It wasn’t dark
And lots of doors swinging in the wrong ways
And they were chipped, rough hewn slabs of cheap wood
She wanted to escape to run into the sunshine of her backyard
But she had been in a car for a long time and was too timid to run away from this
She started to cry in search of her parents but they had gone.
It was the plan to avoid a scene.
They would leave her in the back of the camp bunk so she could have a look around and they would quickly walk away
She wouldn’t know they were gone until they were out of her sight. Which meant gone when you are 5.
They knew what they were doing.
It was the plan to avoid a scene
But that feeling has never left her.
She lives with the slight disturbing experience that when she turns her back to find something new and exciting..it will be followed by a crashing loneliness.
She has that small little girl curled up in her center waiting for the bottom to drop out.
It did, many times.
Oh, fully fed and clothed to be sure.
All the signs of a well tended to child
But that place in the core of her being somehow never got rescued.
She never had a mother who looked into her little face and saw terror and soothed it with the words only a mother can whisper.
That mother never even looked for the terror or the loneliness.
That mother doesn’t look deeply
That mother still talks to that small child into the soul of the woman and calls her Super Sensitive with a subtle sneer.
The dark empty place where no one comes to search for her
The arms to run into never appear
Perhaps they never will