Chapter Two

June 6, 2009

           Well, I don’t like to complain, dear diary, but really, what else are diaries for? I was thinking . . . I kind of wish I would still have my dreams. Those dreams. Well, you know. I’m crazy right? Well, you should know by now that after Uncle Chet gets home with booze clung to his breath, I do tend to think a little crazy. It’s funny how they say “knock some sense into you” when what Uncle Chet does is the opposite. He knocks not only bruises into me, but madness as well. Anyway, I wish I had the dreams again because now things seem to be getting boring. I know, I know, I was complaining to you so much while I was having them and back then I would do anything to have my life be boring if it meant getting rid of those dreams, but now . . . I guess I kind of miss them. Talk about a girl who can’t make up her mind! But really though, diary, maybe I could help the people I would dream about. I know if I had tried to help Mom, Dad, and Kevin . . . lets just say things would be a whole lot better. I wouldn’t have to wear jeans in the hot summer sun because of my need to hide my bruises from Chet, I’d still have a (real) family, I wouldn’t have that throbbing guilt pounding every second of my life against the walls of my stomach, the list goes on and on, diary. Those dreams must have been dreams from God or something. Once He realized that I wasn’t putting to use the gift that he gave me, he decided to just take it back. Maybe to give to someone more worthy. Who knows? I certainly don’t. All I know is that now, I’m desperate for them back. Think about it. I dreamt that Mom, Dad, Kevin, and I died in a car accident. I was selfish enough to not tell them (because of embarrassment) and get myself out of being in the car at the time the accident happened in my dream. I dreamt about something that I could have prevented. Since the accident, I haven’t dreamed. It’s kind of a big transition after a whole life of dreams. I mean, I’ve had them since I can remember.

 

          Anyways, diary, I have been a little bit more upbeat lately (also a bid transition). Can you tell? I think I can even sense my better mood in the words I’m writing. I think I’ve been feeling better because school is out and I can go to my solace more often and longer. Uncle Chet hasn’t been home lately. Probably doing “business” or drinking the day away at a bar or something. But that’s ok because I don’t have to worry about him not letting me out of the house or hurting me.

 

         Uncle Chet has become more physical lately. It hurts so much, dear diary. It’s so hard not to cry and if I do, he yells at me and hurts me more. I hate it. I hate him. I wish I didn’t have to stay here. I keep telling myself, “Just two more years, Aubrey. Two more years and you’re free from his possession,” but when you think about it, I may not live to see two years. I mean, two years is 730 more beatings. And that’s only if he only beats me once a day. Also, if the force he uses keeps increasing as much as it has in the past month, who knows, I might not even live to see one year.

 

        Well, diary, there goes my good mood. It’s crazy how just by thinking about something can change you mood dramatically instantly. Oh well, I guess I’ll have to keep that in mind next time.    
Love,
    Aubrey

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            Aubrey shut her diary and placed it next to the thick, barrel candle on her night stand. That candle was more than just a candle the way her pictures were more than just pictures. The candle was her mother’s. Aubrey had given it to her on Mother’s Day when she was no older than six years old. Her mommy told her she loved it, but when Aubrey noticed that she never lit it, she became skeptical.

         “Mommy?” Aubrey looked up from the floor where she sat with her coloring book and crayons to her mother, on their old, floral couch, with her coffee cup on her lap, secured by two loving hands. “Are you sure you liked your present?” she asked tilting her head in question.

        “Bre! I told you I do! Very much!” her mother responded with eyebrows high above her sympathetic smile. “Why would you think I didn’t?”

        “Well...” Aubrey looked down at her picture and mentally criticized herself for the blue clearly oozing out of Cinderella’s dress she was coloring. “You never use it...it just sits on the shelf...”

        “Honey, what you don’t understand it that I use it everyday,” her mother told her a-matter-of-fact-ly.

         Aubrey looked up from her coloring at her mother with a puzzled look smeared across her face, “But you’ve never lit it up.”

         She smiled and said, “What I mean is I use it to remind me of things that are very important. You got me a yellow candle...”

         “Because it’s your favorite color,” Aubrey interrupted.

          “Yes, and that was very sweet of you to think of that, but what does the color yellow mean to you?” Aubrey’s mommy saw the confused look on her daughter’s face and added, “What does it make you think of?”

         Aubrey’s big, brown eyes shifted to the ceiling and she pondered the question then shot her attention back to her mommy and said, “Flowers?” sounding very unsure of herself.

        Her mom couldn’t help but smile again. She really couldn’t believe that she had produced such an adorable child. She always thought of herself as a very plain woman. Very unattractive. If only she knew that Aubrey thought just the opposite.

       “Okay then, what do flowers make you think of?”

        She resumed to her ceiling staring and turned back and said, “Pretty,” more sure of herself this time.

      Her mom gave her a look that said “Ehhh, you’re getting there...”

      “How do pretty flowers make you feel?” she asked her daughter.

      “Ummmm” Aubrey muttered, “Happy?” She sounded the least sure of herself this time.

      “There you go!” her mom exclaimed excitedly, “My favorite color is yellow because it reminds me to be happy and the candle you gave me helps me to remember even more. I love it, Aubrey, I really do. That’s why I never ‘light it up.’ Because why would I want to set happiness on fire???” she told her emphatically making Aubrey burst into her adorable, little spirts of giggles that she would listen to all day long if she had the choice.

      “Ohhhh, I get it!” Aubrey said rising to her feet to give her mommy a big hug (which was rather small because she was very tiny at the age of six). “I love you, Mommy,” she told her        in her cute, little-girl’s voice. With a big smile on her face, she kissed her mother’s cheek.

      Closing her eyes, in love with the moment, Aubrey’s mother’s voice cracked when she wrapped her arms around her little girl told her she loved her too. Tears reached her eyes with an utmost joy.

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      Aubrey’s tears also escaped just thinking about that memory as she flicked off the light switch and climbed in bed carefully, as to not disturb her wounds.