Chapter 21
A little Hard Work
Building a new house is hard work. Even harder when you spend most of your time in school; Doc Whitmore finally cleared me to attend school at Payson Jr. with my brothers and friends as long as I took it slow; with ten weeks into the new school year. It was nice to actually wear a pair of jeans and sneakers that weren't from a secondhand store, not to mention a pair of new boxers, even though they rubbed against my new skin; it still was nice.
I am not saying I didn't have to wear the "Kitenge gown." It was the first thing I had to put on the second I walked in the door. Well, actually my shoes and socks were the first things to go, but at least I had a nice pair of boxers so I could spin, letting the colors blend as they ringed around me.
School was great for the first time in a long time, since the Steeds. It was even better having Will and Robert in most of my classes and the Whitmore boys, including Peter. Math and English will always frustrate the hell out of me, but I kept my cool, wanting very much to toss my shoes at the nearest wall; or the freaking kid who spit a spit wad missing my head by inches, maybe later.
Bullies always seem to make life harder, but not this year; as I watched Mark and Robert sneer and returned the favor, hitting him so hard that he fell right out of his chair. With a spit wad plastered across his face; score one for friends and brothers. Not much to say about school. Except it was nice to write my name as EJ Downing at the top of all my homework. Some people questioned it, while others simply noted the change.
My parents were furious of course when they found out what the Downings intended to do, after receiving adoption documents releasing me into the Downing's care. My mother and father were doing everything they could to stop it from happening. Ripped them up right in front of Tim Striker the man handling my case at DDS. All he said was they should consider it. My mother growled. "Like hell, we will! He's mine; not theirs!" promising to do whatever it took to make sure that would never happen. Yes, sir, it was going to be one of those years where things never go as planned. I still had Aunty M by my side, and it didn't stop me from putting EJ Downing on all my homework.
The house was coming along with all the help Pa had from the farmer's picnic until it came to a complete stop waiting on material and inspections. The framework was up, and the two-story house looked huge from the outside. There was nothing we could do but wait. We needed tons of drywall; we needed tons of brick for the fireplaces; electrical and plumbing still needed to be put in; not to mention the rest of the lumber hadn't arrived yet. It was two days until the weekend and the following week school would not be in session because of Labor Day plus being the UEA weekend.
(The UEA Convention has long been the largest professional conference for educators in Utah, providing dozens of professional development workshops for K-12 educators, as well as keynote speakers, a New Educators' Workshop)
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(I tell this a whole lot better in book two Masks behind Shadows. So, we are back to cliff notes. Normally I would introduce Jayden, adding a little of Morgan and just a touch of Nathaniel and a few others here, but I am keeping it real. Considering they are merely fictional characters.)
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With that being said, it was the perfect time for a vacation, or should I say a working vacation. Aunty M had been planning this for weeks as she made phone calls to Pa's new sheep and cattle ranch and his new lumber mill. We were told not to pack anything except the clothing on our backs and get comfortable in the back of Pa's pickup as we rode to our first destination our new lumber mill.
I remember the cool, crisp air and seeing the early snow high on the mountain tops which in turn reminded me of my father pushing me into a snowbank while I gasped for air as the cold quickly touched my bare skin while I slowly suffocated from the lack of air. I could still feel him punching me; making it hard to breathe while he hits me in the back and in the sides of my ribs with one hand trading randomly changing sides. My father's knees leaned hard against my lower back, making it impossible to move; with his other hand pushing my head into the snow, suffocating me while my nose bleeds from the pressure. I have lost count on how many times he has tried to kill me; cursing me the moment I was born.
The biting, icy air continues to haunt me, bringing back memories of the days when my father built a cage to imprison me when I was only five years old. All I had was a worn-out, moth-eaten blanket and my small clothes to shield me from the cold. Outside, on the frosty porch, he confined me, trapping me to prevent my escape or as a punishment for merely casting a glance at him or my mother.
Sometimes, merely sharing the same room was enough for justification. I spent countless wintry nights in solitude on the frosty porch, with my teeth clattering and my tears freezing against my cheeks. I had mastered the art of stifling my cries for help, enduring the merciless slaps from my parents until I learned to be silent. Occasionally, a vile taste would invade my mouth as they secured a rancid washrag as a gag tightly with duct tape, binding my hands and feet to ensure my containment.
More so to keep me quiet, knowing how close they had come from being caught as the neighbors walked by the house hearing a disturbance, but saw nothing but a dark blue tarp draped over a table. I would do my best to rattle the cage, but ended up with more beatings soon after. The neighbors soon learned that there was nothing they could do or would and refused to get involved, like so many. Yes, I hated snow and the cold weather it brought with it. I hated the nightmares even more.
Yet my parents refused to let me go, why I will never know. I have asked many times always getting the same answer. "I belonged to them. And always will." They always responded with unwavering conviction, their answer not just an afterthought but an undeniable truth. 'If only I had taken your life, for every occasion you disgraced our family's name.'
My father would growl angrily as I walk quickly away; knowing now that if either of them laid one hand on me, they would be in jail before the day was over. Plus, being far into my adulthood, not a kid anymore helped a lot. He and my mother can only hurt me in my waking dreams and nightmares.
Nor could my two sisters seek revenge as they spread dark sinister lies against me and my brother Aaron, and to think my father's family can still hold him in high regard. While his atrocities of all the abuse he and my mother have caused meant nothing, after all, when it was all said and done… they did not or would not get involved, stating not our problem. Quote "Out of sight, out of mind."
My father and mother cursed the new laws that tied their hands not allowing them to lay a finger on me or my brother and it would be years later before my mother actually turned over a new leaf and became the mother, I should have had all along, but my father never did. Yet it does not stop him from abusing his grandchildren that are too afraid to speak out against them; never allowed out of earshot of him or my sister. My mother may be dead, but I have been told before she died that she too had been just as abusive as Aaron watched from a safe distance as they used abusive behavior and still get away with it even today.
When my mother was dead and buried, I took a picture of the headstone as a reminder she could never harm me or my brother again to console the nightmares of the time before her new lease on life. I also noted that was the last time I would ever speak to my father as I told him. 'He and my mother belonged in hell for what they had done to me and my brother. But she would earn her release from hell because she changed and learned to love Aaron and me in the years to come, yet he would never see it.' That was over twenty-five years ago.
Nothing had changed; and he continued stating this until his dying breath. The deafening silence echoed; the air was heavy with the weight of his words. They were innocent and had committed no wrongdoing. His presence seemed to linger, even in death, his malevolent desire for my demise continuing to haunt me. With his departure, there was no lingering scent of his cologne, no photographs to reminisce upon, no familiar sound of his voice echoing anywhere but my nightmares he had caused over the years.
The thought of him passing away alone, with only my sister Susan to care for him, brought me a bittersweet sense of comfort. They informed me that when they lowered his body to the ground, no one heard any weeping. Besides my sister Susan, there was complete silence, except for the soft rustling of flowers being placed on his casket, tombstone, or final resting place - a poignant reminder of her tears, the only ones shed for the mean angry man.
During the time of his passing, my brother Aaron and I did not express kind words or mention that we would miss him because his departure meant nothing to us other than to acknowledge that our abuser was finally dead. I didn't even take the time to extend my condolences to my sister Susan; I didn't even waste my time or money to send her a simple card. Because of his actions, he faced the ultimate consequence - a state of nothingness, where all traces of his existence vanished.
I didn't even bother attending his funeral, choosing instead to revel in a celebration of my own, the vibrant sounds of laughter filling the air. The knowledge that he was now nothing but decaying flesh in the depths of hell brought a twisted satisfaction, a scent of bitter victory. And her funeral will be the same. Except there won't be one person there to mark the occasion. She got her wish; she wanted us all gone, and this is the cost of what she had reaped in the end.
You may wonder what had happened to my other sister Becky, who seemed to have vanished into thin air. I haven't laid eyes on her or had any communication with her since my high school graduation, making it impossible for me to be certain. I was informed that Susan and my father didn't waste a single moment before pushing her out the moment she turned eighteen, causing her to feel abandoned and alone. The weight of the situation settled heavily on Becky's shoulders as she summoned her bravery and took the courageous step of reporting my father and her sister Susan to the police for child abuse. I'm not convinced that she completed her high school education. She was gone, and we never saw her again.
However, that wasn't today but more into the future to what is to come. For now, Susan and my father still maintain control by not allowing her two children to attend public school. Instead, they are home schooled by her and never allowed to leave the house without either my father or her close by. Even though she does not have a college degree in teaching or any other degree that is required for her to be a teacher; she considers being a teacher aid part time and high school diploma sufficient to teach her own children, with poor grade point average so low she came close to not graduating her senior year.
Mind you, there is nothing wrong with the education that other students receive in Gridley, CA in their local schools being rated sixth place among the top schools. It is the lack of control she would have over her children speaking out about the abuse in the home. Correcting a mistake my mother and father made with me and Aaron. Aaron and I feel sorry for them as they held their graduation in a local pizza place and instead of walking down the aisle in a cap and gown with their peers. I understand it has gotten worse as they maintain the control not allowing them to leave home or attend a local college; instead taking classes online without the possibility of ever leaving home.
She uses the drug Benadryl to scare them into submissive to keep them under their control. Benadryl is used to treat sneezing; runny nose; itching, watery eyes; hives; rashes; itching; and other symptoms of allergies and the common cold. But this is not what Susan and my father use it for. They use it for its side effects of "keeping them submissive" to the point of drug-enhanced sleep; to keep total control over them.
Aaron and my grandmother had witnessed this as he waited to go on his forced LDS mission. And I have heard it from my relatives; again, they did nothing to prevent it. Aaron never talks about his mission like other missionaries do. Says he rather forget the experience if possible. He only went because they "forced" him to go, laying a guilt trip on him. Using me as an example of what they expect him not to do. Stating it was my arrogance and lies. Knowing differently, it was because of the vast injuries they had caused me. It still amazes me how they can still get away with it.
(back to my story)
I slowly turned away and closed my eyes, wiping an escaped tear as the memory of the cage and the snow linger in my mind's eye. Robert asked if I was alright putting his arm around me. I nodded yes, letting the memory wash over me. Today I still suffer from the same memory as I try to run from it, but not succeeding. I could still feel the cage and the ropes on my hands and feet and the rancid tastes of the unwashed dishrag. My mind trapped inside a never-ending nightmare as I try to focus on the good things before it turned to crap once more. And refocus on the new adventure that was about to take place. Something I will always remember I quote.
"To experience the truly good things that life has to offer, the bad things are only moments and fade away; even thou they had left their scars behind. It's the good things that pull you out of the darkness."
I loved sitting in the back of Pa's red Ford pickup. Aunty M is at the wheel, listening to the wind as we speed up the top of the canyon. Un-enforced seat belt laws allowed people to ride in the back of a truck at that time, but it socially disapproved of and caught the attention of the legal system. I remember the fresh scent of pine trees that always reminded me of the smell as I walked by Christmas tree lots. Not so many today due to all the new real looking fake trees that are all the rage.
Pa would shake his head at the foolish people as he watched them buy a fake tree. Aunty M to was of the same mind when it came down to chopping down your own. She is always telling stories about how her father would gather the kids and go stomping into the woods to find that perfect tree. For me, I envisioned my first Christmas what it would be like to spend it with the Downings. A family that sincerely loved me and I loved them just as much or possibly more.
The warmth of love that would surround me like a nice warm blanket, unlike my parent's home. Our parents made me and my brother Aaron watch from a distance. Susan and Becky waited with intense participation while my parents dolled out the presents. Aaron and I considered ourselves lucky if we even got one or possibly two bought by the ward of our church or a neighbor as they left it on the doorstep the night before. Or someone would dress as Santa would come into the house and watch us open the presents before my parents could get rid of them.
But as few as they were it never compared to the immense pile of toys and new dresses our sisters got; most of the time we boys went with nothing from Santa…. Our mother telling us we were both on the naughty list too many times or Santa would have left us presents. I always made sure to buy my brother a present or two, saving my allowance from doing chores I had gotten from my foster parents so he would at least have something to open.
Which of course made my parents very mad and my sister's jealous; so jealous, that the following years. I end up buying them presents as well, including my parents; I guess it was only fair, but still didn't change the presents quota about my brother and me, But Aaron still got the most; they were just sitting at my grandmother's house waiting for him to open them.
Christmas was a joyful anticipation for me when I got back, with the excitement of what would be under my grandmother's tree and the warm kisses and hugs she would give me, while our grandmother's arms enveloped my brother and me in love. It always made me sad that the love never really followed me home, until I met the Frys, Steeds, and the Downings. I had one more to add to that list, but we'll save it for later - the Rothwells, whose love and warmth embraced me, making me feel like a treasured part of their households. True love remained elusive to me, and I yearned to experience its indescribable sensation.
To say I hated mandatory home visits during the holidays would be true enough. To my relatives, I was an outsider looking in, not a family member. It felt as if I was an orphan, a stranger begging to be a part of something. Sure, they had camping trips and family dinners, but they seldom invited me or my brother Aaron. Throughout all the abuse, not once did they intervene or attempt to prevent my parents' actions?
Their solution was it was easier not too included me or Aaron at all. Which, in turn was the best solution; but. Now, twenty-five years later, I am still considered an outsider and a stranger to them all. You will find very few pictures or none at all, as no one took any of mine or Aaron's childhood, neither my parents nor them. My grandmother was the only one that made sure she had something that would remind her of my existence, and those of the State Foster Care had taken. Placed for a reference and sending a copy to my grandmother for safekeeping and extra to my parents.
My parents would sneer and tear them up and throw them away or burn them, leaving no trace of my existence. It angered them as they saw them hanging on the wall of my grandmother's home. My father tried one time to destroy them when nobody was looking, yet she had the negatives, so it became a moot point. Finding them replaced on a higher shelf and out of his reach.
It seemed like a long drive, but I didn't care. The love of my brothers and my Pa surrounded me as he looked back and smiled at me from the back window. In my heart of hearts, I knew this was where I belonged. Here, they wouldn't consider me a stranger or an outsider. I had all the love I needed right here as I sat banishing the nightmares and my waking dreams.
I looked forward to the new adventures as Aunty M turned down a little dirt road, reaching a large metal gate that opened as we drove through. It was truly a sight to see. Little log cabins set nestled in the trees and huge piles of logs and lumber laid neatly in the yard. A loud horn whistled like an old steam engine echoed our arrival as Aunty M parked the truck in the main lot.
(Cliff note version told better in my book Masks Behind Shadows)
The men were burly and strong like Pa, while they gathered around us, shaking our hands in a warm greeting. Aunty M placing her arm around Pa as she walked us all to our accommodation, finding a stack of new clothes and two pairs of steel-toed work boots with our names engraved on a sign above each of our beds. Telling us to change our clothes quickly and store them in our footlockers at the end of our bed. The cabin held fifteen beds and two pot belly stoves down the middle with a long rope line to hang our clothes on to dry. Handcrafted clothespins to keep them in place as the water dripped from the line. A cubby hole to place a picture or two or a wind-up clock next to our beds.
She gave us a quick tour of the lumber mill before sending us out to work. My brothers and I were in charge of planting new sprigs along the row of cleared out trees and their stumps. It was hard, backbreaking work, yet it was fun and had a sense of accomplishment. It also was the first time I ever drove a wagon as I tried to guide the two-horse wagon down the semi-straight road. I have always hated the sound of thunder, for it gave me nightmares.
The long, dark shadows it caused when it flickered and flashed angrily through the windows. I would see large giant teeth ready to chomp me to bits. Even worse, I would see my father standing over me with a large kitchen knife, sometimes a strangle cord in one hand and his belt in the other; or a pillow to suffocate me. The lightning would sound like wounded tight leather as it whistled in the air, getting ready to strike as it crackled against my skin. My father's eyes red with anger swing back and forth with such rage wanting to strangle my last breath. His evil laughter as I try to push his hands away as they slowly wrapped around my neck. I would gasp for air waking into the cold night.
Sometimes I see my mother with a long-coiled rope or chain to tie me down, so they could beat me, pinning me down so I could not move. I can still taste the rot from the unwashed dishrag, as she would sometimes stuff it into my mouth to prevent me from screaming and alerting the neighbors. No. I hated storms and the nightmares it would bring. But this was a different kind of thunder while my brothers and I watched large logs roll down the embankment into the river; seeing a man leaping gracefully with a long pole in one hand with a large hook on the end, dragging the logs closer to him as he made a large raft to float downstream.
It wasn't long before our helmsman or crew chief guided us down to the water's edge. I watched him push Robert and Will into the water, making a big splash. While the other man lifted me off the ground and set me down gently on a log floating downstream. Yes, sir, it was a sight to behold watching Will and Robert trying to stand and walk on logs as they quickly tumbled into the water.
We spent three days known as the upper camp rising early at the crack of dawn when the mechanical whistle blew, Feeling muscle from head to toe. Thinking our bruises had bruises, groaning as we moved. On the third day, it was moving day as we carried our footlockers down the small trail to the parking lot where Aunty M and Pa waited for us and placed them in back of the pickup.
We waved goodbye and promising to be back next summer and settle back for a quick jaunt to the main camp where we saw piles and piles of finished and unfinished product waiting to be shipped and delivered across the United States. Aunty M kept us all busy working either in the sawmill or counting lumber. I tell you I have never worked so hard in my young life or had nearly as much fun doing it. We worked two and a half days down in the main camp, leaving right after a huge lunch that would make any normal man cry. If you ever get a chance to see how lumber Jack eats, trust me when it comes to hollow legs; they had them.
It had to be at least another four-hour drive to the sheep and cattle ranch in Nephi, Utah. The mountains seemed to be painted red; the green seemed bright and out-of-place clear out here in desert country. But the further south we went and closer to the red rock you would find green fields and thick trees giving away for the prickly sagebrush. Aunty M turned down another winding road that looked like only a single cow trail. Hearing Pa says. "Are you sure we are not lost?" Aunty M would laugh and point to a closed metal gate, stating that we had arrived.
At the gate, there were four cowboys resting against a tall tree. The nearest one lifted his hat a little. He then removed the pipe from his mouth, making a quick motion to his buddies to open the gate speaking some words of endearment. "Howdy Folks we been expecting you, come on through, we will guide you all to the main house." Jumping into the back of our pickup with his boys as they rode along and swung their hat yelling yahoo with a loud whistle while Aunty M drove up to the main house.
The main house was a two-story extensive building reminded me of an old western hotel that I had seen in a John Wayne western, right on down to the hitching post for horses and watering trough. To the west, we saw a collection of five imposing barns, surrounded by sheep grazing in the nearby field and cattle lazily munching on grass. Amidst the joyful sounds of children's laughter, they playfully sprinted around the house, their bare feet leaving behind trails of dust. The boys, clad in jean shorts and shirtless, and the girls, donning their charming summer dresses, presented a vibrant and contrasting sight that enticed them to join their company.
We watched the men jump out and yell for Mrs. Parson's, seeing a well-built woman that could easily match a sumo wrestler. There is not a chance I would call her fat, but slightly plump or full-figured; consider I intended to live a full life as a boy and not squished flat as a bug underneath her feet and not knowing where or when our next meal would come.
She made it clear that we were to call her Ma and that included Pa as she pinched his and our cheeks, giving a spot of color to his. Aunty M quickly hugged her while Ma took care of carrying our belongings to our rooms. Aunty M went all out just as she did at the lumber mill, finding another stack of clothes for each of us. With sneakers and cowboy boots, along with a new cowboy hat; yes, sir, our footlocker was getting full. For me, I never owned so many new clothes that weren't from a secondhand store in my life.
Pa was in hog heaven as he felt and measured the long kitchen table that seated twenty-five people easily, knowing Ma would fall in love with it the moment she sat her family down around it. The Dining room was enormous as it echoed our footsteps, which contained a gigantic fireplace with a rack and turning fork that was busy roasting a stuffed pig. Ma tisked as she eyed us up and down, then pinched us and saying some rude words about scarecrows and their children.
Stating a powerful gust, a wind would blow us into the next county if she didn't soon put some meat on our bones. All the while Aunty M was in total agreement. Ma tisked telling us dinner wouldn't be ready until 5 pm, giving us plenty of time to stretch our legs a bit. Yelling for one of the men to take us out and give us a tour while Ma had some words with our Pa about taking over the ownership of the sheep and cattle ranch.
The options seemed limitless when it came to keeping energetic young boys like us busy. Whether it was the satisfying feeling of shearing sheep or the thrill of successfully roping a calf, boredom was never a concern. However, amidst the sweltering heat of the day, the sight of a serene, cool pond captivated us, its irresistible allure impossible to ignore. I'll never forget the excitement of riding a horse that was truly mine. His name was Jackson. I called him. It was like Aunty M had become obsessed with the idea that I needed a horse. It was a belated gift, meant to make up for all the missed birthdays and Christmases she had forgotten.
In my dreams, the earthy scent of freshly cut hay enveloped me, while the rhythmic sound of hooves echoed in my ears. The idea of riding naked sparked my curiosity, compelling me to explore it further. I knew my Ma and my two Downing sisters, Julie and Anna and my Aunt Margaret, wouldn't be unfazed by it, their laughter filling the air with pure joy. They would insist on capturing the moment, urging my brothers to join in the fun. The thought made me chuckle, yet the question lingered: should I dare to do it?
There was no question in my mind that my brothers would be by my side with no hesitation. Considering Ma, Julie, Anna, and Aunt Margaret had seen every inch of us countless times, it was nothing new to them. In the meantime, I would have to make do with slipping into a pair of well-worn shorts that let the warm sun embrace my skin, abandoning my shirt and venturing barefoot, until I built up enough bravery to give it a shot.
The pony she bought for me was a beautiful brown paint, and the moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he would be my loyal companion. That included a saddle which seemed too big for me at the time as I bounced up and down like a jackrabbit on steroids.
Pa and I had a nice long talk about running away and about facing my fears head-on. But when it came to facing my parents; I wasn't even close to facing them on any terms as I revealed more of my past of things that happened in that home.
He would always do his best to comfort me, but we both knew someday soon I would have to face the monsters if I ever wanted peace for me and my brother. And the sad fact that if the Downings adopted me, I would have to leave my brother behind, knowing that my grandmother could not be there every minute for the rest of his life. I knew deep down that I would sacrifice my life if it meant that it would keep him safe from harm. Before setting off from the ranch, Robert took the initiative and broke the ice, leading the way towards the pond completely naked with Will close behind, followed by a group of excited children on horseback, all their clothes trailing behind them.
Aunty M couldn't help but laugh at the sight of them all, completely naked. Her smile widened when my Pa and the other men joined the fun, making her laughter even more contagious. Aunty M asked me why I was just standing there, the only one still dressed in nothing but a pair of tattered jean shorts. I nonchalantly shrugged off my remaining clothes, letting them drop to the ground, and left my crutches behind. With no hesitation, I sprinted after them, hopping onto my pony and seamlessly joining the others, my smile the only thing adorning my face.
The surreal sensation I experienced surpassed all my wildest dreams. It was a delightful sensory experience; it was better than a dream, riding naked as the sun kissed my skin the feel of my horse under me without no saddle or blanket. The feeling of our bare skin pressed together was pure bliss. From the soothing warmth of the sun on my skin, I made my way towards the refreshing pond, relishing the invigorating coolness that awaited me. The idea of repeating it at home sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. Parting was bittersweet, but the reassurance of our return the following summer made the farewell easier to bear.