My little red toy box

The beginning.

In my minds eye, for as long as I can remember, my parents always drank. It would start at dusk for my mom. My father could have started at 11 am, laughing that it was 5:00 somewhere. They would have a seat and share a snack along with my moms' manhattan and my dads' gin. That was the start, always.

I had a red toy box. My dad built it for me. It was bigger then average. It could hold tons of goodies my toys, papers and me. When the drinking started I would clean it out, get my pillow and my pink and white striped blanket and hunker down for the night. She would come for me. To rant and rave about something I did. She never hit me. She just yelled and said mean things. Then she would lock the door, from the outside. I was ever sure why I got locked in my room at night. I imagined I was horrible because that was what she said. For hours I would wait for her crying to stop, again I didn't understand why. I was five.

When it got quiet, I would push a chair to my door, open it, reach my skinny arm through and unlock the chain lock. I would roam the house. I would sneak into the kitchen and eat. I would use the bathroom go back to my room and lock myself back in. They never knew and I never told.

My red toy box was my sanctuary. It hid me from the craziness, it kept me safe. I was a messy kid. My stuff was everywhere. My dad decided that if I couldn't clean my room he would do it for me. He took everything. I mean everything from me even my closet doors. I was left with a mattress on my floor and a pile of clothes. The lock changed to one I couldn't get out of. Time passes and I'm not sure how old I am at this point perhaps, seven? I can remember being terrified to turn on my light. I had no window coverings and I thought people could see me. I would lay still on my bed, listening to my mom cry and praying I didn't have to pee. No one would let me out anyway.

Did I mention I had two older brothers? I don't know why they never got locked in their room. They wouldn't let me out either when I would yell through the crack in the door I had to go to the bathroom. To this day my one brother thinks its funny and still mimicks me.

I don't tell you this for sympathy. It is just a fact. It's my beginning. It was all I knew. My red toy box...meant for happy things was my reality of a sort of home. Sometimes I wish I still had it.