Andrea and I used to play together because our grandparents lived just across the street from each other, and because both of our parents lived less than a half-mile from there. I first met her brother on the bus, and feeling the need to show how tough my eight-year-old body was, I tomboyed around with him for a year or so until Andrea entered kindergarten. She first appeared, peeking through the chain-link fence of my grandparents yard while we were having a family picnic. My parents urged me over there, and finally gaining the courage, I introduced myself.
We soon became good playmates, but we always met at my grandparents house. After much begging she conceeded to show me her house. She lived at the end of a long driveway, just across the street. There were single electric wires on both sides of the road to keep the cows in. The yard was surrounded by a sparse forest, and in the underbrush one could see car parts, old tricycles, the twisted metal of a rusty chair, and an old deflated kiddie pool - algae growing in the water-filled wrinkles. In the middle of the clearing stood a moss-covered mobile home complete with a couple of saplings growing on the roof. My center of attention immediately turned to the trampoline and the dog, Bruno. Choosing bouncing fun over wet kisses I kicked off my shoes and dove onto the tramp. The rusty springs made a hell of a racket, and I suppose that is what infuriated her mother the most.
A bony figure with sunken eyes, skraggly hair, high-water pants, a cigarette and a bottle of cheap booze, threw open the door, and screamed Andrea's name followed by, "Jesus Christ you dumb bitch, I'm trying to sleep!" I froze on the trampoline, and my first fear was that I would be in trouble too. Andrea told me to stay where I was, and she meekly slid down from my height, and up the four stairs to her front porch. Her mother stared at her a moment before raising her left arm and back-handing Andrea off her feet, while cigarette ashes floated peacefully to the wooden slats below.
Sue (I later learned her name) grabbed her daughter by the arm and pulled her inside the dark house, not even bothering to shut the door while she shouted. Disobeying my friend I climbed down and walked a few paces away hoping to not be noticed. My escape was interrupted by Andrea and her mother flying out the door. Andrea sat sobbing on the porch. Her mother screamed for her to get out, to run away to her dad's house. Andrea just shook her head and stayed where she was. Her mother kicked her once and then grabbed her ear and hair in a fist, dragging her down the steps. Blood ran down Andrea's neck where an earring had torn her flesh.
I ran. I ran as hard as I could, so afraid that at any second I would be shot in the back, afraid that their dog would chase. I thought I would throw up, but I refused to allow myself to stop. I passed my grandparents house, fleeing to my own. My parents weren't home so I waited. When they returned from work I told them my story - how I wanted to call the police.
Though they listened intently, and comforted me, all they could offer to Andrea was, "Who's going to believe a nine-year-old girl?"
This is a true story.