I remember that he would visit us every Tuesday. At first it was only Tuesday’s. He would come bearing gifts in both hands, gifts for both of us; his favorite girls, as he fondly referred to us.
I remember him placing me on his lap as he tied a silver bracelet around my wrist. I was 8 years old. He smelled of musk, menthol and smoke. When he laughed at something that she said I could see his rotting molars. I remember thinking that they looked like volcano’s. His smile was kind but his eyes were stranger than a stranger’s.
I remember that Tuesday sometimes came more than once a week and eventually, everyday was Tuesday to my simple 8 year old mind…..
I remember that he didn’t bring gifts anymore. I remember that he didn’t smile much at me anymore. His molten volcanic craters had all but disappeared from my view but their blazing heat was brimming and boiling a lava in the darkness of his eyes.
I remember hovering over his body with my hands help up in mid-air. My breathing was deep and mechanical and each breath that I drew felt like a raging fire was entering my nostrils, ravaging my insides like a hungry lion in search of its prey.
His eyes were lifeless and open, staring back at me, strangely.
Mother always told me not to talk to strangers….
Then she invited one into our home….
To be continued…