Triggered. in Memory lane

I can’t seem to unsee the image of those green joggers, of the exact same hue as the musty old carpet my feet are on.

Somewhere below me, I hear the opening song of Maria Mercedes’ sinatron. I’m as eager as my relatives below, to find out what else poor Mercedes is going to have to endure, in this week’s episode. But instead, I’ve been summoned upstairs. So I watch the carpet instead.

He is stretched out on it, eyes on me.

“I think it’s time for you to take off your clothes now. ” His tone is set, as if to underline I could not want otherwise. I look at the door, but suddenly realise escape is behind or through him. I’m afraid to blink while he stares on, almost compelling me into staying put.

He whispers many things. And at some point green joggers disappear, the big room shifting oddly in and out of focus.

The carpet is still reliably green though, I see it’s threads in detail with my head turned sideways so I see nothing else. Palms against the floor, my fingers start circling into the carpet and I pretend I’m twirling grass. No one should underestimate the power of imagination, especially not of a child a little over 7 years old.

The sobs are stuck in my chest and at some point I’m certain, I no longer am in my body. He assures me, I should feel good soon. Very soon. Despite the burning agony in between my thighs, of course. I believe him every time.

It isn’t too soon, that I hear the snap of his waistband, and suddenly the air around me is free. My lungs struggle to breathe as I hear laughter in the background, so near, below me. I might still make it in time for a snippet of the show.

The floorboards don’t creak loud enough in this old house. I realise this as he tells me to run along, and I tumble out of the room. As I leave, he puts a finger to his lips and reminds me of “our” secret.

I remind myself that green can no longer be my favourite colour. And unlike the fate of my body, I can easily choose another.