Awkward

I was an awkward child.

Never sure where I fit.  I would sit on my hands.  Stand on my feet.  Try to take up the smallest amount of space possible for a human my size.

See that girl?  That is ten year old me.  Trying to just disappear.  Wishing that I could be swallowed up by the creeping crab grass under my bare feet.  Smile plastered on my too round face as my mom told me to relax and just let her take the picture.  Let her capture the day.  Why do I look so uncomfortable?  

Because there was a monster waiting for me in the pool.

The rest of my family was safe from from the monster.  Safe because of me.

My older brother jumping off the diving board, making wave upon wave that crashed against me as his balled up body broke the surface tension.

My younger sister laughing as our mother played with her in the shallow water on the other side of the rope.  Inflated swim fins and foam floats keeping her round face above the surface as her chubby legs churned beneath.

But I was never safe.

I could never disappear enough.  Never be small enough.  He always found me.

Sitting on the step, my feet danging in the eight feet of clear water, the sun bleaching my hair and burning my ears, I was not safe and I could not run.  His fingers under the elastic that pinched at my legs.  He was so close and only I could feel his words as his fingers wandered through me.

See your mom and sister?  Your mom would never believe you.  If it wasn't you, it would be your sister.  Your brother?  He'd never believe you either.  You are alone.  And I am your father.

Well ...

Not my father.  My step-father.  My mother's first cousin and my sister's father.  

And he didn't say those words in that order on that occassion.  It just became what I heard as he told me how good I felt and how I was keeping the family together.  How, at ten or eight or six or earlier, it was my sacrifice that kept him from leaving.  How my silence kept my mom from sending me way like she had done to two of my brothers.  How I was the great defense and barrier keeping my baby sister pure.  How there was nothing wrong with what he was doing but no one would believe me if I told them.  How much I should be enjoying what was happening to my body.  How normal his reaction was when he placed my small hand under his own elastic waistband.  How proud I should be of my abilities and talents.  How my future boyfriends would enjoy me in the back seats of cars.  And, if I learned enough, one might think I was worth keeping around long enough to marry.

As I watched my family have a happy life.

So, I was an awkward child.

The only reason that is past tense is because I am no longer a child.