Sad Lisa by Cat Stevens

Sometimes there are songs which touch you, speak, seem to portray you, and when I was young this was that song, only I never had a shirt to cry upon. I had to do for myself, simply because there was no other choice but to do so. Admittedly, it changed me, made me hardened to a lot of things. Doing my best even now to overcome, still, that is what life is about.

Yes, I was the shy, the quiet one; the little girl who stood apart and watched the rest silently; deep, knowing thoughts kept to herself because there was no one to speak them to.

Still remember that Thanksgiving, the whole 'clan' gathered. I was sitting at a table right in the room and my Aunt Chris, standing less than five feet away said to another relative, “Melissa is so pretty. Too bad she is retarded.”

I do not get on that well with my family. All except for my Grandmother, she is one whom I love totally. Here is her aura:

Now, I have already posted this, wrote a little story about her and the taking of this image. It's really great. Uplifting. You can see it by clicking HERE. Trust me, it is worth it.

This post, however, is about her son, Peter, the man who is my father, though I do not call him such. Here is his aura:

Sorry, gets me sick even looking at it, so I will not be ‘going’ inside of it and him much.

Peter is currently in his third marriage. He had six daughters, my young sister Michaeline and myself coming from the second marriage. I have four older half-sisters. Peter’s first wife divorced him when he was caught in bed with his eldest daughter. Enough said.

Yeah, I am a hard one in a lot of ways, weak, yet strong when the chips are down and it matters. For example, I was nine years old when I made a promise to myself, a sincere, solid and completely true one. That promise was, if he ever touched my younger sister I would kill him.

This at nine years of age. Had it all planned out, can see it even now. Old Petey-O liked to hunt. Gave me my first jackknife, a thing that frightened me because it was so huge and it took a lot of force to close. Was terrified I would chop my fingers off, because you really have to squeeze it hard to release the lock and it was springy.

I still have it, still use it. Would have used it while he slept, the spot right up under the chin, slightly left of the adam’s apple, the ‘sweet spot’. Not for me, only my sister. I’m not that type of person. Like I said, I take care of myself, however, I was not going to see anyone else hurt. So no, all I did was keep watch, step up to the front when situation demanded it; be the 'distraction'.

Michaeline always loved our weekend ‘visitations’ (divorced early, my mom and Pete). Of course she did, I was there to make certain nothing happened.

In the end, this really put a wedge between her and myself, because, quite frankly, I did not have much else to give. So no, there is no friendship between us now. In fact, a couple of years ago she cut me right off. Story for further down.

Back to Peter. If you met him, you would like him a lot. Everyone does, just something about him. Hell, even knowing everything Emile likes him. Is disturbed by the fact that he does, yet like I said, there is something about Old Pete that people just instinctively like; a boyish congeniality or something, I don’t know.

A most disturbing cat though, is Old Peter. First freak-out Emile had is when he went to read Peter’s palm. Seems Pete does not have a Life Line. Nope, according to his palm he died at about age eighteen or so. It is most surreal. In fact, after seeing that hand, Emile gave up palm reading completely, the disturbing thing he felt that strong.

You see that nasty aura above? Well, Gram had something to say about it alright. She saw it and sort of ‘woke up’ and leaned right in, placed her finger on the image on the monitor.

“Who is that?!” she exclaimed.

“That’s your son,” Emile said.

“That’s the devil!” Gram yelled.

“Ma,” goes Pete. (Me, trying not to burst out laughing. Man, I love my Gram!)

“That’s the devil!” she cried out again, while Pete sat there red faced (Good, he should. Ha.) with head lowered, clearly trying to hold in his words. Know what he felt? Embarrassment. Some anger, because hey, everybody likes him! How dare his mother say something like that?!

Peter liked to tell me a lot of things. (He so much enjoys talking about himself.) He told me when I was a baby, month old, how he would ‘bath’ me. Himself naked in the tub, he would put his penis in my mouth. (A month old, nursing baby.) Fact that I did not ‘react’ proved to him that we were lovers in a past life.

Ain’t that some sick shit or what? Still, it is his mentality, fact that no matter what he did, he was never, ever in the wrong.

Ah well.

Beyond that, I am an author of a book. I gave him a copy, which he shall never read. He is not that kind of a ‘father’.

No, all he did was open it up with a big grin on his face...a grin which faded to puzzlement when he saw that he was not listed in the thanking and dedication credits. Indeed, he was most upset over this.

Tough shit, guy.

Gram got a huge Thank you!

Now then, my second book deals quite a bit with the concept of family and forgiveness. Drexus, my main character was beaten severely as a child by his father. Left his back a huge mass of scar tissue, wounds left, of course, running far deeper in than mere flesh.

I have a though to put Peter’s name in the credits of this one. I want to write:

“To Peter J. V. Thank you for teaching me anger.”

I doubt I will though, even though forgiveness does happen in the book. (And believe it or not, I do not hold any anger there. No, I simply understand him too well for that. There is no need for anger. No sorrow, that is also for damn sure, still, not much else.) No, I probably shall not do it simply because it could affect marketing. *Chuckles*

Back to my sister.

I shall never see her aura, however, I can imagine it would look like Peter’s in many aspects. The two of them are so alike in many sense. Michaeline claims to be a Born Again Christian. Fine, I am of the type whom believes that whatever comfort and faith you can manage you should have. Live and let live, all of us simply going along as best we can.

I am a Pagan. Turns out very early on that Sis went to my mom with a story that I hate her because she is Christian.

What? Wherever did that come from?

Ah well.

Story about my sister Michaelin. She likes to be entertained. She enjoys causing drama. She was the outgoing one, the girl always surrounded by friends and crowds. The popular one. Sports freak, while me, at age eight, started the first sufferings of my Fibromialgia. Sorry, no shelf of trophies here to display.

Years pass and I was living with Emile by then, sis and mom having moved down to Florida. I get a phone call, my mom in a terrible state. It seems Michaeline ‘Just could not live with the secret anymore’ so sat my mom down and told her about Peter’s abuse of me. My mom lost it, called me crying and screaming and hating herself, was coming back with a shotgun to kill the bastard.

I was quite calm, angry at Michaeline for starting this. And quite frankly, I was not feeling any ills, like I said, I had comprehension by then. The past was done with. All that would happen is that my mother would suffer, go to jail, and I did my best to calm her down and stop such pointless foolishness. I did so, thank gods, and that was that.

Oh, of course mom must have known, she did know about the situation with Peter’s first four daughters after all. That is where the real agony came from, the ‘in her face’ denial come smacking her.

(Ah, the stories of my family I could tell you, folks! Swear, no writer could come up with crap like this. On my honor, upon the sincerity of the one who wrote that bit about me as a helpless baby in the bathtub, it is the truth.)

My sister can be a real bitch. Is very heartless. Far worse than Peter. I mean this, not from any emotional sense on my part, just again, a simple clarity of her true nature; an thing seen with distant, comprehending, perspective.

Another time, she went over to my mother’s house while mom was at work, sat her current husband down because, you guessed it, ‘She just could not live with the secrets anymore’.

So she sat there and told me mother’s husband about all the boyfriends my mom had had over the years before the two of them were married. As if such things mattered.

Now, this is what caused the break between my sister and myself. As a Born Again Christian, Michaeline would always add a tagline to her emails, scripture items, however, her favorite was: “Let Love Into Your Heart.”

Yes, I was angry, so on the phone I told her I knew what she had done, mom called me most upset. Her husband, John was angry at Michaeline, thankfully. And for myself, I was angry that my sister was up to her usual games again.

I told her to find a way to let Love into her heart. This seemed to be a telling blow, (Who of us ever enjoys such Truth thrown into their faces, yes?) and that is the entire story of how my sister Michaeline cut me out of her and her family’s life.

It also brought a wedge between my mother and myself for several years. For me saying this thing to my sister, it turned me into the ‘bad guy’. My mother became quite cold towards me, clung closer to my sister no matter the hurting games continued. My mother has traumas of her own past to deal with. An orphan taken into an abusive home of a woman whom did not like children, yet felt it was her duty as a Christian to raise some. Put mom in a convent where she was further beaten till she ran away at age sixteen.

My mother has not had an easy life. I love her and forgive her everything, if there was anything that ever did need forgiveness. As I’ve said here already, I was a rather knowing child. Could see those around me, their weaknesses and lacks.

My boss Ursel, whom is like a mother to me as well, once said, “Melissa, you were never a child.”

Truth. Still, doing the best that I can with what I’ve got. Take and enjoy my fun where and how I can get it. Can’t ask or do more than that, can we?

Hmm, could really go on, yet shall end this missive here.

To my one Dearest Friend out there who comes and reads my journal, I give you BIG HUGS. Please, Shine, do not be angry, or sad, or feel bad for me. You know me by now, know I am ‘cool’. Thank you though for your thoughts and words you will repeat when next we sit and talk online over a smoke and cup of tea, ones you have told me before, since none of this is new to you.

Love you, my friend, I really do. Cheers.

Whew, I’m whipped! LOL

End of message.