The Day I Wanted To Die
I remember the first time I was taken to that house. It was on Swan Road in Tucson, AZ. The mother that raised me was getting the keys and allowed me to see it before the rest of the family. I was so excited because this was usually left to one of her actual children. Today I was liked and allowed to see it first, it felt like a good day. One I needed and had not felt in a long time. I remember looking at the house as we drove up. It had a circle drive way with presidential steps. The kind you see the president standing on to make speeches. We walked up the steps and we went inside. The living room seemed larger than life. Different than our usual small dumps that were called “home”. It was actually large enough for the 6 kids and 2 parents that were going to live there.
I started to explore this place it had a kitchen, dining room, living room, three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. Downstairs had two bedrooms, living room with fireplace that didn’t work, a kitchen and two small utility closets and one three walled small room that I wasn’t’ sure what it was used for.
As I was walking around, the mother was being nice and loving. As a mother should be, but I know better. This mother is mean, cruel, hurtful, and spiteful whenever possible. It became real clear why I was chosen that day to come. She wanted to be sure I was alone away from the boy “my brother” when she told me the utility closets and the small room with no protection is where I would live. It was then that I needed a way out. It was then that I decided I would leave or die trying. I was in elementary school, barely able to understand life but knew I wanted to die.
Life was great for the others but hurtful for me in ways that I had trouble telling the boy. He always seemed to know that I was the chosen one to feel the pain. He seemed to protect me in some ways that I was grateful for but paid for when he wasn’t looking. One day the mother was gone in the morning so the father helped me get ready for school. I left just minutes later than the rest of the group. We always walked together, the older kids would walk us younger kids to school, then go to school themselves. This morning felt different, it was like I didn’t care about being late or even showing up.
I got to school late and didn’t care but my teacher covered for me. She always seemed to know that I was unloved so she showed me more love than the other kids. It was like I was under her wing in some way, protected as long as I was there. Unfortunately, I could not stay at school forever. I would always stay late and hope that she would say I don’t have to go home. She would ask what was happening and how I survived the bruises and the hurt on my heart and head that didn’t show. I would always say because she made the pain go away.
That afternoon after school I was early leaving school. I told my teacher I needed to get home first. She hugged me like she knew I would never see her again and told me she loved me. It was the first time it was spoken that I knew it was meant. I hugged her back said I wished I was her child and left with tears in my eyes. Not because of what I was to do but because I could not stay.
I left school a block before the other kids got to the gate. They called for me but I kept walking and tried to ignore them all. They would be witnesses to my choice, the only one I would ever have. I noticed an older 70’s Chevy Nova, dark green or blue. A man had his window rolled down, he slowed so he was going at the same base I was walking and asked if I wanted a ride. I knew this was my moment it would be a lot less painful than going home and I wanted to die. I said only on one condition. The man smiled and said anything. I responded with you have to promise to kill me when you’re done. The smile dropped from him face and he turned pale. He asked if I knew who he was. I said no but I know what you are. You hurt people like me and I don’t want to go home, it’s worse than anything you can do and I want to die. I stopped walking and turned to him and said that is the family I live with back there they are coming. Will you kill me when you’re done? He said no you just saved me and then he started to drive away. I chased the vehicle for as far as I could. By then the sisters were running towards me yelling at me to get away from the car. I stopped running and waited to be taken back to hell. The sisters escorted me the rest of the way home without giving me much distance. To my surprise they said nothing except that we all refused a ride home from some man. The parents said that there is a man kidnapping and killing children in the city and we should be careful.
Two nights past before I noticed the news that spoke of this man the police hunted. It was the man I had spoken too, his picture was on the TV and the newscaster said that he had turned himself in. He confessed to kidnapping and killing more than 10 kids. The news said the statement he made to police stated that he had found an angel on the day he turned himself in and asked him to kill her and he knew she needed to live. It was said on that newscast that the very next morning after my conversation with him he walked into a police station and confessed. Police came to our home since we lived next to the neighborhood where he said his angel was walking but none of us ever said that I was the one that asked him to kill me. I’m not sure if the sisters ever knew what my conversation was but they knew it needed to be kept from the parents.
I have never heard from him, I don’t even know if he knows who I am or where I lived. I wonder sometimes where he is if he is still alive. A part of me wants to visit him just to ask why he would not help me be free. Why did he feel the need to make me stay in that hell? Why “save” my life instead of one of the many others he killed. I have comfort in knowing that at least the other children’s families have closure and no more kids were killed. My closure is still so far away and almost completely unreachable.
Now all that exists is the thought that it happened and my suspicion of who did it. However the why will probably never be answered. The pain the heartbreak and the trail it leaves is in blood is mine, my daughters, and the unborn child that was the victim of mine.
How does one overcome such heartbreak? How does one heal so many lives that were touched? How is the child ever loved or mourned? How am I ever to made feel like I was heard and this chapter ever closed? How is my daughter freed of the guilt that she carries? How do people live like this? How do the police officers in our area allow us to feel like they can be trusted? So many questions and no real answers.
I live with that voice and that night in my head every day. I live with that life I took and the life of my daughter living with that pain every day. Maybe that is my punishment in this all. I just wish I knew why I had to learn this kind of a lesson at all.
