by C. T. Musca
“Can I sleep in your room with you? You know, to make sure you’re okay?”
“Sure. I’ll be there in a second.” This is typical lately—she wants to remain near me. We all have our own ways of dealing with Jer’s absence.
I clean myself up and brush my teeth and head back to bed. Sandy is still awake when I get there and she asks again if I’m all right. I lie and say that I am, and we eventually fall back to sleep.
Winter 2010
Going to Jeremy’s grave is a lot more difficult than I thought it’d be. With my mom, I am able to distance myself by thinking of other things, but with Jeremy it seems as though I’m unable. I can’t help but focus on the night he died. I see the police cars and feel that same apprehension in my body as when I saw his car. I can’t seem to rid my mind of the memories. I think back to how close we were, and how entertaining and optimistic Jer was. Even though the details of his face and voice are unclear now, I can still see his smile in my mind; he had one of those smiles that lit up a room. I don’t think I ever told him I loved him—not once. At least I can’t remember ever telling him, and it makes me sad.
Dad, too, is having a hard time. “Tonya, are you okay?” he says to me. I realize that my tears are a downpour. I thought he would be the affected one, but I realize now that I’m the wreck.
“I miss him so much.” These are the only words I can get out. Dad hugs me tightly and I feel like a six-year-old girl again, crying on his shoulder. How can this be so painful so many years after it happened?
“We all miss him, Ton. It wasn’t fair, and it’ll never be easy. We just have to cope with it the best we know how.”
I can’t speak; I’m too upset. I stay there in his arms, crying. I am crying about more than just my brother. All of the sorrow that has been locked inside of me comes pouring out now. He holds me tightly and I recognize that it’s been years since I’ve shown emotion in front of my dad.
When enough time has passed, we make our way to the car and sit there for a while before heading home. He asks what happened to me—why I wasn’t able to move on like Sandy?
“I just couldn’t. I tried but I couldn’t.”
“There must be more to it than that, Ton. Many people survive after the death of a loved one. What was different with you?” he prods.
“Dad, I went through a lot, but it’s all in the past now. I’d rather not relive it.”
We drive home in silence.
Summer 1990
M y parents are insisting that we go to Trout Lake again this year, even though none of us wants to. It is not the same, nor will it ever be. I suppose they are trying to keep some traditions alive with us because they want things to be normal, even though they are anything but normal. We pack up our things and load into the car for the four-hour car ride. Mom urges us to go out and do everything we used to do—hang out with the neighbours, go to the nightly campfires, and set off on our hiking excursions.
When we arrive at the cottage, we try to figure out the sleeping arrangements. Sandy can now have her own room and she doesn’t have to bunk with me, while I have our old room. Uncle Jack has the front room that he’s always had. It’s got the pull-out couch and he insists on staying there, even though my parents wanted him to have Jer’s old room. Uncle Jack has been to Dad a little like Sandy has been with me; he hovers around him. I suppose the fact that he and Linda broke up didn’t help matters. I am not aware of the whole situation, but my understanding of it is she didn’t like the fact that he was so saddened after Jeremy’s death. She thought he might have been depressed which could have been an underlying disorder of his. I have to say I’m not surprised that she ended it, and I think that if they’d stayed together, the relationship would have turned out similar to his first marriage. He would have been compliant to her in everything and he would have lost his personality. Maybe there was more to it than that, but that’s what it seemed like to me.
The night we arrive, Dad suggests that we play a board game. Although we play, it’s clear that things are not the same as they were in the past. We don’t laugh as much, nor is the rivalry as fierce as it used to be. Jeremy was always the one to spark the competitive edge in the rest of us, and with his absence, the change is noticeable.
The next day, Mom gathers us for a hike, and the following day we have one of the neighbouring families over for dinner. The week goes on like this: games, hikes, campfires, and visitors. Our parents try to keep us occupied so that we don’t dwell on the past.
The last night of our cottage stay is the big bonfire. There is usually one every Friday night, so those leaving can say their good-byes while those arriving can meet new people. I feel a little tired so I decide not to go. This idea is not popular with my parents.
“You have to go—it’s the last night,” Mom persists.
“I am really tired and just feel like going to bed early. I’ll be fine…seriously.”
“Can I stay too? Michelle and Terry left today, so I don’t really have any friends there.” My sister jumps on the opportunity to stay back with me. I am not surprised that she wants to stay back with me; this is how she’s been of late. I anticipate that both of us not wanting to go will displease Mom.
“Are you serious?” Mom is disheartened. “You’re both not coming?”
“Mom, we’ve had a really busy week and we’ve done all of the activities. We’re just a little tired and would prefer not to go out tonight. You go and have fun. We’ll be fine,” I reiterate.
“All right, darling, you know where we’ll be.” They leave shortly after this. Sandy and I pop a movie in the VCR – Back to the Future Part II. We have seen it before, but it’s good to have our mind on something else. After the movie ends, around ten, we head to bed.
“Can I sleep in your room tonight?”
I am not surprised by her question. “Not tonight, okay? The last time you slept with me I had trouble sleeping because of your snoring.”
“Okay,” she says. I can see she is disappointed. “Good night.”
“Night.”
I am awakened by a noise, like something has fallen off the dresser. I suddenly feel someone on top of me, holding my mouth. I open my eyes to see Uncle Jack. He’s drunk and heavy. I can’t move. I don’t scream. I feel paralyzed.
He whispers in my ear, and all I can smell is the alcohol on his breath. His breath is hot. He tells me to be quiet. He tells me this will feel good. His pants are down and he pulls off my underwear. He thrusts inside of me. The pain is like nothing I have ever felt before. I don’t scream; I am conscious of my sister in the next room. I think if I just remain quiet, all of this will stop.
He continues to push inside of me. I am torn.
His breathing gets heavier and the smell is nauseating. He uses his body weight to keep me in place and still has a hand over my mouth. His other hand wanders over my body. His hand is gentle, but his thrusts are rough. I am crying but not making a sound. The tears stream down the sides of my face onto my pillow.
I am no longer me.
Epilogue
UNSENT LETTER
Dear Mom, January 2003
I know you have been wondering why I seemed to change so much after Jer’s death. I changed, as we all did. But the thing that changed me the most was something that happened at the cottage. I am only writing you about this now because I don’t want you to blame yourself for what happened to me. Sandy told me that you thought that maybe you and Dad could have dealt with things better after the accident. I don’t think any of us knew how to be after he died. We all seemed to be walking in a dream-like state.
Anyway what I have to tell you is very difficult for me, so much so that I find the only way I can say it is by writing it down on paper. Whether I am actually able to send this letter is another story.
When we went up to Trout Lake the summer after Jer died, none of us really wanted to be there, but we thought going might make things more normal. I didn’t go out to the big campfire party on the las
t night because I just wasn’t in the mood. I know that you and Dad probably just went to keep your mind off of everything. After I had gone to bed I was awakened—probably around midnight—by Uncle Jack.
He raped me.
As I write this, I cringe and have difficulty breathing. I never told you because I wanted to forget. I am telling you now because I think you should know. I won’t be able to talk to you about this—I can’t talk about it to anyone—so please don’t call me.
I prefer to forget.
Tonya
THE END
Acknowledgments
Heartfelt thanks to Martin and Mom for reading and re-reading early versions and for encouraging me along the way. Thanks to M et Mme for continued support in whatever I do. Finally, I wish to thank Jennie and Jenn who, although very different from Kaitlyn and Amanda, inspired the creation of Tonya’s two best friends.