I was outside, in the soft fresh snow, when my next-door neighbor's father announced that, if I wanted to, I could have my Dad ride me around on their new snowmobile. I was ecstatic. As I ran to get my Dad, I felt like I could fly, I was going to ride on a snowmobile!
I got in the house, called excitedly for my Dad, no answer. I stopped, called again, more tentatively, and listened. I could hear sobbing, or yelling or crying. Joy melted off my neck like the snow.
I turned the hallway towards the sound and my sister ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.
I can see the deep dark brown of the bathroom door, I can feel the grain of the wood against my fists, What is going on, where is Dad?! Nothing. no answer.
Dad was gone, I would find out. Ultimately divorced, but gone without a word of explanation to me by anyone. Joy converted to trauma by the bathroom door.
The bathroom door. Entrance to where my sister molested me, used me, then cast me aside like a toy she was bored with.
All her other, vaguely sexual games, where she would sit on me and tickle me until I couldn't take it anymore, then it was my turn; except she was five years older and about twice my size. When I sat on her, she would launch me right off. Horrible horrible, unable to get away when she is on me, frustrated to not be able to inflict the same 'tickle torture' on her. Makes me want to punch her in the face. Ironic - I am 6'3"200+ and she is maybe 5'5" 120...in my mind I am still 8 and she controls me physically as well as mentally.
I hate the fucking bathroom.
And let the darkness fear our light.