Innocence

            by Eva Jepsen

 

We have been through everything together. The times when we were both little and she would pick on me for copying everything she did, and then when we got a little older, boys liked her and I stuffed my training bra. Then boys liked me and people asked who was older and I could tell it bothered her. And finally our parents divorced. I knew she hated him but I still can’t believe she doesn’t want to go. In the back of my mind I always thought that she would just forgive him but she was too much like my mom so she didn’t and never will. So now I’m just sitting here with my chin on my knees up against her door waiting. She said she didn’t want to go then turned her music up, but I know her routine. She gives in at the last minute. I'll be here for another 15 minutes or so before she’ll come out. Sometimes I just don’t understand my sister. Sometimes I think it’s because she wants attention or that she’s jealous of me, the baby. Other times I think it’s because she’s just gone insane. She hadn’t always been like this.

I closed my eyes and let my legs slide slowly down to the cold, hardwood floor of our hallway. I began to think about one of the first times we had been to my dad’s new house it was about a year ago. A short time after we were dropped off it became obvious to my sister and I that Dad was drunk. We giggled at his slurs and stumbles. It was funny until dinnertime. He started ranting about Mom then passed out on the couch. Being the fourteen-year old I was, I began to cry. I’m not exactly sure why. While I was lying on my bed praying that Dad would wake up, my sister came in with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It was wonderful.

I opened my eyes again. I got that head rush you get when your dozing off in any place besides your bed, right when you’re about to fall asleep, you wake up and for a split second you can’t see anything.

He hit her a couple weeks before her seventeenth birthday and now she’s almost eighteen and won’t go to his funeral. My dad had always been the gentle one who would let us stay up late and eat candy. He always had good intentions but he started drinking after my mom kicked him out. After the divorce we saw him every other weekend on his huge piece of land in Napa.

            I remember coming home from my friend’s house on a Saturday night and Torie was sitting in the living room staring at the fireplace. I gave her a funny look and said,     “Hey,” then ran upstairs to my room. I stopped at my door and slowly rotated around; I could see her opened suitcase through the open door of her room, down the hall.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at Dad’s?” I waited, hanging from my doorway. No response. “Torie?” I crept down the hall towards the staircase. As I walked past her room I peered inside. She had brought about a week’s worth of clothing for the weekend.

“What are you doing?” I jumped back and saw Torie at the bottom of the steps staring at me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at Dad’s?”

“We got in a fight.”

She and Dad got into a lot of arguments. Torie was stubborn and spoiled. She was too much like my mom; she even looked like her. I think that’s why he got so angry with her all the time. She walked up the steps, right past me, into her room and closed the door. I began to head to my room but then I pushed her door open.

“How did you get back?”

“Kim, get out! I’m changing.” She turned away from me and bent over to grab a shirt. The back of her neck was red and swollen with bruises down the left side. She had another bigger bruise on the right side of her back at the bottom of her rib cage.

“What happened to you?” I couldn’t keep my eyes off the painful marks. Torie sat down on her bed and looked at me. Her eyes were sad and ashamed. “Torie, what happened to you?” I choked on my words. I was scared. I knew something horrible had happened; her look told me.

“I fell into my dresser,” she said as tears collected in the corners of her closed eyes, “at Dad’s house.”

               “You fell?”

               “Kim, why weren’t you there? You always come.”

               “I had SATs, you know that. Just tell me what really happened.” She looked at me once again, giving into my words.

               “I was in my room after dinner and Dad came in. I could tell he’d been drinking because I could smell him from across the room. He started talking about how Mom fucked him over and was taking his money and us away. I told him I didn’t want to hear about that kind of stuff and he just flipped out. He told me he was tired of dealing with my shit. That’s when he came over towards me and grabbed the back of my neck. I tried to get away but I couldn’t. Then I guess he let go as I pulled again and I flew into my dresser. It was kind of my fault. But he felt so bad in the morning that he offered to take me home.” I remember being very confused after she told me this. She made me promise not to tell Mom. But she never went to Dad’s house again.

               It has been a little over a year since that happened. No one ever talked about it. This is the first time I thought about it in months. We were almost a half-hour late. Torie still hadn’t come out. The door was still closed. I stretched my arms out and grabbed the wall for support to pull myself up. My legs were weak and tingling. I stared at the door for a second. I had given up. We were so late. I knocked. She didn’t answer. All I could hear was her stupid Beatles CD, The White album; she always listens to it.

               “Torie? If you don’t want to go, we’ll just go without you.” Again she didn’t respond. I was beginning to get angry. I knew she hated when people barged in her room, so I pushed the door open. She was lying on her bed staring at the wall. She was dressed in black and ready to leave. There were papers scattered all around her. I pushed some aside, sat on the bed next to her and put my hand on her back. It was cold. I flinched; she didn’t move. I tried to turn her, but her body was heavy. I immediately thought it was my fault. My eyes released salty teardrops but I didn’t cry. I felt like I was being suffocated slowly with less air in each breath, but remained silent. I picked up one of the pieces of paper on the bed. It was a letter from my father to Torie.

               Dear Torie,

               I’m sorry. You know I’d never hurt you. I hope you can forgive me. I love and miss you very much,

Dad

               I picked up another.

               Dear Torie,

               Happy Birthday. I hoped to see you on your birthday. You should come visit with Kim sometime. I love you and I hope you have a great birthday.

Dad

               I realized I was surrounded by letters from my dad to Torie. There was an envelope on the night table with my name on it. I wiped my face on my black sweater. I opened it and slipped the paper out.

               Kim,

               I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve been miserable for months and I couldn’t live with the shame and hate I have for myself anymore. I haven’t been honest with you, and I know you have suffered from it. I thought about telling you everyday. I thought about telling Mom, too. But I couldn’t be known as the girl who got raped by her father. Dealing with those horrible looks of pity. Then if I didn’t tell I would have to deal with the guilt I had been living with for the past year. I also thought about killing Dad. I wanted to kill Dad, but when he died I couldn’t hate him anymore. But I still hated myself. I was just tired. So I want to say sorry for putting you through all of this. I love you Kim.

Love, Torie

               “Kim, Torie, let’s go,” my mom yelled from the driveway. I could here the engine running. I swallowed the lump in my throat; I gasped for air.

               “We’re coming,” I yelled. I couldn’t hold the tears back anymore; I started to cry. I made sure to keep my voice down, so my mom wouldn’t hear. I was crying so hard I could barely see. I collected all the papers that were scattered around my sister, including my letter. I picked them up carefully, trying not to disturb her. I pulled the blankets over her to tuck her in as if she were sleeping and closed the door. I headed towards the back door, leaving my mom waiting. I walked down the street towards the Cal campus. There were people walking down the street in business suits talking on cell phones. Two middle-aged women jogged together in stretch outfits. The grassy knoll that over looked downtown Berkeley was empty except for one man sitting alone. He was stubby, round and probably in his late thirties. He had headphones on and was licking an ice cream that was dripping all over his faded shirt. He had no idea. I sat in the grass isolated under a tree, everything got quiet and I began to read all the letters.