I was only eleven. His welcoming arms and tender embrace felt so safe. Going to the beach was our favourite pastime. We would walk hand in hand along the shore in search of pretty shells and slimy seaweed. I looked into his eyes in search of kindness and in return his beaming smile made me feel like I was loved. I guess that’s why I felt special when he would visit me in my bedroom each night.
At first, we would talk for hours then as the evenings grew colder he would lay with me beneath my covers and touch me. I was taken aback the first time he kissed me, his lips stale with the stench of cigarettes accompanied with the sweet words, “It’s okay, I love you. I just want to make you feel good.” I did not hesitate as he made me feel complete. He wanted more so he started to caress my inner thigh and in between my legs he would lay and the pleasure I felt made me feel like I belonged to him. He made me promise not to tell anyone, especially our family. Telling me that if I let anyone know about us that our bond would be broken and no other could ever love me the way he did. I believed every honeyed word that left his lips.
I yearned for his embrace each night. No one told me that what he was doing was wrong. I did not feel that being loved could ever be wrong, even if it was by my own uncle. The years passed and our relationship continued. He would bring girlfriends around to family brunch on Sunday. In my jealousy I would threaten to inform my family, but he said it was to ensure they would never think anything was going on between us. I believed every saccharine word from his mouth.
I left home to be with him when he moved to another town. I was overjoyed when I became pregnant and thought he would share in my joy. No. This moment of happiness was removed in an instant. He slapped me across my face and beat me until I could no longer bleed, leaving my baby without a heartbeat. Didn’t he love me? Didn’t he want me? Did I not give myself to this man every night for six years?
Tonight, I shall return to the deep blue of where we once walked hand in hand. No longer will I collect scattered shells or delight in his shameless paradigm of affection. I will remember the sweetness of being a child, innocent and untainted by a love that has torn the core of my being.
I will be free.
Curly Miri © 2014
*This story is inspired by the many women who have experienced this devastating ordeal within their own family. Women take care of our girls, protect their innocence.
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Curly Miri
Curly Miri 