C makes me unspeakably angry. She makes me so angry I don’t even know what to write about. Not because of her. Because of what she reminds me of.
I think, very literally, she reminds me of the rituals or my dad’s bizarre incestuous abuse. Times when my mom was there and I was hurting, and she did nothing to help me. I cannot imagine that.
I have in my head that child’s perspective, “Mommy, help me.” That wish for help. And the adult perspective: “How could she not help?”
C lied to her mom yesterday. I guess she has been lying to her all week. The games coordinator calls them for practice at 6 am, then doesn’t hold practice. She takes them instead on a long walk somewhere with no purpose, just playing around. For four hours.
I came to her house yesterday. She wasn’t there. “Where is C?”
No, she isn’t. The football ground is right below C’s house. There has not been any practice going on there since 8 am. I know that, because I went to C’s house then to see if she was home still, or if they had gone to their village.
So I was angry. I had tea and went to look for her. She was walking up the path just as I was walking down it. She looked guilty and miserable. When I put my hand on her shoulder, she ducked like she thought I would hit her. I got out of her where she had gone. We went inside then. I told her to tell her mom where she had been. I don’t know if she did or not. It seemed she ignored me. So then I asked her where she had been and she answered me in English. Her mom understands English. Sort of. Sometimes. Whether she got it or not, I don’t know.
Then C went and made breakfast. The family began to eat. C disappeared. I found her in the kitchen, sitting on the step in the inside of the doorway. When I began to talk her, she started to cry. Not a lot, just a little. She cried on and off for most of the time I was at her house.
She couldn’t tell me how she felt or why. I asked if she felt sad and she nodded.
But it makes me think of my own mom. C cries because she has done something wrong and she knows it. She cries because I was angry at her. And I want to hug her. I want to make it all better.
And my mom didn’t feel that when my father raped me in front of her. It’s unfathomable. Completely unfathomable.