Casting Shadows

As a child, you don't think about what you see. You just see. You see and you don't make sense of it. Interpretation comes much later. When you are no longer just an observer but a participant. When you remember what you saw and it slowly but surely falls into place. You probably end up feeling stupid or naive. You feel like you should have seen it. You ask yourself why it had taken you so long to see it. That's how I felt anyway.

A lot of the things I witnessed when I was younger, a lot of the conversations I overheard, they confused me. My brain, which hadn't yet fully developed, wasn't able to understand what was going on. I wasn't able to make the connections. I knew something bad was happening, I knew because there was a sadness, I could see it, I could feel it. There was a silence and then there was a numbness. Like someone had draped a heavy blanket over the world. But I didn't know why, I didn't know where it was coming from. I saw the bruises, I saw the sadness; and it wasn't until much later that I finally understood.

Someone had hurt him.

Because all kids get bruises right? I would look down on my own legs. There was one on my right knee. It was big. From when I had banged it against the first step of the monkey bars. I had been running from Melanie Brosh and wasn't paying attention. There was another one on my shin from when I had opened the drawer with too much force; impatient to find my navy blue pencil. Navy blue was my favorite color. There was also one on my arm and I couldn't even remember where I had gotten that one from. I knew that nobody but myself was responsible for these bruises. I knew that nobody was hurting me.

His bruises were different. I know that now. I didn't know back then. I didn't know that these bruises on his wrists were unusual. That they were caused by someone much stronger, grabbing and restraining him. Not just once, or twice. But repeatedly. Every day. I didn't know that simple and normal romping around or clumsiness couldn't be responsible for the huge purple contusions on the back of his thighs, that someone must have kicked him when he was already down. I remember wondering how he had gotten these bruises on his neck, the ones that almost looked like someone had tried to strangle him with their bare hands. And little did I know that that's exactly what had happened.

I didn't know.

I was only 7 years old.

All I knew was that suddenly, I had a new brother. My mommy came to me one night and instead of reading me a story, she said 'Skeeter, you know the boy from across the street?' I nodded and said his name. 'Yes, sweetie. He's gonna come and live with us.'

I asked why. I asked what had happened to his mom and dad. My mother only said 'They went away.'

That was it. I already had two other siblings but both of them had been with us for as long as I could remember, even though they weren't my real siblings. I was aware that my mom was a foster mom. She explained it to me that very same night but the only thing I was able to fathom from that conversation was that she was more or less a new mom for children who didn't have their real parents any more.

His family lived across the street from us but I'd hardly ever seen him outside. But then I started school and he was in my class. I thought he was weird. I didn't tease him but I didn't try to talk to him either. I knew he didn't want to talk. And I got the impression that he wanted to be left alone. So I left him alone. Everyone did. He was pale and skinny and was always hiding his eyes behind his dark hair. He wore long sleeves all year round. One time, when he didn't want to change out of his clothes for gym class, he started crying and screaming hysterically. The teacher took him away from the class and I didn't see him for the rest of the afternoon. I did see a police car outside the house he lived in though when I came home that day.

'Did they catch a bad guy?' I asked my mommy when I found her staring out the window, with a shocked expression on her face.

'How did this happen? How did this happen right in front of my eyes? How did I not notice?' she whispered to herself, over and over again, until my daddy came and hugged her.

My question went unanswered.

The boy was gone for a few days. And then my mommy told me he would come and live with us. Made me promise that I would be nice to him. Told me he had been hurt. Told me I had to be gentle and patient with him. I was confused but I agreed. I wasn't happy about it but I also wasn't sad.

Notes

So this is my new story...well the beginning of it. The first chapter should be up later this week...I hope you are interested.

It's not gonna be easy to write so it won't be easy to read either. Please be aware of that, in case you haven't read the summary yet, or if you ignored the trigger warning in the summary.

I know this is only the prologue but of course first impressions/thoughts are welcome