The Note by AusPoet
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Description
June/July 1983, age 12, approximately two weeks before I escaped.
Things were nearing crisis point. I was in a constant state of terror. She had told me that if I did one more thing wrong, "they" would find me, "dead, in the river". And knowing that the most minor infraction could be considered "wrong" was enough to leave me wondering whether it would be today, or tomorrow, that I would be dead. Was it possible to make it into next week? What could I do that would be a good enough excuse for her to kill me? I had thought about it, and knew that I didn't want to die. However, it was just as clear to me by this stage that She had ultimate power over my existence, and that nobody was going to be able to help me. As far as I could tell, nobody really knew that I needed help - realistically, it seemed that hardly anybody really knew of my existence! So, if She wanted me dead, She would be able to have me dead, and nobody would notice my absence from the world. She, of course, had confirmed all of this information. I had decided that if this end was inevitable, then She would have to be in trouble for her efforts. I wanted her to burn in hell, to be thrown in the deepest darkest prison cell, to go through absolute public humiliation and shame for what She had done and had been doing to me. If I was to die, then "they" should know it was her and She should suffer the consequences of her actions. It would be her turn to be punished, and my life - and death - would not be a complete waste. So I wrote a note. It said, "If I am found dead, my mother, [name withheld], had something to do with it." My intent was to be concise and to the point. Sitting with my back against the cupboard in the bedroom, I held this small slip of paper in my hand and wondered what to do with it. I figured that "they" would need to find it on my dead body or else they would never know - She would probably eradicate all traces of my existence from her home once I was dead. She would not want reminders of my filthy little existence, and She would be far too cunning to keep evidence that I had been and gone; that would raise suspicions. So I thought about keeping the note in a pocket of my clothing. Then I decided that She would probably check my pockets once I was dead, and She would then find the note and destroy it. I decided that there was only one place I could hide the note where She wouldn't think to look - so I stashed the note in the back of my underpants. It was a little scratchy and uncomfortable, but in a strange way it was comforting to know that it was there, that if She were to kill me that day, I would still have the Final Word. I was in Year Seven, and was attending the school where She taught. She had enrolled me here for high school, saying at the time that she wanted to keep an eye on me. Perhaps that was why things had reached the point that they had - I hadn't had any respite from her ever-spying eyes since I'd left primary school. This was a massive public high school, with 200 kids just in my year. She was the science and agriculture teacher, and each day we would travel the one hour drive together in complete silence. Well, occasionally She would open her mouth long enough to tell me that I smelled bad, but generally that was the extent of it. The first day that I travelled to school with The Note in my underpants, I could feel its pointy corners prodding at me, reminding me that I had a power of which She was not aware. It was frightening taking such a rebellious step as carrying this note, but what did I have left to lose? I was fully aware that the answer to this question was "Absolutely nothing." As I climbed out of the car at school, I held my breath as the piece of paper slipped downwards slightly, for a moment seeming as though it might escape, right there in front of her. I gripped my bum cheeks together, willing my underpants to be a little tighter as a result, and walked away from her as carefully as possible, trying not to dislodge the paper by making any sudden moves. As She turned and walked in the opposite direction, I slowly exhaled, and relaxed a little. I went about business as usual that morning, for a while being very conscious of what I was carrying, and eventually being distracted by school work and conversations with my best friend. Just after lunch, She appeared in the doorway of my classroom, muttered something to the teacher, and I was asked to go with her. This was an unusual circumstance, so I wondered what was going on. We walked in silence, me following a few paces behind the clickety-click of her three-inch heels, trotting a little as usual to keep up with her. I soon realised we were heading for the car. When we arrived at the car, She swung around and glared at me. She reached savagely into her pocket, still glowering, and pulled something out, waving it angrily in front of my face. My bum cheeks tightened abruptly as I realised that something was missing. She was holding The Note! My mind suddenly began to spin as I tried to work out how on earth She had managed to end up holding my one last hope of revenge. When could I have dropped it? How could I have been so negligent as to not even notice it was gone? Shit-shit-shit! She was speaking through gritted teeth, describing her horror and embarrassment that a student had brought this piece of paper to her after finding it in the playground. A string of ranted rhetorical questions spewed forth from her lips. How could I have done this to her? Who the hell did I think I was? What did I think I was going to achieve in doing such a thing? Why had I humiliated her yet again? Internally I was screaming at myself, wishing that I could turn back the clock, wanting to erase this eventuation and possibly save myself. She ordered me to wait in the car until She was ready to leave. Obediently, and terrified, I clambered hastily into the car and flinched slightly as She slammed the door closed behind me. For the next two hours until her work day finished, I sat there, waiting, horrified at the enormity of my mistake, and wondering what was to come. I couldn't decide what was worse, the waiting, or the ever-impending school bell which would signify that the time of my doom had now arrived. When I saw her walking purposefully toward the car after the final bell, I began to bodily shake. I was sure that this was it; that I had committed the ultimate crime and now my life was really going to be over. She climbed, silently and seething, into the driver's seat, and started the engine. I kept my eyes staring down at my hands in my lap, noticing that my fingers were intertwined so tightly that my knuckles were yellowish-white. She drove away from the school and for the next twenty minutes She remained silent. It seemed we were heading home. Quite unexpectedly, She pulled the car off to the side of the road and killed the engine. She turned in her seat and started to yell at me, screaming into my face, asking the same questions She had asked earlier. I remained silent, knowing that I had no suitable answers, knowing that there was nothing I could say that would make things better, and that anything I said would probably make things worse. I simply stared at her, completely petrified, pressing my back as far into the seat behind me as I could, wanting every possible millimetre to stand between her and I, knowing that at any moment her taloned fingers could wrap around my throat or slam clenched into my face. Something was definitely coming; it was simply a matter of what, and when. Every fibre of my being was trembling, ready, waiting, poised for an onslaught. No part of me considered fleeing, or fighting, as I was quite aware that neither of these were options for me. I had long ago given up on such follies. All that was left for me after these two defences was fright and I was certainly deeply embroiled in the emotion. Without warning, She suddenly reached out and roughly grabbed my hand. She jerked it towards her face and I gasped involuntarily as She clamped her bared teeth down on one of my knuckles. She broke through the skin and blood sprang from the wound. Small tears formed at the corners of my eyes. Perhaps the bitter coppery taste of my blood was why She then let go of my hand, looked at me for a moment, twisted back around in her seat, turned the ignition key and started driving again. I kept my head hanging low, staring at my fingers as I tried to figure out what her next move would be. Was this it? Should I be expecting more? Somewhere in her ranting I remembered her saying something about me not ever going back to that school again. So I figured I was still quite likely to die. Then something occurred to me - somebody knew about it! So if I turned up dead, questions might be asked, and that student might come forward! Maybe She couldn't kill me now! The only glitch I could see in that thought was that She was clearly still so very incensed that it seemed She could still easily be holding murderous intent. Eventually we arrived at home, and again in silence, with me a few paces behind, we walked to the door. She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. She beckoned for me to walk through ahead of her. With my every muscle tensed, I inched past her, still waiting for something to happen, but also hoping that She would simply send me to my room and lock the bedroom door. Even that was better than the other possibilities. As my right foot crossed the threshold, I felt a rough and powerful shove from behind me and I fell to the cold tiled floor inside the door, sliding forward just a little on impact. She quickly entered behind me and hoisted me up from the floor, her hand clenched deep in my hair in order to lift me. I heard the door bang behind her, the Venetian blinds clattering against the glass for a few seconds afterwards as they swung back and forth. There was a blinding flash as my head slammed against the piece of white wall just inside the entrance, next to the laundry door. Then it happened again, and again, and again. I lost count of how many times She mashed my head against that cold hard wall, lost in the pain of it until I found myself scattered again on the floor, this time at the bottom of the stairs. For perhaps two seconds, I sought small relief in the tiles, feeling some sense of soothing in their solidity and coolness against my cheek. Then her hand was in my hair again and She dragged and threw me up the stairs, deftly ensuring that I banged into walls and banisters along the way. Quiet sobs escaped me and I silently pleaded with God that he would stop this from occurring, even though I was already fully aware that even God was not going to help me. Eventually we arrived at the top, and She shoved me towards my prison, the bedroom I shared with my adoptive sister. I hoped momentarily that it would now be over, that her rage would be spent. Instead, She reached in next to my chest of drawers and pulled out the bamboo cane. Now I was really crying, screaming, begging for her to stop as the cane thrashed, whistling wildly through the air, landing everywhere from the side of my head down to the backs of my legs. She was completely out of control. I could feel the inevitable dark red welts instantly raising in various places as the cane bit into my skin through my clothes. She continued to hit viciously out at me until it seemed She had run out of steam. She may have said something to me as She left the room, but I cannot recall what it might have been. Once the door was closed and locked, I collapsed to the floor and sobbed for an uncertain length of time, every part of my body screaming in reply to the brutality it had just experienced. I don't remember much more of that afternoon or evening. I think I was mostly just relieved that I had managed to live through another day. I had survived. I had won this time, because I wasn't dead. Every injury to my body had simply become a painful reminder that I was alive, able to feel pain, breathing, not dead. The next thing I recall is lying face down in bed that night, naked and on top of the sheets because the skin of my back and legs could not bear to have fabric pressed against it. I was awake, but pretending to be asleep so as to avoid further trouble. My adopted brother and sister walked into the room and turned on the light. I heard an intake of breath from each of them as they surveyed the damage before them. I had thick dark, blue-edged welts visible the entire length of my body, the skin broken in various places and some with blood crusted around them. I stayed very still, not wanting them to know that I was aware of their presence. "Poor thing," one of them said after a few seconds. "She deserved it," the other said matter-of-factly. They switched off the light then, turned, and left the room.
Things were nearing crisis point. I was in a constant state of terror. She had told me that if I did one more thing wrong, "they" would find me, "dead, in the river". And knowing that the most minor infraction could be considered "wrong" was enough to leave me wondering whether it would be today, or tomorrow, that I would be dead. Was it possible to make it into next week? What could I do that would be a good enough excuse for her to kill me? I had thought about it, and knew that I didn't want to die. However, it was just as clear to me by this stage that She had ultimate power over my existence, and that nobody was going to be able to help me. As far as I could tell, nobody really knew that I needed help - realistically, it seemed that hardly anybody really knew of my existence! So, if She wanted me dead, She would be able to have me dead, and nobody would notice my absence from the world. She, of course, had confirmed all of this information. I had decided that if this end was inevitable, then She would have to be in trouble for her efforts. I wanted her to burn in hell, to be thrown in the deepest darkest prison cell, to go through absolute public humiliation and shame for what She had done and had been doing to me. If I was to die, then "they" should know it was her and She should suffer the consequences of her actions. It would be her turn to be punished, and my life - and death - would not be a complete waste. So I wrote a note. It said, "If I am found dead, my mother, [name withheld], had something to do with it." My intent was to be concise and to the point. Sitting with my back against the cupboard in the bedroom, I held this small slip of paper in my hand and wondered what to do with it. I figured that "they" would need to find it on my dead body or else they would never know - She would probably eradicate all traces of my existence from her home once I was dead. She would not want reminders of my filthy little existence, and She would be far too cunning to keep evidence that I had been and gone; that would raise suspicions. So I thought about keeping the note in a pocket of my clothing. Then I decided that She would probably check my pockets once I was dead, and She would then find the note and destroy it. I decided that there was only one place I could hide the note where She wouldn't think to look - so I stashed the note in the back of my underpants. It was a little scratchy and uncomfortable, but in a strange way it was comforting to know that it was there, that if She were to kill me that day, I would still have the Final Word. I was in Year Seven, and was attending the school where She taught. She had enrolled me here for high school, saying at the time that she wanted to keep an eye on me. Perhaps that was why things had reached the point that they had - I hadn't had any respite from her ever-spying eyes since I'd left primary school. This was a massive public high school, with 200 kids just in my year. She was the science and agriculture teacher, and each day we would travel the one hour drive together in complete silence. Well, occasionally She would open her mouth long enough to tell me that I smelled bad, but generally that was the extent of it. The first day that I travelled to school with The Note in my underpants, I could feel its pointy corners prodding at me, reminding me that I had a power of which She was not aware. It was frightening taking such a rebellious step as carrying this note, but what did I have left to lose? I was fully aware that the answer to this question was "Absolutely nothing." As I climbed out of the car at school, I held my breath as the piece of paper slipped downwards slightly, for a moment seeming as though it might escape, right there in front of her. I gripped my bum cheeks together, willing my underpants to be a little tighter as a result, and walked away from her as carefully as possible, trying not to dislodge the paper by making any sudden moves. As She turned and walked in the opposite direction, I slowly exhaled, and relaxed a little. I went about business as usual that morning, for a while being very conscious of what I was carrying, and eventually being distracted by school work and conversations with my best friend. Just after lunch, She appeared in the doorway of my classroom, muttered something to the teacher, and I was asked to go with her. This was an unusual circumstance, so I wondered what was going on. We walked in silence, me following a few paces behind the clickety-click of her three-inch heels, trotting a little as usual to keep up with her. I soon realised we were heading for the car. When we arrived at the car, She swung around and glared at me. She reached savagely into her pocket, still glowering, and pulled something out, waving it angrily in front of my face. My bum cheeks tightened abruptly as I realised that something was missing. She was holding The Note! My mind suddenly began to spin as I tried to work out how on earth She had managed to end up holding my one last hope of revenge. When could I have dropped it? How could I have been so negligent as to not even notice it was gone? Shit-shit-shit! She was speaking through gritted teeth, describing her horror and embarrassment that a student had brought this piece of paper to her after finding it in the playground. A string of ranted rhetorical questions spewed forth from her lips. How could I have done this to her? Who the hell did I think I was? What did I think I was going to achieve in doing such a thing? Why had I humiliated her yet again? Internally I was screaming at myself, wishing that I could turn back the clock, wanting to erase this eventuation and possibly save myself. She ordered me to wait in the car until She was ready to leave. Obediently, and terrified, I clambered hastily into the car and flinched slightly as She slammed the door closed behind me. For the next two hours until her work day finished, I sat there, waiting, horrified at the enormity of my mistake, and wondering what was to come. I couldn't decide what was worse, the waiting, or the ever-impending school bell which would signify that the time of my doom had now arrived. When I saw her walking purposefully toward the car after the final bell, I began to bodily shake. I was sure that this was it; that I had committed the ultimate crime and now my life was really going to be over. She climbed, silently and seething, into the driver's seat, and started the engine. I kept my eyes staring down at my hands in my lap, noticing that my fingers were intertwined so tightly that my knuckles were yellowish-white. She drove away from the school and for the next twenty minutes She remained silent. It seemed we were heading home. Quite unexpectedly, She pulled the car off to the side of the road and killed the engine. She turned in her seat and started to yell at me, screaming into my face, asking the same questions She had asked earlier. I remained silent, knowing that I had no suitable answers, knowing that there was nothing I could say that would make things better, and that anything I said would probably make things worse. I simply stared at her, completely petrified, pressing my back as far into the seat behind me as I could, wanting every possible millimetre to stand between her and I, knowing that at any moment her taloned fingers could wrap around my throat or slam clenched into my face. Something was definitely coming; it was simply a matter of what, and when. Every fibre of my being was trembling, ready, waiting, poised for an onslaught. No part of me considered fleeing, or fighting, as I was quite aware that neither of these were options for me. I had long ago given up on such follies. All that was left for me after these two defences was fright and I was certainly deeply embroiled in the emotion. Without warning, She suddenly reached out and roughly grabbed my hand. She jerked it towards her face and I gasped involuntarily as She clamped her bared teeth down on one of my knuckles. She broke through the skin and blood sprang from the wound. Small tears formed at the corners of my eyes. Perhaps the bitter coppery taste of my blood was why She then let go of my hand, looked at me for a moment, twisted back around in her seat, turned the ignition key and started driving again. I kept my head hanging low, staring at my fingers as I tried to figure out what her next move would be. Was this it? Should I be expecting more? Somewhere in her ranting I remembered her saying something about me not ever going back to that school again. So I figured I was still quite likely to die. Then something occurred to me - somebody knew about it! So if I turned up dead, questions might be asked, and that student might come forward! Maybe She couldn't kill me now! The only glitch I could see in that thought was that She was clearly still so very incensed that it seemed She could still easily be holding murderous intent. Eventually we arrived at home, and again in silence, with me a few paces behind, we walked to the door. She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. She beckoned for me to walk through ahead of her. With my every muscle tensed, I inched past her, still waiting for something to happen, but also hoping that She would simply send me to my room and lock the bedroom door. Even that was better than the other possibilities. As my right foot crossed the threshold, I felt a rough and powerful shove from behind me and I fell to the cold tiled floor inside the door, sliding forward just a little on impact. She quickly entered behind me and hoisted me up from the floor, her hand clenched deep in my hair in order to lift me. I heard the door bang behind her, the Venetian blinds clattering against the glass for a few seconds afterwards as they swung back and forth. There was a blinding flash as my head slammed against the piece of white wall just inside the entrance, next to the laundry door. Then it happened again, and again, and again. I lost count of how many times She mashed my head against that cold hard wall, lost in the pain of it until I found myself scattered again on the floor, this time at the bottom of the stairs. For perhaps two seconds, I sought small relief in the tiles, feeling some sense of soothing in their solidity and coolness against my cheek. Then her hand was in my hair again and She dragged and threw me up the stairs, deftly ensuring that I banged into walls and banisters along the way. Quiet sobs escaped me and I silently pleaded with God that he would stop this from occurring, even though I was already fully aware that even God was not going to help me. Eventually we arrived at the top, and She shoved me towards my prison, the bedroom I shared with my adoptive sister. I hoped momentarily that it would now be over, that her rage would be spent. Instead, She reached in next to my chest of drawers and pulled out the bamboo cane. Now I was really crying, screaming, begging for her to stop as the cane thrashed, whistling wildly through the air, landing everywhere from the side of my head down to the backs of my legs. She was completely out of control. I could feel the inevitable dark red welts instantly raising in various places as the cane bit into my skin through my clothes. She continued to hit viciously out at me until it seemed She had run out of steam. She may have said something to me as She left the room, but I cannot recall what it might have been. Once the door was closed and locked, I collapsed to the floor and sobbed for an uncertain length of time, every part of my body screaming in reply to the brutality it had just experienced. I don't remember much more of that afternoon or evening. I think I was mostly just relieved that I had managed to live through another day. I had survived. I had won this time, because I wasn't dead. Every injury to my body had simply become a painful reminder that I was alive, able to feel pain, breathing, not dead. The next thing I recall is lying face down in bed that night, naked and on top of the sheets because the skin of my back and legs could not bear to have fabric pressed against it. I was awake, but pretending to be asleep so as to avoid further trouble. My adopted brother and sister walked into the room and turned on the light. I heard an intake of breath from each of them as they surveyed the damage before them. I had thick dark, blue-edged welts visible the entire length of my body, the skin broken in various places and some with blood crusted around them. I stayed very still, not wanting them to know that I was aware of their presence. "Poor thing," one of them said after a few seconds. "She deserved it," the other said matter-of-factly. They switched off the light then, turned, and left the room.
Comments (2)
netsia
"Who the hell did I think I was?" On a Karmic level, it is said that children who are abused have chosen to walk that path, that lifetime, because of their strength and courage...a soul wishing to sacrifice so that the 'aggressor/abuser' may have a glimmer of the knowledge of the pain they have inflicted on someone and learn 'the Karmic Lesson' of unconditional Love. VERY GOOD WRITING.
meico
Such awful torment and so well expressed. It's almost inconceivable that anybody could be that evil, though I well know they can. The writing is superbly controlled as usual, though it must be very difficult to write.