Keep Quiet
by Emma Freeman
That house where I played when I was a child
was not safe it turned out
but I did not know that then
or how to say that to anyone
It was there that I saw
what no child should ever see
and then I saw it again
and again and again
my body ached each time
but the pain somehow mixed with curiosity
and pleasure and confused me
Those experiences got locked inside my body
for years and years and years
festering
causing me to act on their behalf
I longed for what I saw
and sought it out wherever I could
an addiction formed
masking itself as self-soothing
rooted in a deep wound I couldn’t see
and did not know how to heal
playing itself out on an endless loop
creating deeper tunnels of shame and guilt
that I secretly lived inside of
Then, one day
many, many years later
something called to me and I knew what I had to do
So I dove down into the dark cave of that memory
and walked into that house
I found little me standing in that dim hallway
with the green shag carpet outside the bathroom
I walked up to her
crouched down and looked into her soft blue eyes
and could see how scared she was
I wrapped my arms around her small, tender body
and told her that it wasn’t safe in that house
and asked her to come with me
I held her hand
as we walked down the hallway together
past the bedroom with the loud black and white tv on
where my friend’s grandma slept with a gun under her bed
through the kitchen full of boxes of potato chips and bags of milk
past the basement stairs where the raccoons were kept
and hundreds of tiny white ceramic figurines
sat silently on shelves
We walked together to the front door
and as it opened
I felt her hand squeeze mine as I gently squeezed back
the smell of fresh air almost knocked us both over
like a cleansing tidal wave
finally washing away the stale residue of that house
that had seeped into our skin
As soon as we got safely to the street
I turned around
took a deep breath
lit a match
and burned that house down to the ground