*Trigger Warnings: Blood/Facial Injury, Child Neglect, Drug Use, Kidnapping, Family Violence, Emotional Abuse
I don't remember how old I was when this happened, but I think 7ish, so it was likely 1998 or 1999. I lived with my mom and three younger brothers in an apartment about 50 miles away from where we left my dad. One random day, our dad came to see us! I hadn't seen him in at least a year, and I was excited to spend time with him. The last time we saw him we were staying in a battered women's shelter, and we weren't allowed to tell him about any of it. This time was different. It didn't feel like we were hiding anymore. My mom went to work and trusted him to take care of us during her shift.
In the morning, my dad gave us cereal, and we ate in the living room floor where we watched Free Willy. We rented it from Video Giant on VHS. To this day, I have no recollection of what that movie was about except an orca whale and a boy. After the movie, we packed up all of our clothes and toys into trash bags and stored them in the tops of our closets. I probably thought we were just spring cleaning, but I would have believed anything he told me. Then, my dad said we were going to see our Great Dane puppies he got us the Christmas before we left. We drove the 50 miles back to the trailer I recognized as home, but we didn't get to go inside. We went to the neighbor's house instead. We could still see Hercules and Xena through the window, but it wasn't exactly the interaction we expected to have with our dogs. They were massive, definitely not puppies anymore.
I didn't know my dad even knew the neighbors. My interactions were limited to talking to a little girl through the chain-linked fence. I had seen her parents before but never talked to them. Her mom was pregnant the last I remembered, although she wasn't present this night.
When we got there, neighbor dude took me, all my brothers (D 5ish, J 4, M 3), and his two little girls (Deedee 5ish and her sister- name and age unknown) to a bedroom and locked us in from the outside. I remember playing with toys, looking out the window at the dogs, and then eventually (because there was nothing else to do in this tiny room) jumping and climbing on furniture because the floor was lava. Deedee's little sister was somewhere between 1 and 2 years old, and she slipped between a dresser and the wall. She was pinned in, and we were all too little to pull her chubby body out. I could see that her face scraped on the wall, and there was a streak of blood leading down to her mouth. We yelled and screamed trying to get an adult in to help, but it was apparent to me that I had to talk four children ages 5ish and younger into moving the dresser to save this baby.
When she was freed, she had blood all down her neck, and soaking the top portion of the front of her shirt. I won't get too detailed, but she definitely needed stitches, possibly a cosmetic surgery. We started banging on the bedroom door, trying to open it or at least alert an adult. All of us were terrified, and we didn't know what to do. We cried and screamed once again until we couldn't. We eventually fell asleep, and this poor baby's blood was mostly dried before someone opened the door. I remember smelling what I thought at the time was very strong cat urine. Like these people had 10 cats and no litter boxes. But the only pet they had was a snake, and I did not smell this earlier. I later found out as an adult that the smell of cooking meth is very similar to the odor of cat urine.
I remember neighbor dude yelling at us like we did something wrong, and I thought he was going to hurt us. At the time I could see why he thought we deserved it. He opened the door to toys everywhere, furniture askew, hand and face prints on the window, and his bloody faced daughter. I would be scared, too. I remember distinctly defending his actions in my mind. Like I was trying to understand him before he thought to understand the situation. I've done this my entire life, and it has been a blessing and a curse. I analyze why people are doing what they are doing and try to justify it to be okay. Because people don't do bad things for no good reason. There was always a good reason.
The next thing I remember is my dad drove us down to the gas station that we use to get ice creams at on the walk home from school, and I used a payphone to call my mom. By now it was dark outside, but I haven't the slightest idea what time it was. I stared at a "Got Milk" ad on the window featuring the famous milk mustache as I told my mom that we played at Deedee's house, and I was ready to come home now. She asked me where I was, and I told her we were at the gas station near our old house. She asked if my brothers were okay. I looked at the car; they were sleeping. I looked at my dad standing over me, smoking a cigarette and growing increasingly more impatient. I said, "They are ready to come home too." My dad grabbed the phone and hung it up and lead me back to the car.
I fell asleep on the drive back and woke up to an officer lifting me out of the front seat. My face was buried in his shoulder, but I could see the car being raided and my brothers being carried out. I didn't see my dad. One of the boys was crying. My grandma (mom's mom) ran over and took him in her arms. She was crying too. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to feel, but I didn't think I should be crying. Even if I understood what was happening, I don't think I would have been able to produce more tears.
When we got back to the apartment, the officer set me down in the living room by the front door. My mom, my Poppy (mom's stepdad), and my mom's brother were all looking at me like something terrible happened, and I thought they were going to tell me someone had died. They inspected my arms and legs and then hugged me. This wasn't something I was used to. We have never been a hugging type of family. I was still confused, but just thought they weren't ready to tell me what happened while we were gone.
I heard shouting outside, and my uncle ran out. I hesitantly followed and looked out the door to see my dad in handcuffs on the ground and my uncle being pulled off him to be placed in cuffs himself. I saw so many flashing lights from the police cars. It was like a movie, and I only remember pieces. Almost like dancing with a strobe light. I saw snips. I saw plastic baggies with white crystals in them, K9 units, my dad being put in the back of a patrol car, my grandma holding my mom's shoulder, and my uncle yelling and trying to get to my dad.
I don't remember going to bed, waking up the next day, or ever talking about it with family or police or counselors. The first person I told about it was my best friend in 7th grade, and she told me I was kidnapped. I had never seen it that way before. About 10 years later I found out that my old trailer home was turned into a meth lab after my mom took us away. Isn't it funny how naivety can shield you? I lived my life thinking this was just another day in the life, not ever knowing how it affected me until I faced it head on. All because I didn't know what drugs were, how they could affect people, or that I was ever exposed to them.
I titled this "Free Willy" because for years every time we went to Video Giant to rent another movie, they would ask my mom about "Free Willy." It was never returned. She would pay the fee and be mad but didn't ever mention it to us kids. I knew we would never return it. It was in the seat of my dad's car when it was raided. We were supposed to return it before we came home.
When I first started therapy, I did "The Trauma Egg" diagram, and I drew an orca whale to represent this event. It was the first time I looked at the "kidnapping" as traumatic. And it absolutely was. I just never knew what my trauma was because no one ever told me that what happened to me wasn't normal. I have so many stories like this, and I'm just now seeing how these events have shaped me.
I still understand why the neighbor behaved that way, and I'm still not mad at him for it. If anything, now I understand that he was struggling with an addiction, and that in itself is a hell I can't imagine. It doesn't make it okay, but it makes it easier for me to understand. And if I can understand, it's not so scary. It's not so bad. It's just another event that can help me recognize, grow, and learn what not to do.
This event could be one of the reasons why I am constantly watching small children around me to make sure they are safe, or it could have contributed to my very sensitive reactions to facial injuries. I can't watch fight scenes in movies, and when my kids' mouths are injured I almost always feel like I'm going to faint. But when I really think about what this ingrained in me, I feel like because no one sat down and talked to me about what happened, I learned that I was being kept in the dark; people lied to me; they saw no problem with me living life like I/it was okay. If someone had asked me what happened that night, I would have told them, they would have been able to communicate in some way (verbally, bodily, reactionary) that it was not normal, and then I would have known that it was safe to show my emotions and work through it. Instead, it took my 6 years to tell the story to my best friend, 23 years to tell a counselor, and 25 years to share at an intimate friend gathering, and then a month later I'm sharing with the world. I hope someone finds some comfort in knowing that this happens, and you are not alone. You should talk about your trauma with someone. Feel free to email me you story: I have an email listed in my profile. I may not respond to you, but it really can help to write it out, read it, and know you've shared.
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