you deal with from day to day. My normal would-be others nightmare by comparison, but for me, it was my life. What is normal anyway? Sometimes, I feel that adults focus too much on normal. It seems that there isn't any middle ground either. It's either you're normal or your weird. When I did go to school, I would always have to wear long sleeved shirts when I could, so that people would not see the bruises and marks were on me. That was my biggest secret. But once the school found out about the abuse or just had one ounce of suspicion, I would have to move again. I was quite the nomad of schools. Usually, 4-5 schools in one school year were the norm. I loved going to school so that I could eat. I got a free breakfast and lunch which was nice. There wasn't enough food at home, so most days I only could eat once. I did not really have any meals prepared at home, so just would eat some soup, ravioli, or other canned items. Some nights when I was in bed, I would be so hungry that my stomach would hurt. I wouldn't complain, though because it wouldn't help. In the morning, I was so tired because I had trouble sleeping due to the hunger pains. I always felt better after I got to school and had something to eat. I was always thankful for the free meals I would receive.

Besides from the abuse going on, Donnie started picking up some awful habits. This was the start of his destructive behavior. First, he started smoking and drinking. Second, he started smoking some stuff that made him act crazy. Finally, he started on his life of breaking the law. He became so good at it, that Dee did not even notice a thing and probably will not either. She always felt that he could do no wrong. Until she gets that thought out of her head, he is going to end up worse off, then he would of if she would just admit to it.

CHAPTER TWO

FLYAWAY

I

found something that is so wonderful. I had only done it a few times now, but I think that I would like to do it more. It all started this year when the school had a talent show. I was in class one day, singing into a tape recorder during playtime. Then my teacher came over. I had learned certain songs from the Sound of Music, The Wizard of Oz, and other songs that Shirley Temple would sing. I learned her dance steps and would practice them. I wanted to be Shirley Temple. I would imitate older performers like, Mae West, Sammy Davis Jr., and Fred Astaire—just to name a few. Once my teacher saw what I was doing, she suggested that I perform in the talent show. Others did not want to believe what my teacher saw, until they too saw it with their own eyes. They thought it was amazing. I wouldn't talk during school, but only to sing and perform. At the talent show, I sang a song by Shirley Temple and won the talent show. I was rewarded this blue and white trophy. This is one of my happy moments.

They didn't know why I didn't want to talk, yet they never asked me either. I never talked because no one at my house ever talked to me. So, why should I communicate with people who acted like I was invisible? They didn't understand me, nor did they ever try. At school, they just judged me and gave me a title while expecting me to live up to it. They got a surprise out of this world because of what they thought and what I already knew. My escape was distant from this world, miles, and miles away. A galaxy in a place where only a child can dream, and that is where I am. I can fly and breathe in the deep blue sea, while the skies are filled with hunger. They too, feel neglected for the things that some people take for granted. I, to want to speak and think like the natured things. I wanted to talk to the beauty of the world. I am here, I told the blue robin. He speaks in a baby voice that he is, I am here, too, and now we can flyaway together, to our world.

Dee met a man who became her live-in boyfriend, named Rodney. He claimed to run some club in the downtown area of Chicago. He was a bad man. This man had another business that Dee may not been aware of. He was into child porno. One day, he took me to the club in the morning. He said extremely sweet things to me. He took me into a room that had a bed, a dressing table and there were three cameras. He left me in the room for a while, so I just looked around. He came in with another man named Jake, who said that I was precious and cute. Rodney took some clothes out of a bag. There were some sparkly shirts, skirts, some hair pieces, and a bikini. There were some fancy shoes that were like the ones Dorothy wore in the Wizard of Oz, but this was not Oz. I feel kind of like Dorothy—lost in another land. He spoke to me very sweetly, telling me that we were going to play dress up. There were rules that had to be followed. He told me, this was going to be fun, just like making a movie or being a model. I was going to be the star. He showed me pictures of other children he worked with, implying that he made them stars. But the most important rule was that I could tell no one. This had to remain a secret. He groomed me with the idea that this was performing, and it was okay. I had no choice, but to comply with his wishes. He said it was okay, so maybe it's like performing? Right?

First, pictures were taken of me in these fancy clothes. I was all dolled up with make-up and my brown curly hair was let down. The pictures included me in the pink bikini. Later, I was taken in another room where there were some other kids, maybe a little older. A girl and boy were on the bed barely dressed while a man would direct them to hold hands, hug, and kiss. They were smiling and appeared to be having fun. The next day, I was asked to do the same things. First, with my fancy clothes on and later while wearing my bikini. Then there was the performing, but I didn't realize it. This was a different kind of performing. I had to pretend on the stage to perform to the audience. This audience was filled with men. I can say that I felt alive and miles from the world when I was on the stage. I could be anyone that I wanted to be. I wanted to be up there. There was direction given in how to be on the stage. I guess, that's why they call them directors. When I was told to shake it, I didn't always know what to shake. The older girls had something to shake, so I just watched and learned from them. I would watch the older girls to learn their walk and talk. Soon I knew what to shake. That's what little, I had to shake. I would perform like little lady, but I wasn't. I was just a kid put into all this, but I quickly learned that that this place was not good for kids.

I saw some of the kids taken into rooms with men in suits. Us kids referred to them as, the suits. I peeked from the door as I saw a man touching the girl or boy. What I saw scared me. The other kids would talk about things they would do. Most of us were so young we didn't understand what was going on. Part of me thought the stage was fun and I wanted to stay up there forever. Performing in this place, I would rather not mention what was really going on. I was seeing things that I shouldn't have. There was a lot of craziness going on. This was a place of entertainment where men were entertained by woman taking off their clothes. There was a lot of drinking of alcohol and smoking, which smelled awful. There were a lot of interactions between the men and women.

I had to take pictures and do videos with other children. This entire place and what we're being asked to do made me feel uncomfortable. During one of the photo shoots, I was wearing a red bikini and was asked to take off my top. I just looked and was scared frozen. Something wasn't right about this place. Later that week, I was dressed all cute and taken to a hotel with Rodney. A man was in the room sitting on the couch. He was dressed in a black suit. He was kind but wanted me to do some stuff. I was told to do whatever he asks me. He wanted to touch me, so it started with my shoulders. He then started to kiss me on my lips and neck. I was feeling weird, and I did not want to be here with this man. He asked me to take off my clothes, but I just froze, and I couldn't move. He then went to knock on the door. Rodney quickly walked in and grabbed me angrily by the arm. Afterwards, he put me in the car, while calling me awful names. So, I began to cry, but he started yelling even louder. I was so scared. After he brought me home, he started ripping off my clothes, so I started screaming. I ran into the corner of the room, wearing only my underwear. I wrapped my hands around legs, while putting my head down, so it was covered. He then started to hit me over and over. I was crying, wishing that it would end soon. After thirty minutes or so, he was gone. I never saw him again.

Every so often, people wondered where my parents were. Questions were always being asked, but no answers were ever given. It became a very scary time for me, even more so than before. I had to hide the bruises twice as hard. Therefore, sometimes I feared they might find out my secret. For that reason, I only answered with yes or no, and added no extra details. That way they couldn't get anything out of me. I had to train myself on how to act around people. I just wished so badly that they would just see all the bruises and come to save me.

I will never forget that club I was forced to perform at. That really wasn't the performing I was interested in doing. I liked the talent show and the church performing for the kids, so that's what I will stick to, if I can. I watched, listened, and learned from the older performers. A lot of them wanted to make it big, so they would talk a lot about making