I was a Mistake

Kindergarten

School was my favorite place to be. I could come to school, dress up in a princess dress, and pretend my family was nice and wouldn't dare hit me. My new teacher was very sweet and good. She was beautiful in every way. Her name was Mrs. Kelly and she loved to teach, I could tell.

Every day she would read us a story and let a new person sit on her lap. Each of my classmates didn't seem to mind her holding them- on Noah's day, he jumped right in her lap and put his arms around her neck- but I was terrified. I wanted to trust her and didn't think she would hit me, but I couldn't be sure. Mrs. Kelly said I could sit by her legs instead, her eyes filled with sadness, so I did, hugging them tight like a teddy bear. My classmates picked on me for being weird.

On days that Mommy made a mistake and hit my face or neck, I'd be told to stay home. Those were bad days because I had to clean even though I hurt real bad and missed my school and Noah.

Most days, I came to school dirty, with dirt caked in my hair and face because the basement wasn't clean and Momma didn't like me to have a towel after bath time. Noah didn't mind if I was dirty and he'd go roll in the dirt at recess so we could match. He was my best friend.

Katie and Grace, my classmates, always wore pretty bows and dresses, smiling and happy, and I envied them so much. During playtime, I'd dress up and act like my momma dressed me just like them.

Sometimes Momma forgot to come and get me at school. Being a doctor was hard and she got tired. So I'd find my way home with my plastic bag full of crayons and pencils my teacher gave me.

The first time she didn't remember, I got lost and found myself at a park I remember Daddy taking me to once. I decided to play for a while, pretending my daddy was pushing me on the swings or holding me as I rode the slide.

I retraced my steps back to the school and tried walking home again. When I finally made it home, Momma and the twins were watching television in the living room, not in the least bit worried even though it was dark outside.

I always wondered why the twins always had a ride home, but not me. Sometimes they would be gone for a few days, leaving me without leftovers to eat, and Momma gave me a few slices of bread instead. I didn't like those days because those were Momma's favorite times to beat me. The twins would return home happy and loud. I would stay on my t-shirts, recovering.

Sometimes, Momma would wake me up to hit me. She'd drag me out of bed and take out her anger on me.

Putting myself to sleep was a common thing so I shuffled downstairs and tucked myself into Daddy's old t-shirts. I remember falling asleep, glad that my momma didn't hit me that day, imagining my family kissing me goodnight.

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Days that Momma didn't feel like hitting me where few and far between. She liked to call me her punching bag, her only term of endearment. I knew she missed Daddy and blamed me. I deserved to be hit because Momma deserved her happiness and I took it away from her.

At first, Mrs. Kelly begged me to talk. She said that there was no reason to be scared of talking.

I wanted to tell her that Momma was reason enough to be scared. I didn't.

They brought in a special teacher just for me to get me to talk. I couldn't.

One time, my music teacher yelled at me in class, saying I was a bad child for not singing along to the music. I used to love to sing. I was scared to use my voice now. I was scared Momma would hear me and hit me more.

I tried to speak, cried, and was placed in time-out. Momma was called for a conference to see how I was at home. She beat me bad that night, calling me an embarrassment and the worst child she had. I begged her with my eyes to understand that I didn't talk so that she'd be proud of me.

She didn't understand me as good as Noah did.

I didn't go to school for a few days after the conference. I had a lingering bruise on my jaw that wouldn't go away and Momma thought it looked too suspicious. Instead, I was to clean the house head to toe, making sure to get every spot.

When I returned to school, my teacher gave me a sad smile and patted my back slightly. I cowered away, scared of her touch and hurried to take my seat beside Noah. Maybe I imagined that her eyes got glossy, that she wiped under her eyes.

Noah was happy to see me, telling me he missed me and went back to talking like I'd been there all week. It was nice to have someone to listen to that was actually talking to me.

At nights, I hoped with all my might that someone would take me away from my basement and I'd be safe from my momma. It seemed like I would never be free.

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