I don’t remember how old I was and for the life of me I can’t remember what school I went to or what home I was in. I just remember knowing I had to get help because she was going to kill us. We were in trouble. The mother was going to drive the car over the bridge and kill us. Before we reached the bridge which separates the states, she stopped at a rest stop. I remember walking in and seeing the maps and noticing how clean the glass was on the windows.
I left the welcome center and restroom area before them which gave me the opportunity to see that a car had pulled up and parked a bit away from our car. Right then and there I had the chance to say something. I got to the car and wrote down my name and address. I said we needed help and that our mother had been ranting and raving and that she stated very clearly she was going to kill us. I was sure to say she wasn’t kidding and that the note wasn’t a joke. After I scribbled that letter in the back seat of the car, I got back out and walked over to their car where a woman and a child sat with the passenger side open. I tossed the folded paper at her with my left hand and kept walking. She said, you dropped something. I kept on walking as if nothing happened.
I’ve been that scared too many times in my life. I’ve been that terrified too many times but never did I out right say to someone, she’s going to kill us, please help us. If we die she did it on purpose. She told us she would drive off the bridge.
Well, our car came to that bridge and she told us to sit still and don’t move. I sat dead in my seat, in the front seat. I didn’t move but a blank sheet of paper did. It was on the dashboard and it slid down to the end because the wind blew it. She started raving about the paper so I grabbed it and put it on the floor. She didn’t attempt to drive over the bridge but she did hold us captive in fear again and again by yelling that she was going to kill us all.
I don’t know how long it was after that incident that a letter came in the mail asking if we were okay and needed anything. I’d dropped the letter at the feet of a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses.
I don’t know how old I was or where I lived. I can’t for the life of me see it. I do remember visiting her home and studying the Bible with her.
This post picks up here. To Touch the Authentic Me.