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Uncle

Below is a few pages from a new novel I’m working on. Does it capture your interest? Do you feel the fear this poor young lady was feeling?

I remember that day like it was yesterday.  

It was spring time but still crisp and cool in the mornings.

I had decided it would be a good day to practice my gymnastics.  We had a small front yard and my dad was just putting up the fence for a back yard.  This meant I’d practice in our living room, there was plenty of space.

I had changed into shorts and a blouse to give maximum body movement and flexibility for my flips and cartwheels.

After practicing for a while, I walked into the kitchen to get a drink of water.  As I stood there refilling my glass I looked out the dining room window.  The sky was blue with a few powdery white clouds.

That’s when I noticed the dirt cloud.  We lived at the edge of town on a small dirt road.  We always knew when someone was coming down our road.  I continued to look out the window.

That’s when I saw the baby blue Toyota truck pulling in.

My heart sank, my stomach began to twist into knots.  My sister had been telling the truth.  I just knew it, like a flash of lightening I knew.  Although he he had not even gotten of his truck I was scared.  The knot in the pit of my stomach began to tighten and churn.  My insides were shaking, and I was almost in tears. What was I going to do?  Why hadn’t I believed my sister 2 years earlier?

Then I remembered my dad was out back building the fence. I started to calm down just a little when he knocked on the back door and walked in.  

‘Hey where’s your dad?’

‘He’s out back building the fence.’

He headed back outside.

Although I was my insides were still shaking I continued to practice my gymnastics.  But I was to shaky to do much.  I sat down on the couch and began to drink my ice water.

That’s when I heard someone come in the back door.  Wait!  Where was my dad?  I could tell by the sound it was one set of footsteps and those footsteps did not belong to my dad.

As he walked into the living room my heart began to pound so loud I could hear it in my ears.  I was determined he would not know how scared I was.  He would not see my fear.  My self- perception was that I was tough and I had a wicked way of responding to people whom I felt needed it.

He sat down and immediately put his hand on my knee.  

I was frozen.  I had turned to stone.  Where was this 15-year-old that never backed down?

He then began to rub my leg just above my knee.  

I pushed his hand away.  Not once looking at him.  Sick to my stomach.  This was a man I trusted.  My favorite ‘Uncle’.  We shared a birthday together.  

‘Hey what’s wrong’ as he now placed his hand up higher on my inner thigh.

I again pushed his hand away.  ‘Your hands are cold.’  Oh no!  Did he hear that tremble in my voice?  Will he take it as weakness?

He again placed his hand even higher and before he could actually reach my crotch I pushed his hand away again.  This time I looked at him with all the disgust I could muster amongst my fear.

‘Don’t worry about it.  They’ll warm up.’ As he said this he sneered and laughed this hair-raising chilling sound. 

At that moment the back door opened.  He got up and walked into the kitchen and started talking to my dad.

Should I tell my dad?  My dad would kill him right then and there.  I felt dirty.  I felt ashamed.  But wait I didn’t do anything.  The amount of disgust was keeping my stomach on the edge of throwing up.

I called a friend.  ‘I’ll see you in 20 minutes.  I’m walking over.’

I walked in my bedroom and shut the door.  I sat on the bed as tears began to roll down my cheeks.  Did I imagine what just happened?

I put on a pair of jeans and a long sleeve sweater.  Covering up as much skin as I could.

‘Dad, I’m walking to Dora’s.’

I walked out of the front door and just kept walking.  I walked as fast as I could.  Was my heart pounding because how fast I was walking, or because I was getting over heated from wearing clothes made for winter?

I few days later I told my sister what happened and how sorry I was I had not believed her.  I asked her not to say anything to our parents.  I felt like I had handled it.  She agreed unless it happened again.

One week later I was sweeping the kitchen and dining room when the blue truck pulled up.  

Oh crap!  My heart began to thud.  My mind racing.  The pit of my stomach in knots again. Well this time I have the advantage.  I’ve got a weapon, the broom.

He walked in and again asked where my dad was.  I responded with still out back working on the fence.

It wasn’t more than a minute and he was back inside.

‘You’re dads truck is gone.’

‘He must have went to get more fence boards then.  He should be back anytime.’

This did not deter him.  He walked over to me and said ‘how about a kiss for your uncle.’

More of a statement and my stomached twisted in knots. My mind racing, what do I do?  That feeling of dirty and shame washed over me.

I gave him the niece smooch.

‘You can do better than that.’  He snickered and I think his eyes went squinty and turned black.

I kept sweeping the floor and I replied as sternly as I could as a 15-year-old ‘NO I CAN’T’.

He grabbed my arms and as he pushed me towards the wall.  He had this crazed smile and tighten his grip on my arms as he said ‘You can’t?  Or you won’t?’

Oh Lord where’s my dad?  Is he going to force me to kiss him or worse? Ok you can fight or ….well ….are you ok with the or?  I took my right hand and pushed him back.  Angrily (out of fear) I replied  ‘Maybe a little of both.’  I walked past him with both hands gripping the broom handle in case I needed to turn and swing it like a bat.  If I connected I would make sure it was a home run.

Dad was pulling up.  I walked outside.  

I told my sister that night.  She told my mom, when, I’m not sure.  I don’t even remember seeing him or my aunt again.

I was about 25 when my mom told me she had just learned he had died of prostate cancer.  First anger boiled up, next I thought; fitting for a disgusting child predator.  I hope it was painful and slow.  May he burn in hell.

Categories: Family

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reichtina

I retired from my traditional job to explore, practice, and create stories for people of all ages.

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