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.
The next day was even cooler than the day before, and the leaves were all reds and gold’s; the old weeping willow at Mrs. Sprout’s house was still green. Dottie could see her Dad and Uncle John walking toward the old garage and off she went to see what was going on. Uncle John was a big man, with a scarred up complexion. He probably had a hard time finding someone to marry him. His hair was dark and he wore black-rimmed glasses that were always greasy lookin’. The pig pen was right next to the driveway, but the girls stayed away from the pigs because Uncle John said, “if you get in there—they’ll eat ya’!”
Darcie and Dottie were already afraid of them—they were so big, white and black, and all covered in mud. They had a big, ugly, pink nose with snot always running out of it and hair that looked like wire. The pig pen reeked really bad, and the pigs walked around in squishy mud, and they grunted all the time. And oh my, how they could eat—they’d eat anything you’d throw in their pen.
Dottie saw Darcie in the driveway, playing in the dirt. Darcie’s hair was dark, short and curly—their Mother gave them all permanents—all the time. It didn’t matter that none of the girls wanted a permanent in their hair; they got it anyway. Darcie’s white socks were all dirty and Dottie knew she’d get it when Mom saw them. Uncle John came over and scooped Darcie out of the dirt and held her up above head and said, “whatcha’ doin’ George?” The girls didn’t know why he always called her George. Darcie would blast back, “my name ain’t George!” “Ah, sit up here George,” and he lifted her to the top of a fence post at the corner of the pig-pen. It was a long ways up there too. He stood back from her, and said, “Call me a son-of-a-bitch, and I’ll let you down.” Just on the other side, the pigs were waiting for her to fall in—so they could eat her, Dottie thought. She got up and rushed toward the garage before Uncle John could hoist her up there too! She didn’t want in the pen with those pigs. Dottie could see Darcie’s tear-filled eyes and the fear on her face. Uncle John sneakered, “ah, is the little boy gonna’ cry? Is him afraid of the big, ole’ pigs?” Dottie could hear him laughing at Darcie, and then he suddenly grabbed Darcie and pretended like he was throwing her into the pen! She screamed, “sum-a-bitch! sum-a-bitch!” Then Uncle John let her down; laughing and slapping his thigh. Dottie always was afraid of him.