As I walked through the living room this morning, I heard a story in the background on Fox 5 news, which to me sounded like something to do with an ice machine and a hotel or something. My ears started ringing hearing this story, and I really don’t know if the story was about what I heard. I tried finding it on the Fox 5 News app to no avail. Here is where the story took me.
As teenagers, my sister, me, and one of our best friends who dated the uncle who raped me, and another uncle all hung out at times at the Holiday Inn in Conyers, GA on the weekends. The uncles would rent the room, way older than us, and we would all just hang out drinking and smoking. On one of those occasions, one uncle went to get us ice to put the drinks on. When he came back, he told us, “I just hocked up a good and nasty lugi (not even sure how to spell it), and spit it in the ice machine, and stirred it all around.” I remember that really weighing heavily on my mind all night. It bothered me, and I wanted to tell someone, but I was scared.
I had forgotten this memory until the news story I heard, all while my mind was processing many other present things in my life today.
This was the same uncle who took me and my brother in a field as five and four year old innocent sweet children, and made us watch him place three baby birds in a huge red fire ant bed. He stirred that ant bed until so many were angrily moving about! Then, he placed those baby birds, so helpless, in that ant bed, and he made us stand there and watch as they screamed with pain! Finally, he took the hoe and sliced their throats. They died soon after. Me and my brother stood there crying, holding hands. Four and five years old.
This is also the same uncle who made me watch him cut a turtle’s head off about age 13, and then he placed its head on the ground and poured its bodily juices on the turtle’s head as it gulped and died.
Also the uncle who shot and killed my best buddy, Missy. My dog. She loved me like no other, and I tried hard to keep her with me every where our dysfunctional lives took me. She even got hit by a car one time, and broke her leg. Somehow, we were able to take her to the vet and get her casted up. I would sneak her in places I slept that did not allow her. One day, she was gone. Taken to my grandmother’s house two hours away. I cried for so long. I missed her and wondered was she cold or scared, or hungry. My uncle told me years later, he shot her. It fucked my heart up so much.
It is amazing how far I came in life to know all of what I know about psychology, and where I should be. These memories are fucking brutal!