• Part I: Bruised and Broken

    Preface

    A tear trickles down my cheek as I walk away from the grave. Why? Why him? He did nothing wrong. All he did was protect Andy and me. Why did this have to happen? Why did our dad yell out, “I’m gonna kill you, Jason!” instead of saying that he was gonna kill me? It should’ve been, “I’m gonna kill you, Ashlyn!” Why didn’t the neighbors call the cops sooner? Why couldn’t the doctors save him? It makes no sense. I should be the one in that grave.

    A sudden tap on my shoulder distracts me from my thoughts. I pull my masquerade of black hair away from my eyes to see who it is. Shelly. She’s the social worker that’s assigned to Andy and me. She tries to be nice, but she treats us like little babies. Like we need special help or something. I hate it. She gives me that awkward, apologetic smile and says, “We need to go, sweetie. I’m sorry.” She says it all slow like I can’t understand.

    I look at her and say, “ I’m not an idiot. You can talk to me like a human being. We’re on our way to the car right now.” I know it’s immature, but I’m tired of being shoved around by everyone.

    If I said anything like that to my dad I would be beaten so bad that most kids would be in the hospital for a week. But we just got put in the closet and only ate and drank what we could sneak in to each other. We couldn’t get caught though. That’s what happened to Jason….

    “I’m sorry, honey.” Shelly is pushing us to the car again. I shake her hand off and pick up Andy to carry him. He buries his sad little face in my shoulder and whispers, “When does Jason come home?” Another tear falls down my cheek.

    I murmur in a shaky voice, “Never. He’s up in Heaven singing with the angels.” I sure hope that’s true.

    Then, Andy says something with wisdom way beyond the typical five-year-old. “When do we get to go to Heaven to sing with Jason and the Angels?”

    I barely keep myself together. “I don’t know, Andy. I just don’t know yet, baby.” He buries his face in my shoulder again and I hold him even tighter…..









    The Lamp

    Crash! Everyone heard it. Jason and I looked at each other in panic. I knew we were thinking the exact same thing. Andy! We have to get to him before our dad does! I took off running toward the noise. I’ve always been faster than Jason. I beat him to Andy and told Andy to run to the laundry room as fast as he could and the fold the clothes in the dryer. He said in a shaky little voice, “Okay. Sorry.”

    I whispered quickly, “It’s fine. Go!!”

    He took off running. I gestured Jason to go. I was taking this beating. Jason understood and dashed back to his chores. I looked down and saw that Andy had knocked down the lamp. It was in a million pieces I went through my list of chores looking for a decent excuse. Vacuuming, no. Dishes, no. Sewing, no. Cooking, no. Dusting! So I pulled my dusting cloth out of my pocket. Any second, my father would be storming in, demanding to know what happened.

    Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! I took a deep breath, held it for a minute, and let it out.

    SLAM! Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! I crouched down to start cleaning up the pieces.

    “Who did it?!” He yelled it so loud that you could’ve heard him from miles away. I stood up, knowing what was coming. I looked at him and said softly and carefully, “I was dusting and I tripped and accidentally hit the lamp and it fell off the table.”

    His face got all red like usual and I put up my arms to brace myself for the hit. Jason showed me that trick after the fifth time that our dad broke my jaw. Jason said that if our dad breaks my arms to tell him when the jerk leaves again and he’ll set them for me and bandage them. But Jason can’t set a jaw. And if it heals wrong you could have some real problems. I heard the footsteps running toward me. I closed my eyes, bracing myself.

    BAM!!! It hit me right in the chest. I flew back across the room right into the picture frame on the wall. I was gagging and coughing, trying to breathe. I saw something red shoot out in front of me. I looked at my chest. I wasn’t bleeding. I’d coughed up blood. I got up again. It was stupid, but I had pride and wanted to fight back. I knew it would make the beating worse, but I didn’t think of that. It was instinct.

    “You want more kid?! Fine!” He didn’t give me a chance to do anything, but turn away a little bit.

    Crack! He’d hit my collarbone. I tried to back away, but he grabbed me by the hair and pulled me back.

    “You scared or something? Well I’ll give you something to be scared of!!” He pulled back his fist. I turned my back to him as fast as I could.

    Pop!! My shoulder shot a shock of pain through my body.

    Dislocated shoulder and broken collarbone. Shoot, I thought. I bent over and tried to hide from his nest blow.

    “Get up and take this beating, wimp!! If you can’t take a good beating you have no place being here!!” So I straightened up and hid the pain. He started beating me up again and I just curled into a ball and let him hit me, kick me, throw me around, and shove me into walls and furniture and everything. When I was more like a limp beanbag than a human being, he finally stopped and left me there—bleeding and gasping for air.

    Before he slammed the door shut, he yelled over his shoulder, “Have it all cleaned up before I come back in! Or else!” Slam!

    As soon as the door shut, Jason was at my side performing first-aid. I heard little footsteps scampering in. Andy ran toward me with tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Ashlyn! I didn’t want this to happen! It was an accident! I’m sorry!” He was bawling. Poor kid.

    “It’s okay. I’ll be fine, sweetie. I know you didn’t mean to. It’s not your fault, honey. It’s okay. I shouldn’t have stood back up. You did nothing wrong. You’re a good boy. I love you.” I was trying to comfort him. I think it worked a little bit.

    He nodded and asked, “Can I do anything to help?” I thought for a minute. “Did you already do your chores?”

    He nodded.

    Jason spoke as he tended to me. “Can you go get the broom and dustpan for me?”

    Andy nodded and ran off.

    “Why didn’t you let me take it, Ashlyn?”

    I looked Jason in the eye. “It was my turn. You took it last time. I had to do my part.”

    He looked like he was about to cry. He didn’t say anything. Andy got back with the dustpan and broom. Jason thanked him and told him to clean up what he could, but to be careful not to get cut. Andy obeyed silently.

    Eventually Jason had finished with me. He started sweeping up all the glass. I started cleaning up the blood and putting everything back where it belonged. Then Andy and Jason helped me finish the rest of my chores. When we were done, we all went up to the bedroom we shared and sat on the bed while Jason talked to us about God. Then our dad came in.











    Burned

    Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

    The smoke alarm. I was making lunch. I had left for a minute to help Andy do the laundry. I ran into the kitchen hoping I wasn’t too late.

    I was. The soup I was making looked more like mud. I kicked myself in my mind. I knew that, once again, my dad would stomp in any second, demanding to know what happened. Oh, well. Whatever, I thought. I started bracing myself for the beating.

    Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! I took a few deep breaths.

    SLAM!! Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! I look down.

    “What happened?!!” His words were just as loud and slurred as the day before.

    “It burned,” I murmured. He came at me and put my arms up.

    POP! Same shoulder as yesterday. The wave of pain that shot through me brought rage with it. I gathered my other hand into a fist and hurled it at his jaw. I started running, but it had barely phased him. He grabbed me and threw me to the ground. Then he got something off the cabinet and beat me with it. He kept beating me until I could barely breathe. When he finally stopped, he dragged me into the closet and locked the door. “One week!” I heard him yell at me through the thick wood.

    I put my head down and shut my eyes.

    Next thing I knew, I woke up in a puddle of blood. Someone had pushed a plate with some food under the door. There was also a ziplock bag with water in it. I silently thanked Jason and ate the food and started drinking a little water. I didn’t know if it was day or night, or how long I’d been in there. I decided to save some water just in case Jason couldn’t get any to me soon.

    Just then, I heard soft, sneaky footsteps. I knew it was Jason. A paper plate and another bag with water in it came under the door. Then Jason surprised me. He sent a note under, too. I picked it up and read it.


    Hey Ashlyn,
    Everything will be fine. You’re my little sister. We love you to death. Little Andy thinks you’re the best girl that ever lived. And so does God. Maybe this happened so that you can get close to him. Get to know him. Please? Anyway, we love you to death!

    Love,
    Jason Gibson


    I grabbed that letter to my chest and started to cry. Then I heard the scariest words of my life.

    My father’s deep, threatening voice yelled out, “I’m gonna kill you, Jason!!” Then I heard Jason’s footsteps running away and my dad’s running after him. I was freaked out. I tried to get the door open somehow. I couldn’t.

    “Ahhhh! HELP ME!!!” Jason screamed. He never yelled in a beating! Much less ask for help! My father was out there killing my brother because of me and I was trapped in this closet!! I couldn’t do anything!

    Jason kept screaming and moaning and letting out little yelps. It seemed like centuries before I heard someone bust through the door and yell, “Leave the boy alone!” My dad’s yells and grunts stopped and I heard Jason’s cries and bawling. Then, I heard a click. They had arrested my father.

    I started fooling with the doorknob so they would let me out. One cop finally opened the door and I ran out to Jason.

    He looked terrible. Sort of like a zombie from one of those horror movies. He had blood all over him and his whole body was covered with deep gashes. His clothes were torn and bloody as well. He was already covered in gruesome scars from old beatings, but this was worse than ever.

    I gave him a tight hug, saying, “It’s all right. It’ll be fine. God loves you and he’ll take care of you. I love you. Andy loves you. You can hang on. You can Jason. I know you can.” I kept whispering words like this in his ear until the paramedics got there and made me let him go with them. Then I went and held Andy to tame his pleading cries for his “sissy.”

    They put my father in a cop car to the police station, while Andy and I were placed in ambulances to the same hospital as Jason.

    In the ER, things got really crazy, really fast.















    Vows

    Medical terms were flying through the air at the speed of light. Jason, Andy, and I were all on separate gurneys in the same room.

    The ER doctors worked over me hastily; yet, I wasn’t paying any attention to them. I was only focused on Jason.

    I stared at his lifeless body, wishing that he’d wake up and take control of it again. He stayed motionless though.

    When the medics finally finished with me, I called out to Jason, frantically. “Come on, Jason! Wake up! Please!! We need your help! We need you!”

    His eyes stayed shut but his lips started moving. The voice that escaped them was much more tender and weak than usual, though. “Ashlyn, you don’t need me. You only need God. It’s time for me to go meet him. Our dad cannot hurt you or Andy anymore. Before I die, promise me this. Go find God. He’s calling out to you. Take his hand. Do you promise?”

    I was crying at the strength of my beloved brother’s words. “Yes, Jason. I will. I promise. I love you.”

    “Thank you, Ashlyn. I love you and Andy. I will miss you but I must leave now. Remember your promise. There is a God. He loves you. I’m going to Heaven to sing with the angels. You and Andy go find God and worship Him.”

    With that, my dearest, older brother drew his last breath and let his spirit float up to Heaven to sing praises to God with the angels, forever.


















    Part II: Healing and Mending

    Preface

    Tears pour from my eyes in a torrent. Unforgiving, hate and fear—brought back by old memories—linger on my tongue. His warm embrace envelops me—hideous past and all. His fresh scent floods my lungs as I take a deep breath, trying to control my sobs. The most beautiful, loving, and understanding voice escapes his lips and whispers into my ear, “It’s okay, love. It’ll be okay, Ash. I’ll never let anything happen to you. I’ll always protect you. No matter what. You can come to me about anything. I love you, Ashlyn. More than I’ve ever loved anyone before. Or ever will again. Nothing can ever change that. Ever. I love you, baby girl. It’s okay, Ashie.”

    I bury my face in Darian’s chest. It seems to be right where I belong. Like I could stay here forever, crying to my love. If only that were possible.

    Sarah calls us into the kitchen. I want to ignore her and stay here, but Darian lifts my face and smiles at me—an underlying meaning in his expression. I give him a tiny smile—all that I can manage at the moment—and we switch to a less suggestive position to make our way to the kitchen….









    Arrival

    Shelly urged Andy and me up the steps to our new foster home, the Elsiks’. She finally walked up ahead of us and rang the doorbell. Andy and I grudgingly lugged ourselves to the front door.

    A woman that seemed to be in her forties opened the door, slowly. I knew immediately that we wouldn’t get along. She wore an angry frown. And had an all-out look of unpleasantness. Her face was covered with wrinkles and surrounded by a mess of dirty, tangled, brown hair. Her eyes were a cloudy green color. They had incredibly dark black rings under them, showing many sleepless nights. When she opened her mouth to speak, I saw hideously yellow teeth—obviously from smoking. She looked a little like my mama did before she suicided….

    Mrs. Elsik’s voice was all scratchy, reassuring me that she was an avid smoker. She looked at Shelly and asked in an annoyed tone, “Are these the new ones I got a call about?”

    Shelly was still her cheerful self. “They sure are! This is Ashlyn,” she gestured to me, “and this is little Andy. They’re really some good kids! You’re going to fall in love with them!”

    Mrs. Elsik didn’t seem to think so. Neither did I. She glared at Andy and me for a second. Finally, she said, “Okay. Get in here kids,” she moved from the door to let us by and turned to Shelly. “I got all I need from you. Go away now. Bye.”

    Shelly was silent for once and turned back to the car leaving us with this lady, lost and confused.


    Cast out

    “Ashlyn, what’s wrong with you?!” Mrs. Elsik’s scratchy voice screamed. I flipped my hair over my face to hide, and stared down at the painful little marks on my right hand. My anger had not been easily concealed since I’d gotten to the Elsiks’ house. My nails had been the only way I’d been able to relieve it. They instinctively dug into the back of my right hand when my temper was tried too far.

    “If you don’t say something to anyone besides that ‘Jesus save me’ brother of yours, you’re not stayin’ here!” I didn’t do anything.

    “I mean it!” she threatened.
    I still sat, motionless.

    “Fine! I’m calling that cheery little social worker to pick up you and your little brat of a brother tomorrow morning!” I was fine with that. In fact, I preferred it to this crap (sorry Jason). It’d been like this the whole two months we’d been staying here. She smoked 4 packs a day. Sand she drank. No wonder she reminded me of my mama. She was just as messed up.
    Wouldn’t surprise me if the drunken idiot suicided soon. But what would it matter? Her husband didn’t dare for her. He was always gone at work. He only came here to get money. She didn’t have any kids. Her parents were dead. I sure as hell didn’t care one bit about her. Andy was terrified of her. No one would care if she offed herself. Why should they?

    We stayed silent the rest of the night. The next morning, Shelly was back to take us to another foster home. The Mitchells’ house. She said they were fostering a fourteen-year-old boy, Darian, and trying to adopt him.