Wendy Jensen
I accelerate onto the freeway
trees flashing by
and my assured solitude tickles awake a memory.
An unbidden flicker
quiet as snow on sand.
A piece of my child self
hidden by adult skin.
That piece forbids movement
leaving me as if
dead inside.
She whispers
close my eyes
turn off the switch to my ears
numb my skin
shutter my brain
stay alive.
Don't feel
because therein lies danger
the possibility of bursting out into the world
curtains opening
flooding me with sights
and sounds
and worst of all
remembered sensations.
I hold tightly to the wheel
carefully follow the painted lines
while the terror of his touch
floods back into my bones
un-aged
ripping out stitches.
The overpowering wave
touches my grown skin
and mind
and heart.
I cannot keep it in
I cannot stop it
from all but drowning me
in its awful
immensity.
Hard on the heels
of the released anguish
the acknowledged horror
the dread
famished for attention
comes very real
anger.
Highway markers count upwards
while anger
from my adult bones
pushes me
to open my eyes
unblock my ears
unstill my legs
and free my arms.
This anger demands
flailing
screaming
kicking my way
out of the oblivion
that used to be safest.
I carefully watch the speed limit
stay in my lane
letting the storm rage.
No-one can interrupt me
at 65 miles an hour.
I remember
the safety of the closed bathroom door
one room
where a lock was allowed
just a jail cell
locked from the inside.
No flowering of life there.
No feeling allowed.
The lock on my car door
promises safety to my grown self
now enclosing a wall
of angry child skin
which can no longer countenance
touches
caresses
forcing messages
past squinched lids
stopped ears
numb nerve endings.
This anger
though fearful
is my salvation.
I am learning
to speak
to yell.
Here in my head
I peel away child skin
from woman skin
separate the past
from accompanying highway trees
and my hands
curve tightly
around the steering wheel.
I am becoming more whole.
I have risen
from my child's bedsheets
looked around
and found myself
finally
alone.
Finally
abandoned
no longer required
to remain silent
the last hide-and-seek player
who waits
not knowing that her little friends
have all gone home
and given up the search.
The time for hiding is over.
Now I can scream
and the power that bubbles up
from deep in my gut
is exhilarating.
My heart races
even though I sit
serenely in my adult world
behind the wheel
the horizon spreading before me.
A veil lifts off my face
with my released breath.
I take in deep drafts
and blow them out
snorting like a charging horse
free to move
feel
think
see
hear
yell.
My voice
silenced for so long
no longer waits
to tell my story.
He did this
to me.
Wendy Jensen
I grew up in three different countries, landing finally in New Hampshire to practice homeopathic veterinary medicine, play violin, and raise my children. My writing has appeared in the Tiny Seed Journal as well as numerous homeopathy journals. My experiences as a veterinarian, an advocate at my local crisis center, and a researcher at an animal rights organization all come together to inform my work.