Trust Issues, Chapter 2

My brother tied knots into every string, rope or fabric thin enough to. He'd tie doors together preventing us from getting out of rooms, and an escape rope so he could sneak from his bedroom window to the roof, to the ground. Before he was ten, my brother did things that seemed impossible for many children to do. Instead of nurturing his creativity and access energy, it was punished and capped by being forced to sit on our hands in front of bookcases filled with Encyclopedia Browns. 

 When my brother was in kindergarten, he glued all of the chairs to the floor. It was insane, but impressive. When he was in second grade, he swallowed a quarter and almost died. He was performing a trick where he could flip the quarter on his tongue, and he swallowed it. I recall being home alone, which wasn't abnormal for the 80's. The phone rang, it was my brother's teacher asking for my parents. If I recall, they were in the hospital with my daring young brother. It turns out, my brother was acting out because there was a substitute teacher that day. I wonder if that sub ever recovered from that. My mother's second husband drilled a hole in that quarter and gave it to my brother to wear as a necklace. At least with the hole, he might not choke on it again. At home, we smashed and cracked windows from a framed door that separated the foyer from the living area. Both sides of the door were covered with a sheer white curtain hiding the damaged and missing windows. 

One afternoon, Number Two and Mom were on the front porch. Either us kids were inside watching TV or going back and forth between the front porch and back yard. The front door was closed, but the sun was shining through the windows. Suddenly, my mother burst through the door, headfirst with Number Two's hands wrapped around her neck. He was screaming at her. 

My brother and sister screamed for her. They both tried to run to her. I knew that the farther they were from him, the better.  I held them back, crying, screaming and clawing to get out of my arms. We all watched. We were terrified. This was not a single incident for us, but it was the most traumatic experience of my young life. I thought we were next. No one has come to prevent us from him before, no one would, now.  At seven, or eight, I had the wits and strength to keep my siblings safe, but for years I would ask myself why I didn't call 911 or grab a knife. 

This one act would haunt me for years I didn't know I would be granted. In this moment I was stronger than most but felt so incredibly hopeless. I knew more than ever that I was going to be the one to protect this family. Living in fear