Childhood Trauma Revisited

I was probably near to graduating primary school, so I couldn’t have been more than 9 or maybe 10. My sister (who is two years older than I am) and I were on our way from computer lessons, a part of a summer programme at a school in town. As we went through the school gate we ran into two or three guys (I can’t remember for sure), probably all in their early to mid 20s. I can’t remember the first thing one of the guys said to me but it’s not relevant to what happened after. He asked us where we were coming from in a very inquisitive, intrusive fashion. Sadly, for my sake, I’ve always had a lip on me. I responded, “That’s none of your business.” Then he hit me, in my face.

I cried out immediately, and started running. I ran as hard as I could, completely disregarding the fact that I left my sister behind. She was fine though. I kept on running, turning ever so often to find that the hoodlum was still on my tail. I ran up the road, crying so hard my head hurt instantly. Or maybe that was from the hit. Eventually he stopped chasing, I’m not sure exactly when because by that time I’d stopped looking behind. It was when I was very near home that someone was finally close enough to ask “Why are you crying?” Unfortunately, she could do nothing to help.

I got home, and told my frightened parents what had happened. He’d hit me so hard, when I got home my parents could see his fingerprints in my cheek. They were enraged. My father is the traditional Caribbean man; he got me and his machete into the car, and we drove around town in search of that, that… guy. We never found him- not any time soon anyway.

Some time after, he started working at a mechanic’s place very near to my house. I’d have to pass him most days coming from school. He’d give me a shout as if we were friends. I’d respond, not out of fear, or out of charity, but because, for years I felt like if I thought about it any harder I would’ve gone back and killed him. I was scarred for a long time, and even now as I write I can feel my eyes getting damp. I haven’t seen him in a while, and if I did I’d probably just look away. And if he said ‘hi’ I’d respond. I suppose I now truly understand what it is to turn the other cheek.

For a time I'd lost a little dignity, but that happens. It’s time to let go. I've kept my life and everything else that was important. Now I’m ready to lose the burden, and move on.