A story that I wrote for English to raise awareness for child abuse victims.

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KATIE

By: Andria Esther Torrez

Her daddy didn’t know what he was doing to her. He thought that his actions only affected himself-his body, and his mind. For now it would be OK, but he didn’t know what he would soon become.
“Daddy, can I get one this time?” ,I said as I pointed at a candy display. “Katie, you know I don’t have enough money for that.” He growled at me as he walked towards the liquor aisle inside the store. “You promised me last time.” , I said under my breath. It was always like this. He always promised me things and never went through with anything he said. It had been like that since he started hanging out with his new buddies. I never got any attention after that. A seven-year old girl needs her daddy more than his friends need him. I caught up to him just as he selected a large bottle off the shelf. It was his favorite kind now. He brought home a bottle one night after hanging out with the guys. He said it was just for pleasure, but it grew worse and worse with every time. He started leaving me home at night while he goes out…for hours at a time. He comes home angry…at me. He ripped me off of the couch by my hair and tried to hit me. I could usually tear away before the second blow so I could run and hide. I ran to the closet and slam the door. I am safe…but only for a little while. I know that one day he will stumble upon the closet and find me once more. I dread that day.
Oh no! He’s home! I need to hide. Lord help me if he finds me. I stumble down the hall trying to get myself to safety. Once safe in the back of the closet I hear him in my room. Does he know where I am? He passes the closet where I hid, and I can smell the liquor on his breath. I start to cry, and he jerked his head back in my direction. I tried to still my tears-to no avail. He tried the knob, and opened the door slowly. I screamed, and tried to run. But he got to me before I could get out of my bedroom. He pushed me against the wall, and began to strike me in rage. I cried and screamed and pleaded with him to stop. He continued while I hugged my knees, trying to shield myself from his blows. It doesn’t work, and I am starting to feel dizzy. The blackness closes in on me.
I awoke the next morning to a familiar soreness all over my body. I was on my bedroom floor and the door was closed. I stood up ad winced as a flash of pain traveled up and down my spine. I slowly opened the door and peeked out to make sure dad wasn’t around. I sneaked into the bathroom to clean up. I looked in the mirror a my hideous face-it was cut and bruised, and my cheeks looked fat. Who knew that my dad could be such a monster? Not mydad. I turned on the faucet and began to splash cool water on my bruised face. It felt so good. When I was finished, I peeked out the door just to be sure. As I walked down the hall, I heard the familiar laughter of my dad’s friends. My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the front door. I walked across the carpet to a window and looked out. A woman was at my door. I opened the door slowly. The woman stood there like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. She wore a tag that stated her name, title, and the department that she worked for. It read “Children, Youth, and Families Department; Cheryl Davidson; Investigative Social Worker.”…”Hi, are you Katie?”, She asked. “Yes.” I answered timidly. “I came to visit you today. Is that OK with you?” “Yes.” I said. “Can you come outside and talk to me?” The woman asked. I nodded and stepped outside. “Is your dad home?” I nodded again. “Is it OK if I ask you some questions, then talk to your dad?” “OK.” I said. “Well, Katie, I’m a social worker. Do you know what that is?” “No.” I said. “I help make sure kids are safe. Do you know what it is to be safe?” she asked. “Yeah.” “What is it?” “It’s when you don’t get hurt.”, I said. “Good, now when I ask you questions, it’s very important that you tell me the truth.” She said. “What is it to tell the truth?” “It’s when you don’t lie.” “Ok, good. You have a big bruise on your face. Can you tell me how that happened?” I hesitated, then I decided to tell her the truth, just as she’d asked. “My dad hit me.” I said timidly. “Has this happened more than once?” I nodded. “Are you afraid of your dad?” She asked. “Only sometimes…when he comes home mad.” “Do you know why he comes home mad?” “because he drinks beer with his friends.” “How do you feel when your dad drinks?” “I, I don’t like it cause he gets mad.” I said. “And when he comes home mad does he hit you?” “When he can catch me he does.” “How does he hit you?” she asked. “With his hands.” I answered. “And when he hits you are his hands open or closed?” “closed.”. “OK, do you have any questions for me?” “Are you gonna tell dad what I said?” “No.” she said, then smiled at me. “OK.” I said. “Can you open the door and call your dad for me?” “OK.” I said. So I opened the door and yelled to dad that there was someone at the door. The lady named Cheryl had stepped to the side and was making a call on her cell phone. When dad came to the door she hung up and approached him. ” Good morning, my name is Cheryl Davidson. I work for child protective services, and we have received a report alleging abuse or neglect of your daughter. Would you mind if I come in so we can discuss the details of this report?” “Sure.”, daddy said, then he turned to me and told me to go to my room and close the door. I went, but I left the door cracked, so I could hear what they were saying. Cheryl’s voice said “I received a report on Monday stating that there was alleged physical abuse to your daughter by you. On the report it states that occasionally you return home late at night drunk, and we are concerned that your daughter is not getting the supervision that she needs. It has also been noted that your daughter has had marks and bruises on her body following your return home…What do you say to these allegations?” Cheryl said. “They’re absolutely ridiculous.” dad said. “Well what about the bruises on her face today?” “…She was playing outside and she fell down.” “I don’t think that you’re telling the truth.” she said. “and I want to let you know that I’ve called the police and they’re responding to your house now.” I heard sirens and I ran to look out my bedroom window- sure enough-there were police cars headed towards my house.
They came inside and asked to talk to me. There was a soft knock on my door, and a uniformed officer stood in the door frame. He asked if he could talk to me. I said yes. He asked me the same questions as Cheryl did, and I answered each one the same as I had the previous time. Then he left my room and went to talk to Cheryl and the other officers. They whispered in a corner for a few minutes, and then faced my dad. The tall officer spoke: “We have assessed and verified the need for a forty-eight hour hold to determine whether or not the state will have to file a legal case to keep your daughter in custody for longer than the temporary hold. During this temporary custody we will have time to place Katie in foster care and talk to any relatives who may know information regarding this case.
The next thing I knew, I was in the back on Cheryl’s car, and she was taking me “into custody” as they called it. I cried on the way because even though my daddy hit me, he was still my daddy and I still loved him.
I stayed in the state’s custody fr almost three years. I am now fourteen years old, and I have been in the custody of my father for four years. The state helped him realize what he was doing, and they helped him fix it. I could only see him a few times a month at first, but as his behavior started getting better I was able to stay longer, until the state felt that it was safe to give me back to him. I will be forever grateful to the social worker, Cheryl Davidson.

 

All rights reserved.

Copyright: Andria Esther Torrez

~ME~

~ by andriatorrez on August 4, 2008.