Beneath the Surface

A Little Girl Learning to Disappear

By third grade, my mother was working constantly, twelve hours a day, seven days a week. My daddy was working out of the country.

Sundays were for laundry, and as my brother and sister and I played quietly in the corner, my mom stood folding clothes. An older woman with deep wrinkled skin and sad eyes approached her, begging for work. She agreed to let the woman watch us while she was at work. It would be cheaper than sending us to daycare and would offer this woman something in return. The next day she left us with the woman, believing we were safe.

Instead, we were left in the care of the woman’s teenage daughter. We had no way of knowing what to expect.

I was seven years old.

In third grade.

The front door would close, and my heart would tighten.

The screech in her voice echoed through the muscles in my shoulders. Her eyebrows snapped together, and her jaw grew rigid, spit flying from her mouth as she growled her demands. 

I could feel my breath stop. It was my job to distract her. 

“Don’t cry. Stand tall.” I’d repeat to myself in my head.

What would she make me do today?

I was terrified to tell anyone.

I didn’t have language for what was happening. I only knew she touched me in ways that felt repulsive and made me want to disappear.

I squeezed my eyes shut. 

My fists clenched. 

I counted.

I waited.

Praying it would end.

One afternoon I broke free 

She ran after me, seething, growling.

Beating me with the heel of her shoe.

I twisted free and ran.

My feet slipped on the stairs.

I clawed at the carpet to keep from falling.

Her footsteps were getting closer.

I could hear the stomping of her feet behind me as I slammed and locked my mother’s bedroom door and raced to the phone.

I focused hard on my fingers, concentrating on them working faster. 

Don’t cry.

Frantically pushing buttons. Barely able to catch my breath. Willing my brain to remember the numbers. 

Mom‘s work. The number to Mom at work. 

I heard the first ring.

I heard her fists pounding louder. Each rattle of the door knob clenched my chest tighter.

Suddenly, the phone rang a second time, and I heard a voice on the other end of the line. My mother‘s voice answered.

I screamed into the receiver, barely able to get the words out through my sobs, I begged her to come home. 

“She’s coming!” I screamed through the door. 

The banging stopped, and there was silence. 

I kept the door locked and pressed the chair against it, grasping for air. I was hopeful, but terrified. She had to come quickly.

I heard the click of the downstairs door, my mother‘s voice in the hallway, and I could breathe for the first time. She opened the door, dressed in a suit and heels. Her manicured hand took mine, and I felt the salty wetness dripping down my face. I buried my face against her, hiding my face. The sweet smell of fabric softener filled my nose. Her voice was firm, “What happened?” 

Stand tall.

I stepped back and tried to stay calm, but my breath was coming too fast.

The girl laughed at my story, calmly, insisting it was all a lie. That I was making everything up because I wouldn’t listen.

She smiled. Her voice was soft. I felt a wave of panic that no one would believe me. I searched my mother’s eyes, instinctively knowing she could see through the girl's story. My mother’s eyebrows tensed and her tone grew deep. She reached out to me, and I ran into her arms sobbing. She held me.

I heard my mother tell the girl to leave, and I felt my heart release as I squeezed her tighter, breathing in the perfume that lingered on her skirt, as tears ran down my cheeks.

The next day we went to work with my mom. I sat quietly beneath my mother’s desk.

Curled into the corner. 

Safe. 

Stand tall, I whispered to myself. 

Coincidentally, this was also the year I became absolutely convinced I was a mermaid.

I whispered my secret to my only trusted friend and swore her to secrecy. 

Late at night, I would slip into the bathtub and wait. 

Certain that if I stayed still long enough, the water would transform me.

My legs would fuse together.

A beautiful tail would appear.

And I would finally become who I was meant to be.

My love for mermaids never left me. Only later did I understand why I was so drawn to them.

As a child, becoming a mermaid felt magical. Much like the tales that Grandmommy would tell. Suddenly, I could hear her voice weaving stories of magical faraway lands, and I found myself imagining a world beneath the ocean waves.

I imagined that I was part human and part fish. Stepping into the water brought me into the fairytale. In the water I transformed, feeling the weight of my hair swirling underwater. I could feel the warmth of the water begin to change me.

Behind closed doors, the fear, the shame, the confusion, and all the things I didn’t have words for washed away.

I was creating my own fairy tale.