Tori Weston (narration) (6:53)
You know, you guys are getting older, so make sure you cover yourself up when you take a shower. And I didn't really think much of it until coming home from field hockey practice and I had a huge knot in my calf from like getting hit with a stick. And I was icing it and he had offered to like, take a look. And I just remember his hand going way past where I had a huge bruise. And so those kind of incidences kept on building up to doing something more the next day. I remember getting up really early. My stepfather woke up at around 5:30 in the morning to go to work. And I waited until I heard the front door close before I got into my mom's bed. I don't think my mom thought about anything of me crawling into bed with her. But I remember getting a little scared because my stepfather had walked back into the room. He looked at me just very mean, like it was almost if there wasn't a person behind the face. When he went away, I just told my mom I had a nightmare. But I didn't know how to tell her what had happened just a few hours ago. And I just remember going through the routine of getting ready for school and my mom leaving for work. Spending my school day just trying to figure out how am I supposed to tell her what had happened? What do I say? I wasn't sure what to say. I remember her getting home from work and we had to go to the store. There was no milk and bread. And I remember walking to the store, her asking about my day. And I started crying. And I didn't know how to tell her that this horrible thing had just happened. And I knew that she was looking at me, not knowing what to say but knowing there must be something wrong. And I remember grabbing what we needed to get. And right when she pulled the food stamps out of her purse, I said that Danny was molesting me. The cashier heard what I said, wasn't sure if my mom heard what I said. But I just remember my mother putting things in the bag and trying to get us out of the store. And our walk home was quiet. I was still crying, trying to tell her what had happened. But she was walking very quickly, like with purpose, trying to get back to our house. My mom opened the door And I remember looking at my stepfather, my stepfather and I, at me. 13 years old, we're the same height. I kind of sprouted up the past two years. So we were at the same height. And he had a very, like, medium build frame. When my stepfather would get upset, he would clench his fist and you could see the veins in his arm. He had a vein that would go up his neck that would pop out. And I was very nervous about what would happen next. But I remember my mom sending me and my siblings upstairs, telling us to wait up there until she told us to come down. And her and my stepfather got into an argument, yelling back and forth. And then there was a pause in the yelling and hearing. My stepfather, he had a certain rhythm when he ran up the stairs and just hearing his boots just hit every single step and running into the room and grabbing his duffel bag and then coming down the stairs and then slamming the door hard enough where the house shook. I'm not sure how we proceeded that night, but things were going to change. I wasn't sure how that change was going to happen. There was no, everything's going to be okay. There was just, you guys need to eat. Let's hurry up and get you to bed. And there was no acknowledgment of what I had just said. After my stepfather had left, he had checked himself into a mental hospital. It was good not having him in the house, but at the same time, it was hard to answer the questions. My younger siblings not knowing what was going on, why their dad wasn't there. What did I do to make him go away? I don't know what to say to anybody, and I'm not sure how to tell them what had happened. Every now and then, we would get a phone call from him. He'd want to talk to me, and I wouldn't want to talk to him on the phone. I would just pass the phone off. I remember one phone call my mom got was not from him, but from someone at the hospital saying that he tried to kill himself. When he returned home to us, he had a scar across his neck. It kind of changed the focus of, what did he do to Tori, to, oh, my God, we have to make sure that this man doesn't try to kill himself. I wasn't sure how to process that. I wasn't sure what to make of it. But I knew that everything we did was to make sure that he was comfortable, which I kind of thought was weird because nobody seemed to be checking in on me to see if I was Comfortable or if I was okay. But also, what made everything a little bit more awkward was coming home from school one day and my mom sitting at the kitchen table when she's supposed to be at work. And there was a social worker at the kitchen table. And I was told that there was a report made of me being abused, and they couldn't disclose who reported it. I was asked a whole bunch of questions. I think the weirdest thing was that the social worker insisted that we drive to the emergency room for me to get checked out. I think it was like, a month or so after everything had happened, so I really didn't want to go. My mother was kind of resistant, but he said that they have the right to take me away for 72 hours and not tell her where they take me. So my mother kind of complied, and they made me dress in a hospital gown, had to put my feet in the stirrups. I overheard the nurses while I was waiting for the doctor, and one of the nurses had asked, oh, what is she here for? And one of the nurses like, oh, something about her dad molesting her or getting raped or something. But, you know, she lives in that part of the city where, who knows, it's probably some boyfriend or whatever. So it's kind of like my first indication that this is something that you're taught to speak the truth and tell everyone who are supposed to help you that this is happening and they're supposed to protect you. I kind of started getting the feeling that the quieter I kept, the less I said, the better I was. And after the whole ordeal with the social worker listening to him and my mother talk, she asked like, well, what was going to happen? And he said that if there is any evidence of abuse, that they would probably take all four of us out of the home and that they would end up splitting us up. And my mom asked, well, where would you take them? And he told her that because my younger brother and sister were under the age of nine years old, that they would probably bring them to a foster family. And that because my other sister and I were teenagers, that they would take us to a teen shelter. And my mom was like, well, how are they safer if they're in a teen shelter? And he didn't have an answer. So the idea of being in a place where I would be even less protected and not knowing how to navigate whether I would be safe or not was scarier than having to possibly live underneath the same roof with my stepfather going to school the next day and kind of trying to figure out how to get myself out of this situation that I was in. At my school, there were a few girls who, some of them lived in group homes, and some of them actually lived with designated adults that took in short term foster kids. And then there were some that lived in an actual group home that was run by the state. And I remember one of the girls saying how she didn't really like her mom, and her mom had too many rules. And so she knew that if she told a social worker or somebody at school that her mom's boyfriend was messing around with her, then she would be able to get away from her mother. I kind of confessed to this one girl in my class, and she basically said, you have to lie. You don't want to come to the group home. You got to watch your back, not just from the other girls that might steal your stuff or try to beat you up, but from the staff. You never know what staff member is trying to get something from you or may try to do something to you. You're gonna have to lie. Having all that information told to me from a girl who a month later moved to another group home and never saw her again was kind of hard to take because it's like you're told to tell the truth and you're told these are the people to help you. So the social worker, before he left, handed me a card to report anything that I might not feel comfortable reporting in front of my mother. After speaking to that girl, I called him up and I told him I felt really bad about everything that was going on, and I didn't know that this was going to happen and that I lied. And I was upset because my mom was paying more attention to my stepfather, and I wanted her to pay attention to me. So I thought if I said that he was doing these things to me, that she would start paying more attention to me. And I started just basically recanting everything that I had said. But also, whatever exam that they gave me at the hospital was inconclusive. So they couldn't really tell if anything had happened to me. So they didn't really have a case. I remember the pastor of the church kind of having a family consultation and special prayer, and my mom thinking that the only counseling that I would need would be the pastor and I should tell him if there was anything wrong. And I was 13 years old, and who's going to want to talk to their pastor about something that they can barely understand themselves? The more everything got out and the more I kind of wasn't denying that it didn't happen. It made it so. Like, there were some people, like, some of my uncles that kind of wanted to believe me. But then there were other people that were skeptical because I had just told a social worker that I had lied about it. So I felt like in this weird moral situation, and I wasn't about to stand in front of a pastor and try to explain the other. One of the reasons why we kept on going to church was my stepfather eventually moved back into our house. My mom felt that it was the perfect time to renew our faith and to renew our dedication to God. And so instead of just going to church on Sundays and going to Sunday school, we were now going to prayer meeting, and we were going to Bible study and extra services to kind of like, make it seem like everything was fine and we were just being a more dedicated family to the church. But also the fact that my stepfather, who before all of this never went to church with us, started going to church with us. And that made it very uncomfortable for me, because now it wasn't just like having to be in the same house with him. It was hearing him participate in prayer and to testify, which is a big thing in Baptist churches, where you have a point in the service where you tell the congregation how good the Lord has been to you, and hearing him talk about the devil trying to break up his family and we have to keep the black family together, and having to sit next to that and having to hear it and try to look like I wasn't upset about it and not give anyone anything to gossip about, because that was another thing my mom was afraid of, was before all of this, I would participate in everything. And then I just stopped participating. I stopped saying yes to things, and I didn't feel comfortable volunteering anymore. I remember my mother yelling at me, like, you're making people talk. Why don't you want to do these things? You have to start doing these things again, because people are going to start saying stuff about us. So kind of saving face in front of church. And, you know, these are people that have known me since I was born. So I think that it was kind of unrealistic for a mother to think that they wouldn't notice a change. So having him around during all of those things made it worse. So I just kind of tried to, like, sit with my friends at church instead of sit with my family. But the other thing I did notice, which was kind of like a glimmer of hope, was when my stepfather moved back in, my grandmother made it so we were never alone. With him. And I remember my grandmother telling me how much she didn't really like him. And she never really said that, like, I believe what happened to you or anything, but she said that he's not right, and I've never liked him. And so after school, we would go to her house, which she lived right next door, and we would wait until my mom got home, and that's when we would go to our house. So my stepfather would be in the house all by himself. So my grandmother kind of took it upon herself to be a presence, Even to the point where before school, she would come over to the house and make sure that we were all ready. And if he had the day off or something, she would come over after my mom would leave work and make sure that everybody was all dressed and everything and ready to go. So it was her action that made me realize that I wasn't crazy, that there is something wrong with this person, but also kind of made me realize that I had ally in all of this. It wasn't a very overt ally, but it was more of, okay, at least there is somebody in this situation, in this household that kind of sees what I am seeing. So besides amping up our religious activities, my mother made it a point that we eat dinner together, you know, more than just on Sundays. It was awkward because it was almost like a sitcom where the mom sat at one end of the table and the father sat on the other and the children on both sides. And this particular night, my mom had made my favorite meal, chicken parmesan. And my little sister kept on talking about hula hooping at school and how she could hula hoop the longest. I was trying to just make it through the dinner. And the only seat that was available at the table, by the time I got to the table was next to him. I was trying to, like, sit in a way where I didn't have to look at him. And my mother, she was like, tori, you say the prayer. And I didn't really want to talk. I didn't really want to say anything to anybody. And I just remember kind of mumbling it to the plate, like, looking down at the plate and saying, God is great. God is good. Thank you for our food. Amen. Everyone else is, like, grabbing food and putting it on a plate. And my stepfather, whenever he ate, he kind of, like, would shovel food into his mouth. My mother was constantly always telling him to slow down. You know, the food's not going anywhere. And I remember what made me turn to look at him was that rhythm stopped he had, like, sat straight up and his nostrils were flared, and it looked like he was trying to say something, but nothing was coming out of his mouth. I look the rest of the table. No one's noticing it. No one sees what's happening except for me. You know, everyone's talking about their day. My mom is talking to my siblings, and my stepfather is there with the fork in hand, sitting straight up, trying to breathe. Seeing that he notices that I'm the only person that notice in realizing that, oh, my God, he's choking. And I kept on thinking about this year that I've had to live in this house and all of this taking advantage of a lie that I told to keep us together and making it seem like he is this family man and all these people feeling sorry for him because he tried to kill himself, but then also not being able to sleep at night because this man is in this house. And I'm not sure what's gonna happen. So I'm sitting there and I'm kind of staring at him, and I thought to myself, if I just sit here and let him choke and he dies, then I won't have to sit up late at night with my field hockey stick in my hand, like, making sure he doesn't go into any of our bedrooms. Or constantly being afraid every time I would hear footsteps to the bathroom, wondering if it's his footsteps coming into my room. So. And then I thought about, well, if I sit here and he dies, people could make out his death as, like, kind of martyr him in a way. Like, you know, he was a good man, and he died in front of his family, and he was trying to keep his family together. So a part of me was like, you know, well, if that happens, then no one will ever know what I've been through, what I've had to endure. Because my lie is what kept us together. My lie is what kept this family together. So I think my action of pushing the chair back and getting up was more me doing it without realizing that, you know, all of a sudden, I'm standing up and I am wrapping my arms around him and trying to find that spot beneath his chest to put my fist. I was thinking about the video that we had watched in health class a week before about the Heimlich maneuver. But I also was in having to, like, squeeze him and try to push air up so the food would come out. Like, the power of wanting to crush him the way that I've been feeling crushed all this time. And just, you know, all this hate that I had for this man. Just kind of like wrapping my arms around him and squeezing him so tight and, like, not even thinking about saving his life. But I wanted to him to feel all of the hurt that I've been feeling. And I wanted him to, like, at least have some sort of scar or something from me doing this for making me feel so unsafe, making me, like, seem crazy in front of my mother. And I remember his head falling forward and the food just kind of plopping out of his mouth onto the plate. And I think that that's when everyone else at the table noticed that he was choking. The first sounds I heard were my siblings being like, oh, my God, that's so gross. He just threw up in his plate. Seeing my mom, like, you know, get out of her chair and, like, run over to him and like, pull her arms around him and he's like, coughing everything up. And just kind of the way that she went towards him and held him and everything. I, like, realized that the line between us was kind of drawn in some way, that our relationship is different. You know, she chose her husband and there was no asking me if I was okay or how did I know what to do or anything like that. It was asking him, are you okay? Do we have to call an ambulance? And then seeing the way that she was tending towards him, I kind of knew that I was kind of navigating not only the rest of this, but puberty, everything else on my own in some ways. But then I also, in seeing even in her arms, just how limp he was and just kind of gasping for air. And he looked up at me and it was like for those few moments, I was God. That I had the power to give life. I had the power to take life. I had the power to love and I had the power to hate. But I also knew that for the first time in that year that this man was never gonna fuck with me again.
