By Kayla Davison
Nine years old
Washington McDonald's
Always finished eating first and to the
play area I went.
You finished next, not a surprise and you
followed behind.
You found me in one of the little, padded
areas with a see-through covering.
Then as I fully turned around, it happens
so fast.
All my brain could process were these three
things:
The sharp pain in my back as it met the
rough padding,
The feeling of those sandpaper lips against
mine,
And the death grip you had on my wrists,
burning
Them as tight rope does around one’s flesh.
And as you made your entrance, you made
your exit just as fast,
Leaving me with a wave of shock and the
ever-growing nausea that followed.
Ten years old
The same Washington McDonald's
Always finished eating first and to the
play area I went.
Although this time I venture with caution
as an alert deer does with its many predators.
Every movement I make is taken with care,
Regardless of the soreness from the hard
ground against my knees.
I feel as if in an enclosing cave, the
walls slowly creeping in as the air grows thin.
Before long I meet an open space with a
circular exit and the sun beaming against my pale face.
Oh, how the color drained from my face as I
saw you.
How my muscles tensed up and my heart
dropped
How I wished nothing more than to be next
to my mother instead of this monster.
It got a whiff of vulnerability and strikes,
Blocking either exit to set its prey's
trap.
It becomes clear that negation was never an
option
And a deal’s presented, masked with
innocent intent.
A tremulous nod and it happens so fast.
All my brain could process were these three
things:
The feeling of those sandpaper lips now
against my flesh,
Unwanted hands in unwanted places,
And the pressure in my throat as I forced
back a scream.
As you appeared, you disappeared just as
fast,
Leaving me with a broken mind and the
ever-growing nausea that followed.
Eleven years old
Now in your trailer
My mother's away, but my siblings remain.
I'm older and wiser,
I know all the tricks,
But yet you expect my company, alone
In your bed with you that night.
Your mother's love for you is blinding
enough for her to encourage it,
Unaware of your desire-fueled intentions.
And for once I say "no"
My siblings and I shoulder-to-shoulder.
As I reflect that night, it comes to me so
fast.
All my brain can process is this one thing:
I'll never forget everything you did to me.
Kayla Davison lives in Germantown Hills and
is working for her bachelor's degree in English writing. Writing has been a
passion of hers since she was in 6th grade, beginning with small plays, then to
novels in 8th grade and poetry in August 2021. She hopes to become a
best-selling author one day and wants to get some of her poetry published, as
well.