Screaming Casually into the Void: Close Calls

Episode 2: What if...

Welcome to another episode of my “Screaming Casually into the Void” series, where I ramble and mumble and maybe connect with others willing to read this. Here I’ll talk about human things such as emotions, ideologies, what I ate for breakfast, etcetera. Tangible things that may or may not be relatable to everyone, but are definitely a part of me.

Let’s talk about the close calls this week. The moments where, in the grand scheme of things, I was lucky. The moments where someone else might not have been.

Keep in mind, all this is from my perspective as an almost thirty year-old woman.

The very first time I was lucky I don’t even remember. I was three-ish. But for you to fully understand this, I need to establish some context. At that age I lived in a duplex owned by my grandmother. But it wasn’t the typical side-by-side duplex, no. My mom, brother, and I lived upstairs and my grandmother and step-grandfather lived downstairs and there was this spiral staircase that led to either a door to go outside or you could enter where my grandmother lived from the inside. And at that time my uncle had moved in with my grandmother because he was going through a divorce, the woman he was seeing had just broken up with him, and I believe he also lost his job. He was obviously down on his luck, and all I remember of him was the child-like love I had for him. It wasn’t long after he moved in with my grandmother that he committed suicide, but that’s not the part of his story I want to focus on.

My uncle was not the man my little child-like brain thought he was. But what adult is? That’s part of growing up, right?

But I digress. The reason he was going through a divorce and a break-up was because it was suspected he was sexually abusing his own children and his girlfriend’s children. No charges were ever pressed to my knowledge, but maybe it was going to happen. Could have been a reason why he chose to stop breathing. All I know is I believe he did do it. And I joke around in real life and say it is hereditary because my grandfather (my grandmother’s first husband) on my mother’s side was the same way, and my uncle’s son did go to prison for his crimes.

But I didn’t know the family secrets back then. I was three.

So when my mom told me about how I used to run all around the duplex buck-ass naked, it’s a wonder why he didn’t give into temptation. Or why any of the adults — who knew what was suspected but refused to say it out loud — didn’t stop me from streaking around him.

That was the first time I was lucky. I don’t know who I’d be if I wasn’t.

The next close call is similar to the first. I wasn’t much older, maybe four, but I don’t quite remember. My mom decided that we should visit my grandfather, her father. This was the first and last time we did so. Unlike my uncle, my grandfather was arrested for his crimes against my mother when she was a child. She had reported her incident with the police. And that was that. Kind of. He obviously didn’t stay very long in jail, or at least I don’t think he did. To be honest, I’m not sure if he went to prison, and I won’t ask. There are some memories you don’t reawaken on purpose.

Again, I’m distracted with the details. So we visited him. I don’t remember exactly what my mom was doing, but at some point I was alone with him and his new wife. They had asked me if I wanted to go to the store with them, and my little brain thought it was fine.

They were family, right?

The only problem is… They neglected to tell my mom they were taking me.

So here I am, with practically two strangers, one of which had sexually abused my mom, which again, I didn’t know. I was four.

So, in my mother’s eyes, I had been kidnapped by her predator.

When we got back from the store, I remember her being so angry, and we left almost immediately after that. Never to go back.

That was the second time I was lucky. Luck my mom didn’t get to have.

Some years passed before I would run into my next lucky moment. I was twelve, still living in that same duplex. My mom worked overnights as a nurse and my brother had moved out to live with his dad over some family drama that I’m still not privy to. So I was home alone quite often. Well, my grandma and step-grandfather were just downstairs, so not quite alone.

But this particular winter morning, I was out walking my dog, a beautiful golden retriever puppy who was only a few months old, pretty early. Since it was winter, I only walked about two blocks with her because it was cold and icy, and I had to go to school later that day. And since I knew we weren’t going to be walking very far, I didn’t bother to lock the door.

So, after a few blocks, we turned back to come home. And when we got closer, my dog started acting strange. Her ears perked up, and her eyes were glued to where the door was. I clocked it immediately and started looking where she was looking but I didn’t see anything, so I figured it must’ve been an animal or something. Eventually she returned to normal and we went inside. We climbed that spiral staircase together and opened the door.

Now, for a little context. When you open that door, it enters into a hallway that is perpendicular to it. So think like a “T” where the door is where the vertical line is, and the hallway is the horizontal line. At one end of the “T” was the kitchen, the other end led to the bathroom and further along, the bedrooms.

So from this door you could see the bathroom door. Usually we kept it open if no one was in there, but… after the walk, the door was closed.

My dog, the friendliest creature alive, beelined for the closed bathroom door, tail wagging. And then I watched it. The door cracked open. Just a little. And closed again.

As a twelve year-old, I froze. I remember thinking about calling the police, but I was afraid if I did, whoever was in that bathroom was going to attack me. So I did what any twelve year-old would. I ran downstairs with my dog, flung open the door to my grandmother’s portion of the duplex, and locked the door behind me. I sat on her couch, hugging my dog, frozen, waiting and listening.

I don’t know how long it was, but I did hear someone creep down that spiral staircase. Each creak stretched longer than the last as they listened for me too.

Eventually, they reached the bottom and went out the door, leaving me frozen on my grandmother’s couch.

It could’ve been worse, I can recognize that. But thankfully it wasn’t.

I had nine of these memories I was going to tell, but after seeing how long these took to recite… I think I’ll split these stories up. So this is all I’ll say for now. But remember these were the “almost” moments. I’m not saying I don’t have trauma.

In hindsight, I was very lucky. If any of these situations had gone differently… Who’s to say I would still be here talking, writing, living today?

It’s strange, realizing how thin the line is between before and after. How a moment could change everything in an instant. Or how it doesn’t.

If any of these memories resonate with you, go ahead and send me a DM or comment below.

Until next time, I’ll still be casually screaming into the void.