Ramblings of a Survivor

The story of my captivity begins long before November 1976 when I was brought into this world; long before my dad walked the halls of Salinas, California’s Memorial Hospital searching and praying for a name for the baby who was supposed to be a boy…

My mom used to tell me that they had to put “Grace” as my middle name, since I didn’t have much of it anywhere else. I’m a klutz they came to find out…and was not born with a filter in my physical body or on my mouth, nor a gauge for self-regulation or emotional steadfastness. You see, I’m impulsive and passionate; validation seeking and exuberant: the kind of person that people meet and say, “well, dang, you’re a lot.”

“Grace” was something I have needed all my life – in all its many forms. It was lacking in actual existence, present in word and middle name only. “My Grace is sufficient for you.”

MY GRACE IS SUFFICIENT FOR YOU (2 Corinthians 2:9).

My backpack fell open in front of me where I dropped it; its royal blue fleur-de-leis pattern shining elegantly from its tattered fabric. Baggies of a rejected lunch that I had hidden under crunched up college ruled paper snuck out exposing my aversion to anything unprocessed. An apple fell onto my manure clad boot.

Today had been a rough day. It was Wednesday, and we had our group meeting in an hour or so. Having just returned from the Ranch, I could hear my siblings arguing over who was next to use the shower. Hannah seemed to win the argument as I heard Colin sit down and start playing the piano like was George Winston. Dad was sitting at the dining room table, engrossed in his newspaper, tapping the dirty yellow linoleum floor with his left foot and letting out grunts of displeasure every few minutes. Mom was hurriedly finishing up a dinner of Chicken a la king, frantically reminding all of us that the living room needed to be vacuumed, chairs arranged in the living room, and begging us to help with preparing the living room for the few families that would be coming for Wednesday night meeting. Even with the knowledge that everyone in the church was in a similar state, preparing for their own weekly meetings, I was anxiously, nervously awaiting the low, seering ring of the brown phone hanging on the wall in the kitchen – the one with the long curly cord that could reach from the wall to the countertop. I knew it was coming. There’s no way it wouldn’t. And then…consequences.

Silence. An hour went by. No ring.

Mom’s voice called from the kitchen as I unbuttoned my dirty jeans smelling of horses and weathered leather: “MELISSA! I need you to vacuum the living room, please — and use that powder we got. Arm and Hammer. The box is in the hall closet – Strider’s smell is awful today.”

The yellow-gold carpet – after years of four kids, incontinent pets, church and family gatherings, and overall deferred maintenance – was tattered and seasoned with years of abuse.

Realizing I wasn’t going to be able to shower before families started arriving around 6:45, I threw off my jeans and grabbed a denim skirt and blouse. Hannah was still showering when I went in and washed my face.

“It’s going to be ok. It’s going to be ok.” I repeated to the acne-infested face staring at me in the mirror.

Closing the door behind me as Hannah dried herself off, our golden retriever Strider jumped up on me. Licking my face.

“Get off, you stinky, stupid dog!”

Picking through the celery and sour taste, I grabbed a bite of chicken out of the pot on the one working burner of the stove.

“I ate!” I hollered to mom.

“Great! Can you just be sure to find my Bible and church notebook and put it in the living room?” Mom requested as she frantically tidied around my dad.

“Got it.” I responded as I sorted through the pile of papers on the counter by the phone.

Colin transitioned into another George Winston inspired version of Amazing Grace. “OH-MY-GOSH” he was so annoying.

As I walked towards the Daisy wallpapered bedroom that I shared with my sister Hannah, I heard the sound of a car pulling into our driveway. I glanced down at my Swatch watch, and saw it was 6:55 pm. There had been no call.

No one called? Really? This was BAD.

“Ok. Two hours at least before punishment.” I thought to myself.

I walked to the door and welcomed the Cochrans.

I was safe for tonight. At least now.