“…and grace will lead me home”

PART TWO:

Chapter One

     College offered me a totally different world. There were people from all over the globe! There was so much eduation! I had a work-study position at the library which helped me get over my shyness. Best of all, because of the makeup of the college campus, my father couldn’t stalk me!

     I felt like I was someone important in college and I made a promise to myself that I would graduate and make something of myself.  I felt like I belonged there and that others there were also trying to make something of themselves. It was as if just by walking on the campus, I could feel the education surrounding me. There were people of all ages on the campus and they had an interest in what I had to say! Thanks to my education and hard work at Classical, writing papers and being involved in discussions came very easy to me. Sometimes, I was teased because I didn’t have to study as hard as others did. Oftentimes, I was so tired, that I just read my notes and was able to retain everything I had learned in class and read in my very small notebook.

     Unfortunately, my father tried to ruin my chances of doing well and I was aware of it. Just like in high school, he would demand that I drop my studies and scratch his extra dry scalp, cut his hard and very dirty toenails and pick the scabs off his feet and clean , cut and file his hard fingernails. It took so much of my time and, when I was finished, I was covered in dandruff from his very flakey scalp. For some reason, his scalp peeled and flaked so, when I scratched it with a comb, the flakes were Corn Flake size and they'd popped into my face or on my clothing. I always had to scrub my hands and take a shower afterwards. I was so very tired so many nights. He would go to bed and I’d sit up in my room late into the night working on school work. I was determined to do well and I prayed often for strength to get through these difficult times. Refusing to tend to my father’s demands had very bad consequences and I was filled with so much anger that if he ever touched me again, I’d put him in his grave. I swore to myself that I’d kill him if he ever touched me again.

     One night, my brother was crying as I got out of the shower and he said to me , “Daddy is choking Keesh”. For some reason, my father got a Keeshond and we named him Keesh but when my father saw that we were paying too much attention to the dog, he became violent. I could hear Keesh struggling to breathe and I walked into the living room to see my father strangling Keesh with a leash. My father had no idea I was in the room and the rage he exhibited as he choked the dog was breaking my heart. No one, not even an animal should have to endure that. Holding back tears, I crossed my arms and firmly said to my father, “What did he do to get treated like that?” Taken aback, my father shouted, “What the fuck did you say?” I repeated my question undaunted. He said, “He wasn’t listening to me!” I told him that it was still not a good reason to choke the dog. “What the fuck did you say?” he shouted. I could hear my brother crying in the background. I felt bad because my brother was always afraid. He feared my father more than anyone I knew had.

     My father’s bloodshot eyes burned into mine but I remained unmoved. I was waiting for him to touch me so I could beat the shit out of him. I no longer feared him and he knew it. After I repeated what I had said, he rushed towards me with the blue leash he used to choke Keesh outstretched as if he were going to choke me. If he expected me to run or to be afraid, he was disappointed because I stood still, arms folded and dressed in a floor-length blue cotton nightgown waiting for him to put his hands on me. Our eyes locked as he raced towards me and suddenly he froze about an inch away from my face. I smirked. “Do it.” I said calmly. He stared at me for a moment, cowered and went outside to stand in the night air. I looked at Keesh who rushed into the comfort of my bedroom where he spent the rest of the night. Poor Keesh. I didn’t know what type of abuse he suffered when I wasn’t around.

     The abuse of Keesh didn’t end there. After a long day of classes and work, I came home to meet my brother who was again I tears. “He’s going to get rid of Keesh!” he wailed. Overhearing my brother’s exclamation, my father hotly said, “He’s been itching and bitting himself. The doctor said we have to put him to sleep.” Keesh hunkered behind me and I was shocked to see one long and even empty patch down the middle of his back. It looked as if someone had taken an electric hair clipper and just ran it down his back exposing his skin. How could Keesh do that to himself? I knew it was my father and I told him so. He insisted that Keesh did that to himself and was going to be put to sleep tomorrow. The one joy we had in our lives, my assine father was going to take away. He couldn’t stand to see us happy. My brother and I loved that dog and we hated our father. No one in their right minds would want to love my father. He was cruel, violent and abusive. He struck fear into the hearts of many just by glaring at them. I knew that once my brother and I left for school, that my father would kill Keesh. I felt it in my bones. Just like he had ran over the stray kittens we had found and befriended when we began to take in and feed the momma cat. My brother looked at me with pleading eyes and begged my father, “Please, don’t take away Keesh! Please!” My father said sternly, “He has to go. Tomorrow, he’ll be put to sleep.”

     That night, I cried. I pet Keesh who always slept in my bedroom. I remembered when we lived on Sumter Street before the divorce and how my father would keep our two dogs tethered to long, heavy chains. We had a big yard and neighbors who walked by would complain about my father dragging out our big dog Jesse from his dog house and beating him with a steel shovel. That poor dog would howl and people often stopped by the gate and stared in shock. It was so embarrassing. Where were the animal rights activists when you needed them? I knew poor Keesh didn’t stand a chance and I wondered why my father had to dominate and be brutal to animals. He always claimed to “have God on his side” but the God I prayed to every night didn’t approve of devils like my father.

     Sure enough, Keesh was gone by the time I came home and my father replaced Keesh with a hamster. He told us it was a girl. He had the whole tank and ball thing set up and he acted happy. He said, “Look, it’s a girl” and he rubbed her seductively. I was disgusted. Neither my brother nor I cared much for the hamster. My father would allow the hamster to roll around in the ball and delighted in everything about her. He always rubbed his finger in her private area and would smile when we’d stumble upon him doing it. I supposed he was trying to make us jealous because he pretended to love and dote upon the hamster so. To me, it was just an indoor rat and I really didn’t feel like petting a rat.  One day, the hamster bit him severly. She must have held on because his finger was profusely bleeding. He bandaged it. I was secretly happy. The hamster was suddenly very aggressive towards him and he stopped playing with her. Eventually, she disappeared as well.