Sunday Specials: Hostility Issues 4 by Paul Jackson

Sunday Specials: Hostility Issues 4 by Paul Jackson
March 27, 2016 No Comments » OWS Features, Special Feature Stephanie Ayers

Paul-coverPaul Jackson was born in North Georgia way back in the time when dinosaurs ruled the earth.  Well, maybe a few years later, but not according to a lot of my cadets.

I am widowed, have an eight year old cat named Wookie, a girl kitten named Thursday, and a little boy kitten named Oliver. All three are rescue cats.

I am a Major in the Confederate States Army, and serve as the Chaplain for several units.

I’ve been doing living history since 1978, and enjoy it immensely! I also portray General Gabriel Rains, the inventor of land mines and torpedoes.

I love to read, write in several genres. My favorite genre is historical fiction, and I have one historical fiction novel published named A Servant’s Story. It sequel, The War Years should come out this year.

I also have a Christian fiction novel named Do I Trust You published, and a YA Fantasy Fiction novel, There’s No Such Truth as ‘Just Because’

CONNECT: Amazon

Trigger warning: child abuse, sexual assault, anger issues

Today we continue the 5 part series written by Paul Jackson. One part goes live each Sunday for the next five weeks.

Hostility Issues

part 1   part 2  part 3

Dean unfolded the paper and began to read.

                                                never, ever, ever

We never talked about it;

never, ever, ever.

One or two times a week

I heard the door open, and he came.

Always Marcie, never me.

Strange, how sometimes I

could sleep through a thunderstorm,

but the sound of the door opening in the night

always woke me up.

Marcie would sometimes softly moan,

(just an exhalation of pain, soft as thunder)

and daddy would go to her bed.

Most times he pulled back the covers

and just got in.

After he left, Marcie and I would usually cry,

but we never talked about it;

never, ever, ever.

He never said much. . .

Mostly, I think to preserve the illusion

that this was not really happening.

There were noises,

and once in a while daddy told Marcie

Turn over.

Once, after a time like that,

I found where Marcie had bitten a hole

all the way through the pillow case.

I think because it hurt.

But we never talked about it;

never, ever, ever,

so I am just going by the sounds she made

(and, of course, the hole in the pillow case).

One time a snake slithered right into our living room.

It’s amazing, but everyone noticed                                     

that really, really horrible thing

as soon as we saw it, and we

talked about it for years afterward.

The other thing went on for years,

and I think mom knew,

but we never talked about it;

never, ever, ever.

 

After the first few lines Dr. Spockenfelter began tapping the point of her silver Parker pen on her legal pad. She watched Dean closely, observing how his body tensed more and more as he continued to read; making note that tears began to run unchecked down his cheeks.

“Leslie wrote that for one of her Bell Ringers.” He slowly folded the paper and put it back inside his billfold. “As you might imagine, this poem disturbed me greatly. I asked her to stay after class so we could discuss it.”

“It is very clear that her sister Marcie was being sexually abused by her father,” Dr. Spockenfelter said quietly. “It seems Leslie was both horrified and yet a little jealous of what was happening to her sister. She was understandably conflicted about the ongoing abuse.”

Dean leaned over and looked Dr. Spockenfelter in the eyes—resting his hands on her desk. “You haven’t heard the punch line yet, doctor.”

“Punch line?”

He straightened, going back to his chair and sitting down. “Leslie was an only child.”

“Oy!”

“I take it you recognize what was really going on?”

“I cannot see how it would not be abundantly clear to anyone with even a basic understanding of how people work,” Dr. Spockenfelter said. “How did Leslie respond when you asked her about it?”

“She told me it was just a poem. She pointed out that she didn’t even have a sister, and that proves it was just a poem.”

“And you did not believe her?”

“Would you?”

“Not for a minute,” she said. “What was your next step?”

“I made a few copies, and gave one each to the school counselor and the principal. The counselor called Leslie in for a chat, and suggested we let it drop when Leslie maintained it was just a poem.”

“Is that counselor a trained therapist?”

“She has one of those degrees you get to be a school counselor, so no.”

“To be a school counselor you do need board certification, so she should have known better.”

“In this case the counselor isn’t quite sure herself. She’s one of those tranny wannabe’s.”

“I’m sure I do not know what you mean, but it sounds bigoted.”

“She dresses the part of a guy, but she’s not convinced enough about her feelings to go ahead and make the switch,” Dean said. “My personal feelings are that in her case, those little flavored cigars she smokes aren’t just cigars.”

“Did you discuss your concerns with her?”

“I bypassed her and went to the principal. The principal called social services.”

“At least the principal had some common sense.”

“More likely he was going to cover his oversized backside. Either way, they sent a social worker to Leslie’s house to investigate it.”

“What was the result of their investigation? I take it that you were not happy with the results.”

“The result was Leslie stuck to her story and DCFS decided to ‘monitor the situation’ and they left it at that.”

“What did Leslie have to say about all the brouhaha? Did she feel betrayed because you brought unwanted attention to what was going on?”

Dean stared at Dr. Spockenfelter a good ten seconds before he answered. “Don’t have any idea. The Burke family packed up and left that weekend. I never heard from her again.”

To be continued…

Tags
Stephanie Ayers A published author with a knack for twisted tales, Stephanie Ayers is the Executive Creative Director of OWS Ink, LLC, a community for writers and readers alike. She loves a good thriller, fairies, things that go bump in the night, and sappy stories. When she is not writing, she can be found in Creative Cloud designing book covers and promotional graphics for authors.

It's YOUR write side, too! Let's hear it!

%d bloggers like this: