My mother never wanted the truth to come out about what she allowed my brother did to me as a child. He is eight years older then me and she let him abuse me sexually, mentally, physically, and emotionally since I was four years old. She wanted me to pay for me being born. She never intended to have more children. Three children were enough for her.
She tried to blame my father for wanting to abort me but in reality it was her that did not want me in this world. My father did what he could to protect me so I could be born. I paid dearly for it.
After moving to Chicago from Canada, I lived with my mom, my brother and grandmother. All three of them were abusive in the own ways towards me. My mother took it upon herself to make sure no one knew or would ever find out what happened to me behind closed doors.
In sixth grade, there was a local grocer who owned a shop right around the corner from my grandmother’s house. He decided I should be fondled and groped. It happened one time on my visit to get milk or small grocery items for mother. He took me in the back of his store, and thankfully, it happened one time. I avoided going there at all costs for nearly a year.
My friends knew about him and insisted I tell someone. I kept it quiet for over a year until a chance discussion with my seventh grade teacher. She wanted to help me. It meant contacting my mother to let her know. I knew all hell would break out.
My mother sat across from me on the bed. I didn’t know how she would react.
“What do you expect me to do about this?” my mother blurted out.
I was taken aback. I knew she was callous and did not care, but even this response from my mother seemed a bit over the top.
“This happened over a year ago. Do you honestly think I will agree to this? Your teacher wants her detective cousin to investigate this man?”
I shuffled my feet and shrugged my shoulders.
“Well?” my mother demanding a response.
I could not speak.
“Come on Cass, why would I get us involved in such crap. This is ridiculous,” my mother’s voice rising.
I shot a disgusted look at her. It was her typical response anytime something happened to me. My mother could not nor would not get involved in helping me.
I screamed at her, “ then what the hell am I supposed to do? I have to walk right past his store all the time.”
My mother snaps, “ just ignore the asshole. Find a different way to go.”
My heart sank. I always knew mother could care less about my well being. For once, I wanted my mom to stand up and do what it took to protect me. But, she is heartless and loved to secretly see me hurt.
I held back my tears so she wouldn’t bitch about it.
“ You tell your teacher not to have her detective cousin begin an investigation. I am going to write a note and make sure that he does not pursue it. I don’t trust you not to say anything,” as my mother got up to get a pen and paper.
When she left, I bolted up and slammed my bedroom door. I dove back on my bed, burying my head in my pillows, sobbing. My mother betrayed me. I should have been accustomed by now.
My seventh grade teacher wanted to help me. She knew she had to get my mother’s permission to go after the creep. I held a small glimmer of hope something might happen. I knew mother would never go for it. She did not disappoint.
The following day, I handed the note to my teacher. She could see the pain in my eyes. I have no idea what my mother wrote in the letter, but I am sure it was something a long the lines that I made the whole thing up. Mother probably said I was seeking attention due to my parents separation. Whatever the letter stated, the teacher never brought up the incidence again.
I lived with that pain, a long with all the other torment my entire life. Mother had an image to protect. No dirty little secrets were ever going to be exposed.