The Visitor Monica s Diary Wednesday June 28
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The Visitor: Skyla's Diary, Wednesday June 28 free porn video
The Visitor
Skyla's Diary
Wednesday, June 28
Dr. Norfleet brought this journal to me today. The cover is hot pink,
and the edges are all shiny like on a fancy leather Bible. Inside, the
pages are all lined with a place at the top for a date and another one
at the bottom for a page number. Best of all, on the presentation page,
she wrote: "To a pretty girl named Skyla from her friend Olivia".
I was glad to see her. On both Monday and Tuesday these women came from
the Henson's church. They were nice enough I guess, but they all dressed
so plain. They kept asking me questions about where I was from and how
old I was, and did I like school and what I wanted to be. It was like
visiting with your grandmother all day long. And then another one would
come in at night and it would be the same thing all over again. They
were okay for old ladies but not fun.
There wasn't anybody this morning and that's when Dr. Norfleet came. She
was fun. She never forgets to call me Skyla and she says I can call her
Liv. I guess that's short for Olivia, which is her first name. She's
young and really dresses nice. She brought me some really sweet-smelling
lotion, a perfume, and some dry shampoo for managing my hair until I'm
able to shower and wash it. She even brought me a little lavender pen
with hearts on it to write with in my diary.
Anyway, she gave me this journal and said I should write all about my
girl feelings. Like when I first realized that I was a girl and how much
it means to me and how I learned to stop fighting it and made peace with
who I am. She said this would be good practice for when I start seeing
all the doctors who will give me hormones and surgery and counseling and
stuff.
Then she kind of got quiet and told me she had another reason for me to
write this diary. She smiled and motioned with her hand back and forth
between us. "Just between us girls," she said. When I asked her what,
she told me that for my protection I should keep a record of how the
Henson's and all the people at their church treated me.
Liv told me that she knew the Henson's had rescued me and been nice to
me and all, but they were kind of weird and I should be careful because
they might try to brainwash me into being Timothy again. She said they'd
already been talking to my parents in Austin.
Well that scared me. I knew they were religious. They are always quoting
the Bible and praying. And that Hannah is the worst of all. She thinks
everything I do is some kind of sin.
Anyway, Liv told me to write down anything and everything anybody said
or did that hurt my feelings. She said it was her job to protect me, and
the best way she could do that was if I kept a day by day record of all
my experiences. Then if we had to go to court or something I would have
proof of what had been done against me.
After she left I was kind of sad probably because I was expecting
another church lady to come in. But when lunch came and went without
anybody showing up I got kinda bored. The TV still doesn't work, and I
haven't had an iPhone since they sent me off to the boys' ranch. So, I
got to thinking about what Liv said about writing my feelings down.
My very first thought was that Dad wouldn't like that at all. Feelings
weren't his thing. Mom had them, but Dad was action and nothing else.
Whenever I did something wrong meaning not the way he would do it he'd
yell "Think, Timothy, think!" Actually, the way I remember it was
"Thenk, Timothy, thenk!" He seemed to always draw out his commands. But
if I ever did try to stop and figure something out he'd yell "come on
hero we don't have all day." He was always in a hurry and I was always
too slow.
To speed things up he hit me. I don't mean punched me, and he only
slapped me in the face one time. I was so little I don't remember what
it was for. I just remember he apologized to me for it. I guess that's
why I remember it at all. It's the only time I can remember him ever
apologizing to anybody for anything. He did slap me in the back of the
head though, a lot. And boy did he use the belt. He took everything I
did or didn't do personally. If I didn't make good grades I was being
rebellious. If I didn't scrape my plate into the garbage right I was
being rebellious. If I couldn't get the power mower to start without his
help I was defying him. If I struck out in baseball or missed a tackle
in football it was like I was embarrassing him on purpose. Every mistake
ended the same way. I got hit or whipped and it got talked about when
other people were around.
When he was around everything had to be rough and hard and painful. We'd
play catch and he'd throw the ball harder and harder until it hurt my
hand so much I cried. But if I dropped it I got yelled at and if I
dropped it again I was whipped for disobeying him by not paying
attention. When he got me into organized sports, it was worse.
Somehow, between deployments, he always managed to be one of the
coaches, so he was always there, so he saw everything. Once he had us
doing this head-on blocking drill where each of us was supposed to try
to move the other guy back or down or out of the way. He kept screaming
"get low, get low" and so both of us did. We hit each other head to
head. I felt my spine shiver and collapsed face down on the ground
unable to move. Everyone gathered round and rolled me over. I could see
and hear. I think I could breathe, but I couldn't move my arms or legs,
and I couldn't talk. I heard my dad toss it off as "he's just got the
wind knocked out of him; he'll be okay," and had somebody lift my waist
up and down. It only lasted a few seconds, but for those few seconds I
was really scared. All I could think was I'm your son how could you do
this to me. And then everything came back to normal. From then on,
however, I was always afraid of being hurt no matter what I did. I guess
that's why I never seemed aggressive enough for him and why he kept
yelling "what's the matter with you; what are you afraid of?".
Eventually I started hiding from him. I just wouldn't be around where he
was. When he and mom wanted to go somewhere I would always choose to
stay home if I could. And of course, I stopped talking to him. Why would
I not, when anything I might say might be taken for what he called
insolence and punished accordingly.
I remember scenes from movies and later YouTube videos about soldiers
going off to or returning from war. Everyone was so sad to see the
soldier go and so happy to see him return. I remember being confused by
those scenes when I was younger because for me it was just the opposite.
I would happily go with my mom and dad to the airport when he was on his
way to another deployment. The moment the door closed behind him on the
jetway I felt such a sense of relief I became almost giddy. I waved with
great enthusiasm as his plane taxied down the runway and lifted off into
the sky. It meant I was free for maybe a year. When he returned, mom met
him alone. I remained in my room my stomach hurting with the dread of
his appearance.
With dad gone and just mom and me, life was a lot easier. Sure, she
could get mad and yell, but she wasn't scary. I knew she would never
hurt me. Over and over I would think why couldn't Dad be this way? Why
couldn't he be relaxed and leave me alone.
Of course, we talked about it, Mom and me. She assured me over and over
that he loved me and was only hard on me because life was hard, and he
wanted me prepared to face it. That reminds me; his next favorite
expression after "thenk!" was "You think the world owes you a living,
Timothy, but I'm here to tell you the world doesn't owe you nothing." I
still haven't figured out what that means.
What really scared me was when mom told me that he was not only raising
me to be successful but was teaching me how to raise a son of my own. I
don't remember how old I was, but it had to be somewhere in elementary
school. Until that moment, it had never occurred to me that I would grow
up to be a man just like my father. I remember promising her that when I
grew up I would not be like him. She just smiled, but I don't think
either one of us knew what I meant when I said that.
Sometime later, probably not even in the same year, I wandered into the
living room while the TV was on. I think my mom had been watching some
kind of chick flick and had left to check on something in the kitchen.
Anyway, the movie was set in England like a million years ago and there
was this really, really beautiful young lady, you know slim and with the
hair and this gown that was just wow. And this handsome guy dressed the
way English guys dressed a million years ago comes into her garden tells
her how wonderful and beautiful and kind she is and how she owns him
body and soul. When he says all this, she starts crying. Not boohooing
but tearing up. Then he gets down on one knee and begs her to be his
wife. She says yes, and he stands up. They very gently take each other's
hands and slowly get closer and closer. Then he kisses her, not like one
of those raunchy, eating-one-another-up kisses like you see all the
time. This was like he was almost worshipping her. I had never seen
anything so gentle so loving or so tender in my whole life.
I watched her enjoy it. She seemed all at once happy and complete and
fulfilled. I remember thinking how wonderful it would be to feel just
like that. And in that moment for as long as the scene lasted I imagined
myself being her and being loved and held and kissed by someone who
thought that I was as beautiful and adorable as she was.
Turned out that my mom had come back into the room and had been as
overcome by the emotion of it all as me. I didn't know she was there
until I heard her sigh behind me. When I turned around I saw tears
streaming down her face just like the girl in the movie. "Wasn't it
perfectly glorious?" she said, and I nodded. Truly it was. Just as truly
we shared the exact same feelings in the exact same way. We were just
alike. I never felt closer to her than I did at that moment. Right then
life seemed like, I don't know, a story book that promised a happily-
ever-after ending. Then she said something that destroyed everything:
"When you meet your Emma, I hope you're as nice to her as Mr. Knightly."
How could she say that? I didn't want to be him. I wanted to be her. She
didn't understand that I had felt exactly the same way about the scene
as she had. All I could do was just say, "Oh, mom," and go back to my
room.
Jo
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