School had just let out for the summer and, while most kids were elated, my heart was filled with dread. It was not a simple dread, like doing math homework or eating spinach, but so deep down in the bones that it touched my very soul.
That first night of freedom from school, I was lying in the empty field behind my house. I could hear the frogs croaking and was freaked out that one of them would jump on me. This was no camping trip. And thankfully this was an expansive field with many hiding places..
The fear was rather an odd thing considering what I just escaped. I have always had a rather bizarre phobia of frogs and perhaps this is from where it stems. I could hear him screaming out the back door in a drunken rage that if he finds me, he was going to kill me. Of course, the whole neighborhood could hear him. And he was not actually drunk because the fact that there was no beer left in the house set off his current reign of terror. He had thrown me down the basement stairs and was coming after me with the baseball bat. I hated that bat. I doubt it was ever used to play ball. And I have felt its weight on my flesh many times. But not this time because I was too fast for him. And I knew he was too lazy to give chase.
I spent many nights sleeping in the field. Unfortunately this one was not one where he would pass out drunk and I would sneak back in my bedroom window and sleep under my bed so he wouldn’t see me. This was one of those nights where the field would be my bed. I wished for my shoes because I would have gone walking the neighborhood, hoping the police or someone would notice me and come rescue me. But, alas, I was bare footed because I did not have time to put on my shoes. In fact, no one was looking for me other than my father, who would have probably killed me if he found me that time.
I spent the next 8 hours in my hiding place in the field, waiting for him to leave for work. The fear of frogs jumping on me kept me awake all night. Finally, I saw him go to the car with paper bag lunch in hand. I watched as he drove away but did not run back into the house. I waited……just in case he forgot something and would return. I had been caught that way before. But, he was really gone this time, at least to the end of the work day. What would happen then, I had no idea.
I got up and went home but this time walked through the back door. I walked past my mother sitting in the kitchen. She looked at me but said nothing. I went to my bed and wept, wondering what horror awaited me on the second day of my summer vacation.
I was 8.
Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2015 Linda Girgis, MD, FAAFP
