The nurses brought the tiny baby girl to her mother all wrapped up in a stocking....a perfect blanket for a Christmas baby. She had decided that her name would be "LeAndra Devonna Heidi Dodds". Lena held LeAndra close to her chest and kissed her forehead and like all new mothers whispered a promise to the newborn angel. "I'll never let anyone hurt you."
~
As much as I’d like this to be true, I’ll never know if that is what happened the day I was born. My mother never told me stories about when I was a baby or even how she felt when I was born. If she did make a promise that she’d never let anyone hurt me, it only took her three years to break that promise. However this story does have a happy ending.
A Story That Will Have a Very Happy Ending….with a Guarantee of a Happily Ever After
I don’t know when it all started, or how I knew it was all wrong, but the life I was living in, the people I knew became my enemies and all I wanted was to get out. I felt sick for home. At age seven, I realized the place I had called, was not home at all, it didn’t feel like home. I didn’t know what home was, or where it was, but I was sick for it and ready to be saved and embraced by it. It was not just me I was looking after either, I had four younger siblings that, because of the addictions of our parents, I was raising. Their safety, their happiness was what I wanted most. I knew something needed to be done but how and when and who? How would a seven year old child find home for her family of four? When was the right time to take action? Finally the biggest question of all was who. Who would help? Who could I trust to help my family find our home? So many people with friendly smiles and hollow promises had hurt me, had hurt my family. As I thought about who could help, I felt that it was up to me, and no one could be trusted. So much hurt and damaged had been set in stone within me, within all of my siblings, the only things strong enough to break it up had to be trust and love. But we had neither love nor trust, save for what we found in each other. What we needed was to be loved by two people we could call mother and father and who would call us their sons and daughters, by name; LeAndra, Bonnie, Killkenny, Maurice and Logan.
Chapter 1 – Home
When a person is age three, the world seems large, copious with adventure coupled with fear. The adults in toddlers’ lives are not just giants, but their protectors and guardians. A toddler looks to those that stand so tall, for comfort and shelter….. for love. In the embrace of mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, grandparents, lies home. That is why, when that trust is broken, when a little child is harmed by an adult, adults are feared and a new heroin must be found. Thus imaginary friends are created.
When I was three, the moon was my best friend. I thought my father was my best friend. He use to sing to me, carry me on his shoulders, I was his little princess, his Klingon Princess. He loved to tell me the story of when I was born, that my forehead was scrunched up like a Klingon and that I grew out of it by the time I was three months old. However, whenever I was upset, I would scrunch up my nose and the lines would reappear, thus the nick name, Klingon Princess. I thought he was my hero, my ultimate protector. Then one morning, he became my enemy. My three older brothers were getting ready for school and I wanted to go with them. I remember hurrying to get ready because Lena (the mother) said I could go. I put on one green sock and one red………
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I struggled to get my shoes on, little black dress shoes with silver buckles. Once they were in place I jumped up and ran out my bedroom door. I ran to the front room and peered out the window waiting for the bus that would take us to the school. John Sr. (the father) came out of his bedroom and I bounced off the couch to run to him. When I got there I could tell he was taking in the sight of me. I was a little three year old girl, with long brown hair and excited big hazel eyes, dressed in a little red and white poke-a-dot dress, with one green and one red sock, feet tucked in tiny black dress shoes with silver buckles, all topped off with a wide toothy grin. To anyone else this might have come across as cute, but John Sr. did not like it. His first words were, “Why the heck are you dressed like a clown? Go get out of your nice dress and shoes, and put on some matching socks.” It was a crisp, sharp demand that instantly brought tears to my eyes.
“Mom said I could go to school today with the boys.” I meekly replied, as my eyes traced the patterns of stains on the carpet.
“Did she?” I still remember how sarcastic the question sounded and even now, October 7, 2008, sixteen years later, my vivid remembrance of this day shocks me.
John Sr. grabbed my wrist, his six foot two inch body, created walking strides, that made my little frame, run to keep up with him as he pulled me behind.
“Lena, did you tell LeAndra, she could go to school with the boys today?” The tone in his voice was somewhat angry and fearful. I looked at my mother, who had a basket of socks emptied out on the floor to be mated. Her short dark brown hair, cupped her face, and her obese frame was clothed in a large purple shirt that, at the age of three, made me think of her as a giant blueberry. I began to giggle. As fast as the giggle came on it subsided, the look John Sr. sent me, said everything he didn’t have to say “shutup”. So I did. I made eye contact with Lena hoping that she would remember the promise she made to me the night before.
“No John, I did not.” The casualness in which she said it, the eye contact she made with my father, showed me that she knew she was lying to him. I had watched Lena and knew how to tell when she lied. She was very good at it, if you did not know her. When she told the truth she looked down, as if she were ashamed. I always thought if someone were to lie, that they would look away, to hide, but a good liar lies in the face too. Ask any lawyer or politician.
John Sr. then dragged me along to the front room where he placed me in the corner for lying.
‘This is what you get for lying, you lying conniving little bitch.” And there I stayed, in the corner next to the entertainment center, staring at the wall, at the little brown spot that stained the corner of punishment. I do not know how much time passed, hours of course, but I was left there, clear past dinner time. Leaving the spot was not even an option in my mind, I was too afraid. Even though John Sr. was gone, if I got out, I knew Lena would tell, despite what would happen if she did. So I lingered in the corner, waiting to be told I could move.
Everyone was watching television and the aches in my legs from standing since early that morning began to become unbearable, and the rumbling in my stomach had turned to a hollow sickness from not eating all day. A tear stole furtively down my cheek and I began to sniffle. I heard someone shift on the couch and one of my brothers said something. I heard a gasp and then Lena said aloud to John Sr. “do you realize LeAndra is still in the corner?” Immediately my tears ran freely and I began to sob, uncontrollably. The next thing I knew, John Sr. was picking me up in his big arms and then carrying me to the couch where we sat and he apologized for forgetting me. I couldn’t believe he had left me there all day. I found myself unbelievably angry.
After approximately thirty minutes of television John Sr. turned it off, a signal that is was bed time and headed to the bathroom. I sat on the couch a moment after everyone had filed out with the hunger gnawing at my stomach. This was a feeling I should have been accustomed to, however, it still upset me. As I walked down the hall to go to bed John Sr. called me into the bathroom. I walked in and closed the door behind me, why I do not know. I looked at John Sr. sitting on the toilet he looked at me.
“Will you get me a roll of toilet paper, Klingon?” His voice sounded so sincere, so genuinely kind and loving, how a father’s voice should sound. I opened the cupboard below the sink and brought over a roll of toilet paper. When I got to John Sr. I noticed that, on the toilet paper rack, next to the vanity was a whole role of toilet paper….my stomach fell. I cannot explain the feeling I received or where it came from, but I knew I needed to get out. Yet, there I stood frozen, while his hands traced my body.
“Put your hands on the tub and bend over.” John Sr. stood from the toilet and stood promptly behind me. The bathtub was a mere two feet next to the toilet. I looked into its emptiness and found a gray spot where the white had peeled. It was that spot I focused my attention, hands gripping the edge of the tub, while unimaginable pain shot through my body.
I do not know how long we both had been there, it seemed like ages. Tears streaming down my face, he gathered his gray sweats back up and walked out leaving me in the cold of the bathroom. Once the door closed I climbed into the hollow bath tub, and curled into a ball. I expected it to clean me somehow, to take away the pain that racked my body and soul. The tears were flowing soft and swift like a gentle creek, down my cherry pink cheeks. Then all at once the tears stopped. I lay in a baby ball, gasping and whimpering, and then those too ceased. I got out of the bath tub and looked in the mirror. My father was now my enemy. All I had was my mother; to her I would look for comfort.
Walking out of the bathroom, I looked down the hall at Lena; she was still mating socks on her bedroom floor. John Sr. had gone to the bar and was not at home. The eyelids swollen and red from tears, made a pathetic frame for my big hazel eyes. Lena looked up from her chores and instantly called me over.
“Honey, what happened in the Bathroom?” I half expected tears to come cascading down once again, but they did not. They stood still with the time.
“Daddy made me lick his peepee.” As fast as the words came out I was in her arms. Her big chest and stomach made for the perfect safe place to lay my head and rest my body. She held me tightly, stroking my thick brown hair.
“Douglas! Come here!” Lena called for my oldest brother Douglas; I do not know what his age is now, or even what it was then. I am guessing around twelve. Doug came around the corner from the bedroom in which we all shared.
“Ya mom?” Lena stood up and talked to Douglas, telling him what I had said, and then together they came up with a plan.
Sitting crossed legged, I reviewed the plan mentally over and over as if it was the only thing I had to hold on to. John Sr. would be drunk, no doubt, when he came home. I was to sit in the back room, close to the back door and wait there while Lena confronted John Sr. about the incident. If the situation turned for worse I was to run out the door with Doug and we would call 911. I felt like Lena was my hero; she was going to save me. Oh how I often reflect on that moment, that moment when I needed protection from the man who was given a gift of God, a little girl, to protect and cherish. But he failed in his conquest, he failed miserably. For he was the one in whom I needed to be protected from.
I heard voices in the living room and inched down the hallway to listen in. John Sr. sat on his big brown recliner and Lena on the chair across from him. Lena’s seat was a diminutive, coffee cream colored chair, adorned in large brown leaves and red flowers. Its cushion sank deeply into the mouth of the chair, with yellow foam peeking out at the corners and on the arms, the feat of little children bored while watching television. Unmistakably this was a chair made in the early seventies going through a mid life crisis. It sat significantly lower than John Sr.’s corkboard brown recliner and as he sat in it looking down at Lena, I saw an evil king looking down at his frightened, obedient servant. I sat motionless, my heart anticipating the next scene. Would the servant be able to defy the master for the safety of another?
“John, we need to talk about something.” Lena’s voice was sincere, but lacking confidence.
“What?” His reply was crisp and surprisingly steady for being at the bar all night.
I watched as Lena studied him and then commenced telling him what I told her early that evening. John Sr. looked at her, disgust in his eyes. My mother, my last chance for a hero, sank deeper than the cushion she sat on, into the very pores of the threads that made up the chair.
“Lena, she’s a lying little bitch and you know it.”
“I know,” was her sheepish reply. I sat restless, but unable to move. A realization that would follow me four years to come sealed me to the carpet and wall sustaining me. I was alone. We, the kids and I were alone. Mother and father were not our protectors, they were our enemies. I looked out the window to the moon. Its light graced my cheek with warmth, and somewhere deep within my soul, a strength came and a will; a will to be strong and to survive. I would be the hero and the moon, I would look to her for comfort, peace and warmth, and she would be my home.
~
After that day, I do not remember much of my childhood up until I was seven. The second earliest memory I can recollect was in the same year, and it was a bitter frosty winter in Montana. John Sr. had been out drinking with some friends and gambling at their house. Lena livid and raging that he was not there with her, decided to go and retrieve him. She was pregnant with Killkenny at this time, and Bonnie, was just a year old. With Bonnie in her diaper and I still in my flannel night gown she packed, us out the door with her. The crisp chill in the air bit my skin, and the icy wind sliced my ears. When we arrived at the house, Lena did not go in, but rather yelled for John Sr. to come out. After a few minutes he came out, and quarrelling they walked home together.
After Montana we moved to Arizona where my little brother Maurice was born. We lived down a long dirt lane in a trailer park. At the bottom of the lane lived the owner, and his ostriches. I had three older brothers, Douglas, Christopher and John Jr. Often times, on the way to the school bus we would stop at the fence that held the ostriches captive. I felt sad that they were stuck behind a wall of fencing, never to get out. It wouldn’t be until the commencement of this novel that I realized at some point in time, I too was an ostrich. Locked away from the outside and running from all my problems. Someday I would break free.
One particular morning John Jr. and Christopher, prodding at the fence and teasing the poor birds, made them angry enough to fight back. An opening in the fence was found and two of the birds escaped. I never in all my days have seen a bird run so fast! The two little blonde boys were being chased by the ostriches up and down and around the lane. My first reaction was to scream, but shortly, I found myself laughing, and then racing to the bus, so I would not get into trouble by the owner.
We had to bring our own lunches to school, and my brown sack was always filled with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, fruit snacks, and a pop. I had made a really good friend with a Native American girl in my class, whom also rode my bus. Every morning we would seat together on the bus and talk about our lunch that day. I always traded her my candy fruit snacks and pop for juice and apples or bananas.
She was my last memory of Arizona and then we moved to Utah where Logan was born. With his birth came many changes. It was 1995, we had moved to Logan, Utah, and Lena was due for April. I was attending school and my first grade teacher was Mrs. Allan. In March, just before Logan was born, we had a St. Patrick’s Day celebration at school. As usual we went to the library right after recess. I always checked out the Amelia Bedelia series. I found that I could ignore the world encircling me within the fences of innocence the books built.
Upon returning from the library, we came to a green classroom. Someone had come into our room and put up green paper everywhere. On each of our desks were candy bags and green glitter. All the students instantly burst into gasps and expressions of awe. A leprechaun had come to our class room! So were the words of Mrs. Allan. I recollect being angry at Mrs. Allan for lying to me. I asked her who had left the glitter and candy and she replied a leprechaun. When I told her that they did not exist, she simply replied, “I don’t know who did it, no one else could have but a leprechaun.” However, I knew better. I knew things like leprechauns did not exist, nor did the tooth fairy, or Santa Claus. I learned this when I was four, when Christmas came and there were no gifts, not even for my birthday, I learned this when I lost a tooth and no penny was left under my pillow. Leprechauns were just as much a lie, as were Santa and Fairies. I would have enjoyed a belief in something, in someone, but when my childhood was interrupted by an early adulthood, I can barely believe in myself.
A month went by, and the first of April came and no baby. I was under the impression that Logan would be born right as April started. He was not. He was born April 21st. Waking up early in the morning, I noticed a light in the living room and went to turn it off. I stumbled upon John Sr. sprawled on the couch. I feared him. But oh how well I hid that fear! Knowing he was my father, churned my stomach but that sickness I too hid very well.
“Where’s mom?” I asked tentatively as to not set him off.
“She’s at the hospital with Logan, he was born today.” I did not sense excitement in his voice. I did not expect excitement. Another child meant another mouth to feed. No doubt, in a future fight, John Sr. would claim Logan was not his child. He had already blamed the birth of Maurice on John Sr.’s brother Maurice, whom my brother was named after. Killkenny was his child and so was John Jr. He knew John Jr. was because he was the reason Lena and John Sr. got married.
~
They met at a bar, and had spent a few nights together. A few months later John Sr. received a call from Lena. She was pregnant. John Sr. told Lena that he would marry her and take care of the baby and her; he wanted to be a father. She had two young children already, Douglas and Christopher, sons of Lena’s first husband. He did not, however, expect to have five more children.
Out of the five that followed John Jr. John Sr. only claimed two to be his children; Bonnie and Killkenny. After John Sr. abused me in the bathroom and I told Lena, he was convinced that I was not his daughter and therefore not his problem.
~
That afternoon as I was making the kids lunch, Lena came back to the house with Logan. I had never seen such a beautiful infant. The instant he was in my arms I knew that that is where he’d forever be. Now with four children to take care of, I had to get two odd jobs, and started missing more and more school. I found Logan to be a challenge. Lena had taken care of the other three while they were yet infants, but I assume she was tired of babies, and left me to care for all of the children. I had many sleepless nights, and long days. Where I went Logan did too and it made work difficult. I did not know the things that an infant should eat or drink, so I made him bottles of what I thought was best…milk and sugar water.
Times were indeed hard, but nonetheless our love prevailed. Shortly after Logan was born we moved from Utah to Hagerman, Idaho. For the first year we stayed in a tent, and somehow John Sr. managed to rent a nice large home, that was positioned on a hill, in walking distance to Movie Land, the Hagerman Museum and the little grocery store.
Directly across from the house was the football field where all the high school football games were played. After we had a house it seemed like things were starting to look up. John Sr. started being kinder to us, and he didn’t hit Lena as much. They both were home more and we seemed to be more like a family. Winter came and it snowed horribly but it was all so wonderful! The football field was covered. It was our own little winter wonderland. John Sr., his brother Maurice, and the boys, all bundled up and ran across the street to play snow football. After Bonnie and I noticed that they were gone, we two bundled ourselves and went to play.
Bonnie had thick curly red hair that bounced with every step and danced when she ran. Her radiant blue eyes sparkled like snowflakes in the cold of winter. Laughing and giggling, as she threw snow at the players, her innocent smile, vibrant eyes and dimpled cheeks, were framed by her hair and poke-a-dot brown freckles.
Killkenny, at only four years old, thought he was indestructible. I have to laugh, because now, at age sixteen, active in football, wrestling and track, his body is starting to feel the consequence of such an attitude. He is realizing that just maybe he can break. As he played football that winter day, I never imagined him being almost six feet tall and towering over me. His child frame was accented with ebony black curly hair, freckles that kissed his nose and just under his eyes, and two prominent deep dimples that still impress me today.
Maurice was two years old, and had on a big blue coat and cap, much too large for his toddler body. He had blonde hair, which shagged just a little above his soft blue gray eyes. They too, had a tendency to sparkle, even without smiling. Oh! When he smiled! His eyes lit up even more and his voice rose when he spoke in delight.
Logan was eight months old at this time, and I would be turning seven Christmas day. Logan had not yet developed much of a personality, but he had the biggest brown eyes, and a warming smile to accompany them. I looked behind me and he was bundled in blankets, wrapped in Lena’s arms, while she and Maurice’s wife Teresa sat on the porch observing.
Everything seemed so perfect. Life was beginning to be exactly how it was suppose to be. We had a house that was spacious and warm, John Sr. did not strike us or Lena, Lena was at home, I was going to school every day, we had potatoes with our dinner, we did family games, life was at its peak. I learned that year, the law of gravity, not only applies to objects, but life in general; what goes up must come down.
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