Editor’s Note: The following article is an excerpt from my manuscript detailing my own abuse. Please see “My Story of Abuse” under the category link.
They were off again to their grandma Mimmy’s house in Monkey Town. It took so long to get there, and Darcie as usual was teasing Dottie. A loud bellow came from the front seats, “Now damn-it, “I said to shut the hell-up! Darcie leave her the hella’ lone before I stop this car!” You could have heard a pin drop, and little Dottie crawled to Crystal’s lap. Before long, she was being lowered onto a mattress with Crystal and Darcie already sleeping—they had arrived at their Grandma’s house. Dottie could hear noises downstairs from the grown-ups talking and moving about the kitchen. She drifted quickly back to sleep.
The entire household was up at the crack of dawn, Mim yelled, “Don’t knock over the slop-jar.” The girls had to be careful going down the steps that they didn’t knock the pee-pot over. One of their cousins did that—and got into all kinds of trouble. There was always a lot of confusion and Mim shouting out orders to the tops of her lungs to Mara. She’d always fry what she call “fresh-side.” The girls didn’t like it—it was hard and greasy and it sort of tasted like bacon. Dottie usually would sneak out the back door to get away from all the noise, and the “fresh-side.”
An old chicken coupe’ sat at the end of the yard. The chickens would peck you if you got very close to them—so Dottie usually watched from a distance. She glanced around the yard and the ole’ chopping block immediately caught her eye; as she shuddered remembering the last time she saw the blood-stained stump. Aunt Allie had gone to the coupe’ and came back with a squawking chicken carrying her by the neck. No one knew at the time, but it turned out to be Darcie’s pet chicken, Carrie. Aunt Allie was mad at her; and was cussing at her to shut-up. She reached down by the stump and picked up a hatchet. She laid the chicken’s neck on the stump and whacked its’ neck with the hatchet! Her head went flying, and there was a shower of blood. The chicken started running all around the yard with no head and blood gushing out of its neck. She’d run into the fence, and Aunt Allie would laugh saying, “I got ya’ ole bitch, didn’t I?” Dottie was petrified—she tried to run, but she wasn’t going anywhere; until Crystal grasped her by the arm and took her into the house. She heard Aunt Allie coming in the back door, saying “here Mim, you can feather the damn thing.” They had chicken that night, no one the wiser.