slow piecing
05/25/2013 01:01 p.m.
prettiest eyes. he showed me to his cousin. i remember their faces looking over the seat. i remember being anxious that he would be on the bus, but i wanted him to be there too. why? the attention? i dont know. i called him my boyfriend. but i was in first grade? kindergarten? at least before second grade. he tickled me. i didnt want him to tickle me. but i did. but i didnt. i dont know. it was confusing. then there was that one day. i dont remember anything but being startled. i remember the yelp now. and the bus driver coming down the aisle. i remember feeling i was in trouble. did the driver make him move up front, or me? i stepped off the bus...or was that a memory from another day. i dont think so. i stood in the hallway of the elementary school. i stopped and looked towards the principals office. why? i dont know. i dont remember if i went this way or that....but i have always felt the pressure of doing what i am told, so i can only assume i went straight to class.
of that specific moment, i only remember the shock, maybe a shock of pain, and a yelp. that got the attention of the bus driver.
and i remember wondering for weeks where the boy went, and it was a long time till i realized he wasnt coming back. did he graduate? was he suspended? was he moved away? was he put in jail?
i was talked to by a psychiatrist...i thought it was because of my grades. was it? why didnt i know what was going on with me. my memory has always been intensely good. i have always been quite aware. but was i really aware? how dare i not understand. i am angered by not understanding. i have always understood. or thought i understood. but i am starting to understand now, that once i was a young girl, that maybe didnt understand.
how can i go all my life with those memories, but not really. how can i have the signs and know i had the signs but still not put all that together until now?
the only person i can ask is my mother. i think she knew. so many things make sense now, but now they make even less sense. and i cant ask her. i feel mortified. i wish i could talk to someone about this and have them help me make sense of it. i cant make it make sense. i dont like how its all in pieces. i want a coherent thought of it, but there isnt any.
frustrated.