Family Ties & Lies

Nov. 1, 2006

The sun shone through the bare portion of the windows, bringing life to the collection of dust in the air. It danced in the sunlight. Back and forth, it moved, until I began to believe it was truly alive. Alive, yet trapped, like me.

(Editor’s Note: This remarkable memoir by a Northern Michigan writer is the first installment in a five-part series. We hope you’ll agree that it’s an exceptionally well-written story of life in a dysfunctional family.)

It was a trailer. An ugly trailer, at that. Sometimes, so full of people, an outsider might compare it to a clown car. People coming in, people coming out. Other times, it was as empty and lifeless as a graveyard. It was a visiting ground for some, while others called it home. I was a resident, or at least, a weekend resident. I came to know this dwelling very well. It was there, in his bedroom, that I had learned how to escape into my thoughts. It was there that I learned why to escape.
He had buttons on his ceiling. I counted them. Small buttons, which were fashioned to look like flowers. They had turned yellow from the cigarette smoke that endlessly wafted throughout the trailer. A sickly, almost jaundice color yellow. The same color of his fingernails. I would stare up at them, the ceiling garden. I was trapped in their presence. The curtains that partially concealed the two tiny windows of his bedroom were also stained and frosted with dust. It was dust that collected on the screens that would have brought in fresh air, had they ever been opened. The curtains did not stop the sun, however. The sun shone through the bare portion of the windows, bringing life to the collection of dust in the air. It danced in the sunlight. Back and forth, it moved, until I began to believe it was truly alive. Alive, yet trapped, like me. We were all kept by him, in some way. My dad. My captor.
As I lay on my side, I would try to find hidden pictures in the paneled siding of the wall. A few inconspicuous grooves became a forest. In my mind, I would walk into this forest, and away from the nightmare I taught myself to ignore. It always happened in the same way, although he would change “bait” as I got older.
“Come take a look at my new comic books.”
I would prepare. At first the “escape” took some time. After all, I was teaching myself to disconnect. This is not such an easy task. It took time to ignore what was happening to me. Even longer to ignore what I was being forced to do. Eventually, I had mastered this art. I could turn off everything. Disconnecting myself from myself. Mind from body.
Time had no meaning in this place. Hours were only minutes. In my mind’s hiding place, I did not notice the sun setting.
I came to know that room incredibly well. The closet door would remain broken for years. There was no repair on the horizon, only ruin. My toes would get caught in the same handmade afghan. Again, trying to escape. For years, I was the only part of that room that showed outward change, yet inside, I was always the little girl, robotically escaping through a paneled forest. Going through the same motions.
Stare at the ceiling. Count the flowers. Watch the dust dancing. Wait for the breeze that would never come. Onto my side now, finding the forest. The carpet was filthy. I would close my eyes. To block out the sound, my thoughts would sing. Disconnect.
When it was over, I said nothing. I simply traveled back from wherever I was. He exited first, while I would sit. Alone. Languid. Lacking emotion, lacking explanation. I simply pulled out the palate I kept inside, and painted on a smile.

Next week: “Carnies of Funland” in part II of “Family Ties & Lies.”