mississippi

April 19th, 1999

I remember attempting to tell my mother what was happening. 

I was In the kitchen after school. Jill and JoBeth were at ballet. Mom picked me up from  basketball practice an hour earlier. My father was outside piddling around his garden of flowers. Unfortunately, before I can get into the serious conversation with her, my father walks in. 

"If it's not the two most beautiful women in the world. And I mean that." His tone was superficial and elevated. 

He kisses my mother on the lips and taps my left butt cheek, hard, fast, making a slapping sound. He pauses staring at me. 

"YOU ARE just as beautiful as your mother."

His eyes are staring into my eyes, looking into my soul, I'm uncomfortable, looking down, away from his eyes. He's completely nude, no bottoms, no top, nothing. I hardly noticed because this is all I knew. 

Every single day, Monday through Friday at 5:00 p.m. my father would get home from work, strip off all of his work clothes and just jump into the pool. Then, he'd do yard work, water his plants, music on the intercom, oldies and gospel music. He would whistle to every single song, like it might be the last. 

I see my mother glance down at his package, yes, penis. I cringe, crinkle my nose until my lip is blocking my nostrils and blow out obnoxiously.

My father disappears into the master bedroom, I can hear the shower water running. He was predictable and routine. Almost perfect,  consistent in every way. 

My mother is staring at me with a tilted head as she's peeling the potatoes. She was an incredible "house wife". Dinner was prepared and served promptly every night at 530pm, where we shared an hour of time and a home cooked family meal Monday-Thursday. Friday night was always movie night. We took turn picking out the movie each week, Father of the Bride, Beethoven, Kindergarten Cop, Lethal Weapon. Movie night was the only time we were allowed to watch TV and we were allowed one Hansen Soda on Friday too. Yes, I looked forward to the very PG rated evening each and every week. 

I can feel my mother staring at me, waiting for a response.  

"What!!?? I asked defensively.

"Jamie Michelle".... Her tone changed from stearn to serious. 

I am trying again to tell my mom what is happening to me behind closed doors. 

"What, Mom. It is just weird. You can honestly tell me that you think it's... Okay..." I pause, looking down at the tiled floor. How do I say this to her?

"When he says things and touches me....I feel uncomfortable, Mom. Like ..  shameful and ..wrong". 

Again, I pause, was that too much? I missed my mother, the one I knew before she lost her own identity, her own strength, confidence and courage. I miss the woman who believed in faith, was a loving christian, before FLDS, and my father. Because I know, if she could just think for herself for a moment, I know she wouldn't believe that this was normal.

Stockholm syndrome. 

She responded, matter of fact. 

"You should be so lucky." 

"Lucky?" I snarl and shake my head back and forth. And repeat louder, "fucking lucky?"

"Jamie, language, please. Don't speak that way. I'm sure he doesn't tell your other sisters how beautiful they are everyday." 

"Well, thank God because then we'd all be child brides, Jill and JoBeth can be his third and forth wife, Since you are his first and I'll be his second." My tone is sarcastic, passive aggressive. 

I think to myself, Oh shit, I have said too much, while mocking our religion, disrespecting my father. Maybe my mother wasn't a confidant, someone to be trusted like I used to... I sigh, loud, abnoxiously for any kind of attention. She doesn't even look up from the carrot she is peeling into the trash can.

 " Jamie Michelle. " She shakes her head with great disappointment. 

"You know I'm going to have to tell your father...."

I interrupt her, loud and confrontational. 

"WHHHHHHTYThy? Well here's an idea, How about you think for yourself, like you used to. You could not tell him and keep this conversation between us, Mom. Ugh. You used to be understanding, now your just as bad as he is ...". 

I am heating up, I can feel the voltanic vapors and lava boil deep within inside my rib cage. Boiling. Hotter and hotter. 

"Jamie, that'd be dishonest and the bible…"

Her voice is trailing off until silence. I had to walk out of the kitchen before I had a volcanic eruption. I felt it in my esophagus, the steam expelling out of my ears like a train whislte. I slammed my bedroom door, hard. Pictures rattle on the wall,  as I threw myself into my neatly made bed. 

I was that kid, I had a temper, rageful and angry. I did not have the ability to control my anger or my reactions when I was upset, misunderstood. I would just explode and terrible words would flow fast from my mouth like vomit. 

Later that evening, my father excused from the dinner table after we said Grace. My mother told my father about my disrespectful behavior, my sins and my lack of empathy. My father sat at the north side of the dinning room table, like a King, dictating and ruling over everything, everyone. Fear. Reverence. 

My stomach was growling, loud. I sat on top of my bed and pulled out my calculus homework. I was in 9th grade, a freshman, and I was taking calculus 2. Alyssa and I, rode the "special" bus to University of Arizona, everyday. I wish I would of been proud of myself. I wish there was someone that was proud of me, instead I was the failure, black sheep, a rebellious teenager. 

I was mentally preparing for what I knew would come next, consequences. I just wasn't prepared for all three.

My father came into my room, I could hear my sisters and mother laughing, conversing about their days. And I was no longer alone in there. I watch my father unbuckle his belt, pulled it from around his waist, demanding me to turn around. I hesitate slightly. He grabs the upper part of my bicep and forcefully turns me around. I cover my ears, I used to 💬 if I couldnt hear the snap of the leather belt as it connected with my skin, it didn't hurt as much. I'm tough I can do this. That night I was whipped with his black leather belt, spanked with bare hand mouth and my mouth washed out with a bar of soap. 

I remember dry heaving as he stuck the bar of soap into my mouth so far, and with great pressure, I could taste metal, blood as my tongue and gums starting bleeding. Starting at his own reflection in the mirror as he yelled, are you sorry for the words you have spoken, your sins ... Disagreeing with God's plans .... For being bad.... 

I remember looking at myself in the bathroom mirror as he shoved the green bar, forcing my mouth, open with his other hand, pulling back hard on my hair, choking me, his two fingers on the soap, shoving it further into my esophagus. Gagging, he choked me harder and harder, my face was red, hard to breath, counting 1 Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi... Waiting for it to end. 

I kept record of the Mississippis in my diary, making it a competition with myself than a punishment. Last Saturday I had a PR of 129 Mississippis. 

I am refusing to cry. Standing at attention, he questions me quietly. 

"did you learn your lesson tonight?" I nodd my head, yes. I was physically exhausted, yet my mind just never wanted to stop... Spaghetti brain. 

What was the lesson I was supposed to learn?  What is wrong with me? Why couldn't I be like my sister's, followimg the ways of the Lord and my father. Trusting and believing in our Mormon faith. Life wouldn't be so fucking hard. 

I believed that no matter what I did or how hard I tried to be good daughter, a faithful follower, no one loved me, God didn't love me.

 Forbidden Fruit. Maybe even rotten.