My friend. My life.

They say that blood is thicker than water. In my life, I stayed afloat with water where as I nearly drowned with blood.

The first thing I can remember in my life is being beat for not bringing my Daddy his bottle of whiskey quick enough. Mother never would last as long as him; she would pass out before noon most days. After awhile, my Daddy didn’t beat on me as often. I guess he grew tired of an easy win; he turned to Mother. She would pass out and wake up the next day not remembering that it was Daddy who cracked her a few good ones. Daddy would laugh at her and tell her she had fallen down a few times. I still got my fair share of beatings, though; it didn’t seem to make a difference whether it would be twice or week or ten times a week.

One time, he broke my foot. It never healed correctly; I can still feel a bone popping around every now and then. I had no escape and when Mother would be upset that Daddy was running around on her, she would lock me in the closet and leave me there for what seemed like forever. Returning hours later with daddy, they would start their usual fighting and then it was only a matter of time before I was released from the dungeon to get my share of punishment. After awhile of this abuse I decided to at least make the best of it and hid a flashlight and some toys in a box at the bottom of the closet. It was then that I discovered the peephole in the closet.

Her name was Rebecca and she had been watching me the whole time. She knew about everything that went on in our apartment. At first, I wondered why she never spoke to me all that time. Later, I found out she was born deaf; she couldn’t speak at all.

Our friendship started with silly little finger games through the hole. We would be having fun and laughing and then her face would turn to frightened. It wasn’t a second later that the closet door would swing open and I would be dragged out for my punishment. I guess she always knew because of the vibrations from Daddy’s footsteps.

After awhile, I somewhat looked forward to the closet trips. At least then I would be able to see Rebecca; it was the only time we got to see each other. Rebecca was my only friend. At school the kids teased me for being poor and dirty. Rebecca didn’t go to school because of her handicap.

One day I waited and waited for Rebecca to come play with me. I grew sad because I thought I had lost my only friend. I was wrong, she was in search of a surprise for me. I was extremely surprised when she showed me a hammer. She started prying at the nails on the other side of the wall until a board popped loose. It was then that our friendship blossomed.

We would play for all hours of the day and night until time for Rebecca’s mother to get home from work. Rebecca basically lived by herself because her mother worked all the time to support them. I would then sneak back over to my apartment. Never once did my parents wake up and catch me. By the next day, they didn’t even remember locking me in the closet.

I hit puberty at the early age of eleven. It was then that daddy started raping me. He told me I had to learn to be a whore like my mother. She never knew about the raping. He always waited until she passed out. Every time he strutted into my room butt naked I wanted to run. But, it was either a raping or a beating. Afterwards, I would go to Rebecca. She was the one who held me, loved me and treated my wounds physically and emotionally.

At twelve, I finally couldn’t take anymore and I went to Rebecca with a suitcase to say my goodbyes. It only took her five minutes to pack a suitcase, grab my hand and drag me out of there. We ran as far as we could.

We lived in bus stations and under bridges. We rummaged through garbage cans and stole food to survive. I can’t remember once that we stopped laughing. We were happy. Rebecca was older and was able to get a job delivering papers with me as her spokeswoman. We made enough to live in a cheap motel. There was no fridge or stove but we survived.

At thirteen, the law had finally caught up with us. Rebecca’s mother had been looking for her. The streets had etched upon me certain strength and I was forthcoming about all that my parents had done to me. I was not returned to my parents but put into foster care twenty miles away from them. That was the last time I saw Rebecca. Of course, I went in search of her when I hit legal age. Unfortunately, all there was to find was a cemetery plot. She had been brutally raped and murdered on her way home from the grocery store only days after returning home.

I cried for what seemed like days of Rebecca’s death. I had never felt so alone and empty in my life as that moment that I learned of her death. Not even the numerous times of being locked in a closet could compare. There will never be a friendship that can replace the significance of our friendship. My life had been altered by this unusual friendship and I will always hold a spot for her in my heart and visit her grave every day that I am alive. My tears will continue to shed with every memory. A friend literally saved my life. I only wish that I could have done the same for her. I can honestly state that I owe everything in my life to a friend. Blood thicker than water? Not for me. It’s sad to say, but that is the truth for many.

©2001 Christina