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Rodriguez

Armando RodriguezLinda RamosEnglish 1A15 November 2009Dysfunctionality?I’m conned into believing my oldest brother is takingme to the store for candies and chips, we pass the gasstation then the liquor store and I ask him, “Where are wegoing?” He doesn’t respond. The steel bucket we sit inturns into a dirt road leading into what would be aninferno burning my holy ghost for eternity. The dirt roadleads into an almond orchard, the further we drive thegreater the path morphs into a tunnel of dense brush.“Where here get out of the car,” he says as he guides myfour year old defenseless body into a lifeless vacatedshack. The windows are busted, the walls are cracking, I’mfilled with turmoil as I’m tossed into a corner cot like ashot put tossed by an Olympian. My body is pierced, myspinal column on the verge of collapse by the foreignpressure, I’m concerned breakfast will erupt like avicious volcano through my tightly wound navel. Say a wordand your mother is next,” my idol whispers softly in my

Rodriguez

ear. Rape is your soul floating far away an innocence, achild hood high jacked simultaneously. Studies showmost sexual abuse and sex crimes are committed by peoplewho know the victims, acquaintances are most often theperpetrators, followed by family members and thenstrangers (CCRC Childhood Sexual Abuse).I’m alone in a hallway closet converted into abedroom, my twin bed lays smothered rubbing elbows withthe bland walls. The light that hangs over my head remindsme of an episode I saw in “Unsolved Mysterious.” Themelodies and sweet dreadful stench that roam through ourapartment imply my mother will be searching for afisherman to crack open her clam. I plead with her not toabandon my susceptible five year old mind, me I’mterrified of the dark and tormented by the unknown thatlingers outside these walls as silence approaches thenight, “Mira baboso, te callas oh te chingo.” She’s gone,I weep under my blankets a verse to a place where peopleand animals live serene and harmonious “Now I lay me downto sleep, I pray the lord my soul to take, if I die beforeI wake, I pray the lord my soul to take.” Hours later Iwake to a cold empty darkness, my instinct to call forhelp, the phone is disconnected. My savior is somewhereoutside, I run there to encounter a fence sealed with a

Rodriguez

massive steel lock. I jump the fence leaving behind fleshof my inner thigh hanging above edge of the fence. I’mscreaming for help, no one will answer to my solicitingcries. An apartment across the street glows with itsfront porch light. My pounding brings a young confusedcouple to the door who ask, “what’s wrong, where are youparents?” “I’m all alone she went dancing,“ I reply. I’mserved hot chocolate and bedded a spot on the floor infront of the TV. I’m assured tomorrow they’ll take me tomy mother. I dose off listening to them critiquing myneglecting mommy. “The total number of children who weremissing from their caretakers in 1999 (i.e., theircaretakers did not know their whereabouts and were alarmedfor at least an hour while trying to locate them) isestimated to be 1,315,600.” (J. Robert Flores)My mother and I moved far away to a desertedcornfield farm out in the country without a neighborinsight. My mother, her boyfriend and I are caged in by acanal that surrounds the mosquito infested place. Wemigrated here proceeding an incident that caused a dilemmain the first grade. My teacher Mrs. Patterson kept meafter class informing me somebody wanted to speak with me.A police officer entered the room and said I would begoing with him to answer a few questions. When we arrived