Crossing the line?
I always thought of this very early memory as the first time Dad crossed a line with me. I assumed that up until that moment, there had been a time, “BA,” “before abuse,” a time I was safe, loved, and cherished properly. Many years later, though, I would learn the truth.
As to the strength and intensity of this memory, especially given my age at the time, it says something that the details of my experience in that car that night, remain sharp over 6 decades later.
It did take painting the images that had been stuck in my head all these years though, to finally be able to tease apart the flood of inputs from that moment–images, actions, physical sensations, and nervous reactions, all mixed together — and to see that moment from “outside my head,” as an adult.
What I remember — The Torrington Creamery
The yellow streetlight was a fuzzy glow as we rounded the curve. Looking up at the car windows, I could see the tops of trees…I remember the empty branches. And I had the sense it was fall because I did not have a heavy winter coat on, and because it was already dark, even though it was early evening — just like it is in October or November after the clocks change.
The radio was a murmur in the background, and the steering wheel glowed slightly from the dashboard light. We were in that same light blue, 1954 Chevy Belair 2-door sedan, and I was sitting on the cloth front bench seat. Directly across from me was the radio–I was too short to see above the dashboard.
I knew where we were…recognized it from Sunday afternoon trips to get ice cream. We were down the street from the Torrington Creamery, just passing the garage building on the left that held the milk delivery trucks. Based on my additional knowledge now, I know we were heading north on Riverside Avenue toward the shop where you could buy ice cream cones. Everything was dark and closed at this time of day, though.
I know now that I was about 3 – 3-1/2 years old that night. Again, I know this now because soon we would have a brand new, 1959, dark blue Dodge Polaris station wagon. He would have gotten that model either in the fall of 1958 or the spring of 1959. So, given it was a fall night and not the station wagon yet, I was then about 3.
Daddy seemed to “go away”
His sudden move scared me with its roughness. He didn’t look at me or speak. It was like he “disappeared,” even as he was sitting right there.
Putting his right arm over me and around my right shoulder, he yanked me across the seat and pinned me against his right leg. I didn’t like it.
In the next second, he shoved his hand into my pants. His eyes were looking down the road, but he seemed very focused on what he was doing to me. But he never looked at me or said anything.
He kept moving his hand around in my pants.
I just remember being confused and scared. I can still remember thinking, “What is happening to me?” I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t do anything. And I knew that with Dad, I’d better be quiet.
Slide into the light…
The radio was right in front of me — the yellow light on the dial felt warm and welcoming, and the quiet voice felt safe. I remember focusing on the red bar lined up with numbers at one end of the dial. That would have been one of the local AM radio stations he liked to listen to.
Staring at the yellow background, it felt like I could slide into it and just go away…
What I remember before or after that….
Absolutely nothing. But those moments are crystal clear in my mind, over 60 years later.
Soul Mosaic 
Leave a comment