Brittany had a meltdown, and my parents were stunned. Now Brittany was having a full–blown depressive opisode, locked in her room. threatening to kill herself. Mom was beside
herself with worry.
“Everyone knows Brittany and Jason were
getting married! What’s she supposed to do. now?” Mom’s text message vibrated through
my frozen fingers.
I rubbed my hands together, then texted back: “What she does is her problem. Not mine.”
“You heartless monster!” Mom replied instantly,
followed by a furious voice message.
“Her problem? She’s your cousin! Your uncle raised you! You’re the reason her parents are
dead! If you hadn’t run away, they wouldn’t
have gone out looking for you in the middle of
the night! They wouldn’t have fallen to their
deaths! And you, you ungrateful wretch,
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wouldn’t even kneel at their grave! You’re a
monster!”
47
The memories came flooding back, a wave of
despair and resentment. But now…excitement,
too. I laughed, a hoarse, rasping sound, mingled
with the rattling cough in my chest.
“If they hadn’t died that night, I would have.”
“What are you talking about?!” Mom video
called me. I declined.
Mom: “Your uncle took care of you for a week when you had pneumonia in third grade! He
spent a fortune on your hospital bills! If it wasn’t for him, you’d be dead! Aren’t you afraid of karma? Why would they want to kill you? What would they gain from it?”
I was buzzing with a strange euphoria. I ignored the message, turned off my phone, and pulled out my voice recorder. Another gift for Mom.
11:23
47
Because your brother raped me. For six years.
He was afraid I’d tell you. Is that a good enough
eason?”
“He didn’t spend a week taking care of me in.
the hospital. He spent a week taking me to
motels. He made me watch porn with him.
Those ‘hospital bills…that was the price of the
rooms!”
“Why did my aunt hate me? Because she
caught him touching me. She thought I was
trying to steal her husband!”
“She hated me so much, she took money and
sold me to those men in the village…”
“Why didn’t I kneel at their grave? Because
they didn’t deserve it! Why did I leave? Because
this place makes me sick! All of you make me sick!”
- 25.
I’d told Dad. Fourteen years ago.
He’d told me to keep quiet. It was shameful. embarrassing. I’d be the laughingstock of the town, ostracized for life.
I couldn’t tell Mom. She was too sensitive. too emotional. She’d make things worse. It was better to let it go. to move on. My aunt and uncle were gone. What more did I want?
What more did I want?
“You have loving parents, food on the table, a roof over your head. You’re healthy, you’re pretty. We gave you good genes, a good life.
You’re luckier than most. What more do you want?”
He’d said, “Ashley, life isn’t always fair. Everyone has their struggles. Just like we don’t burden you with our problems, you should deal with yours on your own. Don’t drag other
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people into it. Don’t disrupt their lives. Deal
with it yourself. That’s what mature people do.”
But it wasn’t the struggles I couldn’t let go of.
It was my father. My own father, who knew
what I’d been through, and chose to look the
other way. Who offered empty platitudes, acting
like it was no big deal. He was so
magnanimous, so forgiving, on my behalf.
I was just an ordinary person. I didn’t deserve a
saint for a father. I didn’t reply to his messages.
I just sent one to Jason:
