My mother had terrible taste in men. It seemed each of her many husbands was worse than the one before, and each of her husbands had nicknames, applied (I think) by my brother. My first stepfather was “Frank-the-Pig.”
Let me give just one disgusting example to illustrate how much of a pig he was. My sisters, both older than me had a bedroom that Frank vacated to move into a larger bedroom on the second floor. One sister was a young teenager, and the other was probably a pre-teen. As they were cleaning the room from Frank’s mess, they found (left very prominently) in the room a polaroid photo of Frank completely nude and fully erect.
I was big for my age. One time Frank decided that I needed to be punished, that is physically. It was not going to be a spanking but rather a thrashing. As Frank tried, it quickly became a fight. As we wrestled as each tried to get a better position, I remember (with gusto) managing to put the sole of my shoe directly and swiftly into his crotch. The exhalation of breath accompanied Frank’s releasing of his grip. That was the only time Frank tried to physically take me on.
However, there was another time I tried to take Frank on. This was a memory I had blotted from my thoughts, probably for the best. It was told to me by my sister Marilyn and as she started to tell the tale, the sensations flowed once more and the scene was renewed.
My sister Pamela died from cancer and as she slowly succumbed to the disease, she became weaker and more dependent. Frank objected to many aspects of this, including at one point objecting to her inability to continue working and the results of her no longer paying him rent.
That was not the event that triggered my memory being restored. I am not sure what the event was, but because Pam could no longer use stairs, she had the bedroom on the main floor just off the living room. As Frank “dealt” with Pam, I remember Pam crying. I can remember my mother standing in the hall outside the bedroom crying. And I can remember my sister slumped in the living room, adjacent to the hallway where my mother stood, unmoving to help her daughter. Marilyn was bawling as she hugged her knees, her back to the trauma.
Across the living room was the fireplace and on the mantle were two large brass candlesticks. I must have been there as I remember having one of the brass cudgels in my hand and I see again my sister Marilyn rising up and grabbing at me. Here I recall one of the two strongest parts of my restored memory. I have come close to killing several people in my life, and all but one were when I was a cop. This memory is so strong as I knew I was going to crush Frank’s skull with the candlestick. He was my first of those I might have killed.
Marilyn could not stop me but as I entered the hall, with Marilyn clinging in desperation about my person, my mother leaped on me. What I next recall with clarity restored was the look on Frank’s face. I have no doubt he knew what I was going to do and I know he believed I would do it. As my mother and sister restrained me, Frank fled.
I cannot truthfully say I remember all of this as it was related to me by Marilyn, but I recall my desire to hit Frank and Frank’s face as his awareness of my intent became clear.
Some memories are best buried, at least until a person can better deal with them.