We Were Three: My Brother, My Sister, and Me

By Tim Hefner

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 27, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453559055

Tim Hefner

The author has worked as an LPN for twenty five years in many settings. Currently he works in long-term care. He lives in Bat Cave, NC with his beloved three-legged dog, Teeka.

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Copyright © 2010 by Tim Hefner.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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CONTENTS

Part One

The End and The Beginning

Never Waste A Lie

A Monster

A Black Hole of Grief

Afterbirth

Rivals For Affection

Not Using His Head/His Finest Hour.

Bodies of Water/No Fear Factor

Part Two

Nomads of Dysfunction

Great Lakes of Sorrow

A Connecticut Sociopath

Philadelphia freedom

Lost in Norfolk

Pascagoula, Mississippi Storms

Greensboro, North Carolina, Home Base

Charleston, South Carolina Risky Business

New Orleans, The Second Line

Part Three

The Relativity of Stability

San Diego, California Dreaming

Rancocas, New Jersey, Creating Reality

Jacksonville, Florida, The Bipolar Express

Part Four

Relative Instability

Hendersonville, Part One, More Life with Father

Hendersonville, Part Two, Our Life Without Father

Aftermath, Part One, The Funeral

Aftermath, Part Two, An Unexpected Visitor

Afterword

Acknowledgments

This book is written for my brother Jeff,

but is dedicated to our dear mother, Doris Messer,

whom I love dearly.

Part One

The End and The Beginning

1

Never Waste A Lie

Ernest Hemingway famously said All true stories end in death, and as if to emphasize the point, he stuck a shotgun in his mouth in 1961 and blew himself into eternity. I think Hemingway certainly had his demons. I do not mean to make light of this personal tragedy. But the irony of this desperate act is that the of the truth of this particular aphorism is proven every day, with less and more dramatic actions. To paraphrase Chuck Palahniuk, in a long enough time frame, the earth and the universe itself will ultimately end. But this is too depressing a truth to contemplate for more than a brief moment, although The History Channel seems to disagree. I would have to postulate that most of us would rather be entertained by the stories that do not have true endings, but are merely snapshot diversions from life in all its tragicomic manifestations. I guess Hemingway’s true stories have their place, but as for me I will take a good lie any day.

I truly wish the stories told herein were made up, they are a painful truth that haunts me to this day, some forty years hence. But why must a true story necessarily end in death? If it begins that way, might it not then ultimately end in a more pleasing manner? That would be, and is still is, my hope.

I am not an omnipotent narrator. What I cannot remember firsthand, I will fill in the blanks from the memories of of others, or as a final option will give my educated guess of the truth as it existed then. There are other truths out there, some I have heard, some probably too painful ever to be told. Perhaps Jeff’s story, our family’s story, will somehow resonate with others who have faced similar travails in their own lives. The truth, however painful, may not set one totally free, but I believe it can remove a burden from one’s shoulders, and perhaps lead one closer to the freedom found in that truth.

But, back to lies (one of my favorite subjects). When you are being abused, the absolute truth is not necessarily your friend, it can endanger the life and well being of not only yourself, but also of those you love. So, if you are to survive, you must learn to be evasive, to obfuscate, to bald faced lie if you must. In these extreme cases, believability is the paramount objective. An inscrutable affect is a necessity, all emotional tells must be obliterated. Your abuser will attempt to by any means to wrestle the dangerous truth from your grasp. They will threaten, lie, offer rewards to make you reveal yourself. Initially resistance is futile, but in a slow and painful process, you learn.

In my world, truth is relative, lies are certain. In my life, I have also learned that telling the painful truth to people you can trust is the way to go. At an early age, I found the not so subtle difference between telling a lie merely to escape just and reasonable consequences, and in doing so to ward off real and present danger. Lying simply to avoid simple inconvenience, in my estimation is just wrong. It also lessens your credibility when your hide is really on the line. The lesson here, for me, and is to never waste a lie. The world is always a cloudy, dangerous place in the best of circumstances. The truth is not always the best policy for those who are abused, but every lie one is forced to tell takes a horrible toll. It is with you always.

2

A Monster

Jeff, my sister, and I never looked under our beds or in our closets for monsters, as other children often do. We knew very well where the monster in our home resided: it was within our father. In our earlier years, the monster mainly came out after a liberal consumption of alcohol, but as time wore on the monster was always lurking in there, without need of outside stimulation. It would grow, become increasingly more menacing, and come out of hiding with more frequency, and with more horrifying results. I cannot speak for Jeff or Cathe, but for me, constant fear was eventually replaced with a simple, ever present anticipation. Like thunderstorms and tornadoes: at that time there was little one could do to prepare. The storm would come out quite suddenly, and often out of the blue, leaving violent destruction in its wake. It was something that must be endured.

There are things that children should never have to witness, let alone be a victim of, and I cannot adequately describe the feelings involved in a child seeing such things on a regular basis. I can tell you that I have stood paralyzed, not in terror, but in confusion, while my father wrapped his hands around my mother’s neck for an extended period of time, describing in detail how could easily he could strangle the life from her, or simply snap her neck like a twig. This was not a one time occurrence, it happened with a good deal of regularity.

The feeling of helplessness in viewing such a situation, as a three year old, cannot really be described, it must be experienced. What I know is that you learn to hide your feelings well, and in watching those you love victimized in this manner, personal fear and a sense of safety become trivialized and for me, I no longer feared death, God or anything that might happen to me. To this day I can go through the most horrifying traumas with a sense of total detachment. I have absolutely no fear regarding my own safety. This is no brag, simply a result of witnessing horrible things as a child. I do not mean to digress into my own life story; this story is really not about me. But to illustrate this point further, I must recount a couple of events in my own life.

I was once given an IV dye as a preparation for an x-ray procedure. I had an an immediate anaphalactic reaction to this procedure. I was fourteen at the time. My throat totally closed and I was unable to breathe at all. There was a flurry of activity among the doctor and nurses there, but I remained unconcerned. It was very much like watching the bubbles rise when I nearly drowned. The world merely slowed down for me. The appropriate remedies were given in the proper manner prescribed, and my life was saved. I was completely aware of what was happening to me at the time, but I assure you I felt not one moment of personal fear or anxiety. I did not skip a beat.

In my life, I have been shot at, stabbed, flipped vehicles, carried away in a flash flood and faced innumerable life threatening situations. I tell you quite, as a matter of fact, that I do not react normally in these circumstances. I march boldly into the most horrifyingly dangerous moments without a moments hesitation. This is not courage on my part, you can be assured. I do not willingly place myself in danger, but when I am placed in potentially dangerous environments, I become emotionally detached and remain unconcerned with personal safety. I do not feel I am invulnerable (though it often seems that way) but I simply do not care.

I think our sister Cathe suffers from this symptom of childhood trauma, but I feel sure that Jeff had it in full measure.

The monster was with us for years, sometimes in our home, sometimes at a distance. We endured it, and it was finally exorcised from our childhood lives. But, only at the expense of having our father around us at all. Jeff would not benefit long from this reprieve, only for a brief time in his short life: a short reprieve yet permanent.

3

A Black Hole of Grief

Who cupped your face as you lay dying, Jeff? I didn’t Your address hastily written on whatever paper available, had slipped through a hole of my favorite jeans (not my favorite anymore). Since you must have known, some circumstance had kept me from writing as I’d promised, I waited for a letter from you. The letter never came. Rod McKuen, from Three Paragraphs for Jeff Hefner.

The day begins as any other of a couple of thousand days before. Winking sunlight, filtering through the curtains of a window, synchronizing to the blinking of the eyes, gradually, then suddenly, an introduction of consciousness, into what is now, but will never be again, just another day. A yawn accompanied by an outstretching of one arm, and then another, one instinctive move repeated in a manner that ultimately results in standing by the bed. An intense feeling of pressure and discomfort, signal the need to empty the bladder, which then becomes onset of the activities of daily living. After freshening up, some sort of breakfast is surely the first task of the day, most likely a cereal, followed by jelly on toast, washed down by milk . . .

Honest to God, the truth is, I don’t remember a damn thing of note that I did on what would turn out to be the most horrifying day of my life. I seem to remember Jeff not being around, apparently he had already begun what he had planned to be a very active day. Not unusual at all for him. I do recall wondering what my brother had so urgently wanted to talk to me about the night before. I had put him off more than once, for no good reason, other than being tired. I did not dwell on the subject for long, but would have rest of my life to think about it later.

I confess that I don’t remember what my mother or sister were doing that day, nor did I particularly care. At some point, I know that I was left home alone, and that this was neither unusual nor particularly bothersome in any way to me. I was an often indolent and totally unambitious teenager not really interested in any sort of work, or the usual social activities of others my own age. In a sense, I preferred to socialize with other antisocial kids. Helping around the house, or really thinking about the needs of others, was not really my forte. In short, I was a self centered, selfish little bastard, and quite content with myself to boot. The strange thing to me is, that I was almost universally liked, and have been told I was quite humorous and popular. I had never noticed. I was a diligent student of the art of laying low, not being noticed, and above all, just getting