Chapter 2

I know my brother was there. Three years older than me at the time. I recall he had been off riding dirt bikes with one or more of the brothers on the trails that ran on their large parcel of land.

I can see him rescuing me from their clutches as they held me down on the poor helpless girl.

And yet her puzzling reaction to my not acting like the others before me. I realize now that she had been through something similar before this.

Heaving sobs. Shock. Helping me pull my clothes back on, my brother walking slowly with me as we crossed the street.

I can picture their dark wooded house. A rancher or something like it. An icebox where they kept a never ending supply of Nestle chocolate bars.

My brother, attempting to help me back from some abyss in my mind. Buying me a pack of Rolo's from the corner gas station across the way. A soda pop too and it may have been a Coke. Still fuzzy but the memory is in there waiting to come out and say hello to me.

Who or what convinced me to keep quiet about this? How did I put this into my "hiding place" and not revisit these memories until the triggers of the last few weeks/days/hours prompted their appearance?

Deep down I know that I am a good person. I know right from wrong. Good from bad. My addictions have been drink and gambling. I stay away from both of them and do very well at times.

And yet. I know my wife has been on this ride. And I know she is still trying her best to 'figure out' just what makes me tick.

I know that when she calls me on something. Tries to pull me into a deeper discussion. I pull away. I downright act like a 10 year old boy in my running away, hiding, escaping from whatever pain my mind does not want to find in that place I keep deep within.