u/FutureMissingGirl

it was on that dusty old laptop, the one that was missing the shift key. it sat at the corner where the living room met the kitchen. i know you guys set it up there so the screen would be visible from any angle, no hiding.

but you taught me how to hide anyway- how to delete the browser history, how to open a private tab. you didn’t know much about tech, but you taught me the handful of things you did know. i thought you could do anything back then

anyway. the girl in the video, she looked just like me. she was the daughter. the man in the video didn’t look much like you. he was the father, but who he was mattered less. i sat there, stomach turning, fingers worrying the hem of my nightgown, and wondered if you thought of me when you watched them. i hoped you did. she looked just like me.

i miss the summer we were close. when i could call you and you’d come pick me up and we’d drive for hours, the relentless sun slowly melting away to twilight. you’d park at the end of some cul de sac or dirt road or dark alley and cut the engine, and we’d sit, together, waiting for the fireflies.

i’m sorry i look for you in every man i meet, instead of just calling and asking you to pick me up again. it feels easier to beg them to be my father than to visit your shiny new life. your glass coffee table, your carefully tended lawn.

the summer i had that nasty fall and my tennis shoes filled up with blood, you bandaged my knees so carefully. wrapping and unwrapping me, every day, until the scabs gave way to the tight, puckered flesh beneath. i still have the scars. they make it hard to kneel.

i think, at the end of it all, i didn’t know how to be a daughter in any way except for the pornographic way. the open-mouthed, eyes-shut, nightgown-hiked-up-around-my-waist kind of daughter. you named me for the most famous virgin of all time, the mother who gave birth without ever being sullied by a man. chastity elevated to an astringent. the sting of alcohol in soft tissue. i saw what you wanted and turned my back on you so i could flash the 47 year old man on the screen of our family computer instead.

anyway. it was good porn. she was pretty. glassy-eyed, placid. all the things a girl is supposed to be.

make me feel special. tell me you like my shoes, the white ones with the little embroidered dragonflies. let me show you my art, my room, the tree outside that i can hang off of, upside-down. hold my hand when we go places. take me to see the fireworks. tickle me. hug me. bait me into accompanying you on camping trips. teach me how to fish with the little pink barbie rod you bought me. tags still on. i never caught a thing, but i liked laying in the grass and watching you. make me jealous of your girlfriend, with her pretty hair, each strand a perfect blonde corkscrew. teach me how to roughhouse, and pretend like i actually hurt you, like i’m just as strong as you. wince when my fist makes contact with your ribs. groan and roll away in pain. let me feel big.

and one day- show me the truth. show me how much stronger you are. pin me down and don’t let me up. watch me struggle. watch me learn just how small i am. one hand on my back, that’s all it takes. i’m at your mercy.

i was always bad. i laughed too loud and wanted too much. i made noise. i struggled to sit still at nice dinners. i fidgeted with the clean white napkins. you know how bad i am, and you see the quiet, sudden shame that drops over my face when i get yelled at in a restaurant, or a park, or your house. you know i want to be good. you can see it in me. you’re so kind. you can teach me how to be good.

i need to be corrected when i’m bad. hurt me, please, it’s the only way i’ll ever learn. put me over your knee. teach me to be better. hold me down if you have to. face pressed against the sheets, or the scratch of the sofa, or the detritus of loose leaves and dirt and gravel that sticks to my cheek, wet with tears. flip my dress up. let me feel the shame of bare skin. i won’t struggle. i won’t know how. let my sharp gasps turn to whimpers turn to outright, open-mouth sobbing. hit me. hurt me. make me learn.

and when it’s over, let your fingers drift. confuse me, mix my brain all up with your sudden softness. skim your fingers over the burn you created. lower. deeper. i wont react. i’ll lay there frozen; unthinking, unmoving, mind glazed over and numbed from the initial surge of panic. my nervous system is shot. there’s only so much i can feel. do what you have to do.

smooth my dress back down. easy, like nothing ever happened. the party continues. the ringing in my ears subsides, the peals of laughter from the other room sharpen back into focus. there are powdered donuts for breakfast, laid out on the wooden picnic table. i pull one apart with my fingers and the sugar dusts my lap like snow.

i love you. i need you. don’t leave me for your girlfriend.