Bad Girl House, Chapter One

My name is Jessica, and I’m five years old. This is the morning that I’m supposed to leave. I’m going to a place that my dad keeps calling the Bad Girl House. He’s been counting down the days on the calendar in the kitchen. He’s been telling my every morning, how many days I have left at home. Today has a big, red zero on it. My dad just woke me up, and told me to hurry up and get dressed. He wants to get moving right away. I feel all shaky, and my stomach hurts. Maybe he’s just kidding, and he’ll just give me a long talk about being good. My dad is stuffing some of my clothes in the backpack that I usually take to school. He says that I’m not allowed to take any of my toys with me, but I think I’m going to hide my favorite doll under my jacket. Her name is Cassie. I think she’ll fit if I’m careful enough. I wish that I could take my blanket too. It would help me not feel so nervous when I have to sleep somewhere different. My dad has talked about the Bad Girl House for as long as I can remember. He always said that if I kept doing bad things, and not listening to him, that I would have to go there. Usually when I was bad, I’d have to sit in my room for a really long time. Sometimes I’d get hit on the bottom with a wooden spoon from the kitchen drawer. A couple times he grabbed my face, and told my to stop crying. That only made it worse, because I couldn’t breathe. I remember mommy yelling at him, and trying to get his hand off of my face. I end up sitting in my room most days, and it feels like forever. I don’t understand what I’m doing that’s so bad, and what makes him so mad at me. Sometimes I’ll just be playing with my toys, and he’ll start yelling about something. Sometimes not finishing my dinner makes him mad. Sometimes I bump my cup, and it falls on the floor, and he yells about the mess. I don’t even remember what made him mad enough to start the countdown for the Bad Girl House.
Dad says that he’s ready to go. I haven’t had breakfast yet, and my stomach is growling. My mom is in the other room changing my little brother’s diaper. Why isn’t she out here telling him to let me stay? Doesn’t she care that I’m about to go away forever? Dad takes me down the hall to her and my brothers. Dad tells me to hug them all goodbye. We have a quick group hug, and I tell them how much I love them. I feel so sad, and don’t want to let go of them. I feel safe right here. I don’t want to upset Dad before we get in the car, so I make myself let go. I have to ride with him all by myself. Dad says to come on, and he kind of pushes me along to the door. Mom follows us out of the front door, and over to the car. That makes me feel like she at least cares enough to watch me leave, but I still wish she would have said something. Does she want to run after the car? Does she think that I should be going away?
It’s so early that the sun is just coming up over the trees, and it’s getting lighter outside. I get in the backseat with my little bag of clothes. I buckled myself, because Dad didn’t do it like he usually does. Oh no, oh no! I forgot about Cassie, because I didn’t need my jacket! She might have been my only friend at the Bad Girl House! I’m trying so hard to hold in my tears and my sobs, but I can feel the tears running down my face. I turn as far as I can to see my mom and my brothers in the driveway. Are they crying too? I can’t see their faces in the bright sunlight. I sob comes out of me that I couldn’t help. Dad tells me to sit right in my seat. He doesn’t sound happy, so I turn around and cover my face with my hands. I want to cry my eyes out, but I also need to be quiet. I really don’t want Dad to start talking to me. He didn’t turn the radio on either, so it’s extra quiet in the car. Every once in a while he says things like, “Hope you’re thinking about why this is happening. I told you you’d be sorry someday. Hope you’re happy with yourself. You just couldn’t be good, could you? This really is it, you know.” I knew that he didn’t actually want me to answer, so I didn’t. All I can think about is my mom and my brothers. Do my brothers know what’s going on? Will they have to go to the Bad Boy House if they can’t be good? Dad might take us all somewhere. Or is it just me that he doesn’t want? I want to remember that last hug forever. I’m going to miss my toys, and school, and candy, and butterflies. I feel more tears in my eyes.
The ride to the Bad Girl House feels like it’s taking hours. I’m trying to distract myself by watching the clouds, and counting the cars that are going by. We’re pulling onto a gravel road, so I think this is it. After the quiet ride, the tired on the gravel sounds extra loud. There are tall pines trees on the sides of the road. They’re so tall that they’re blocking the sun. The road keeps curving around, and my stomach hurts even more now. There aren’t as many trees in front of us, and I see a building. I can see the sky better now, and there are clouds that look like they’re going to rain. The building is a big square, and made out of dark red bricks. There are brown vines and leaves all over it. They were probably really pretty a long time ago. The windows must be dirty, because they don’t look shiny that way that they should. Our car is the only one here. Maybe there’s nobody there, and I can go back home. Dad’s looking at me from the front seat. He’s not saying anything. He’s only giving me that look like he’s disappointed in me. He got out of the car, and opened my door. I’m frozen in my seat. I can’t get out of the car. I don’t want live here forever! My swallow made that noise like when you’re crying is stuck in your throat. It sounded really loud in my ears, because it’s so quiet. Dad must have been tired of waiting. He grabbed my bag with one hand, and my arm with the other. I landed on both feet at once, and had to immediately start walking with him. He was in a hurry to get to the door. It’s a big, black door. He told me to ring the door bell myself. He still had my elbow in his hand, so I stretched my other arm to the button. It made a low ding-dong that seemed to scare some birds on the roof. They all flew away. It think they were crows.
The lady that opened the door must have been waiting for me, because the door opened right away. She is as big as the doorway. She has on a white dress that doesn’t look very comfortable. Her shoes are white too, and the bows are perfect. She’s holding her hands in front of her stomach. Her nails are really short, and she isn’t wearing any rings like mommy always does. She isn’t smiling at me or anything. She’s just looking down at me, with little glasses on the end of her nose. Her hair is short, curly, and grey. I don’t think she’s going to be very nice. I feel my legs shaking, and my hands making fists. My cheeks feel hot from tears running down them, where I keep rubbing them off really fast. My dad didn’t say anything, but pushed me through the door. She nodded at him, and the door slammed. He’s gone. As scared as I am to be here, I’m not sure if I feel bad or good about that.
The lady took my bag, and pointed at a chair. She walked through another door. I sat down on the cold metal chair she pointed to. My legs swing, because I can’t reach the floor yet. I much as I want to, I don’t know if I should cry out loud here either. I don’t want to get in trouble right away. I still can’t hear anyone else. It feels so empty in here. Am I the only little girl here? I guess this is like a waiting room, like when you’re getting a shot. I keep wondering if my dad was kidding, and he’s just right outside. Even if I have to do back with him, I want my mommy. Was he back home already? Will they talk about me? Is this really my new home? What if I don’t make any friends with the other girls? What if we’re not allowed to be friends?
The door the lady went through opened, and she called for me. I’m trying to walk to the door as slowly as I can. She’s still not smiling. Her face doesn’t look like it’s feeling anything. I couldn’t see into the room until she moved out of the way. There are the rest of the girls. Each one is standing in front of one of the beds along the walls. Even at school, I’ve never seen kids be so still. They’re all looking straight ahead, but I can kind of see they’re eyes moving to try to look at me. The beds are all covered with white sheets, and a small pillow. I wonder if the boxes in front of theirs beds have their toys in them. The walls are grey. I wish there were posters of kittens and rainbows, but there isn’t anything hung up on the walls. I guess these are the same dirty windows that I saw from the outside. I can’t see the trees or the clouds through them. I’m starting to feel trapped in here. Did that door lock after I went through? My heart is beating so fast that I can feel it. I don’t have a mommy anymore, or any family, or any friends!
The bed right beside me is empty, and the lady had put my bag on the box in front of it. Did it used to be someone else’s bed? Did she get to go home?
“This is your bed now. Put your clothes in the box.” The lady told me again to put my clothes away before I could make myself move. I just noticed that all of the girls are wearing the same dress. I’m trying to take quick peeks at them while I’m taking things out of my bag. Even thought they all have the same dress on, they all still look very different to me. Some of them look a lot taller, and older than me. How long am I going to be here? Each one has a totally different face. Different shapes, different colors. Some with glasses like me. Their hair is all different lengths, but looks like it hasn’t been cut in a long time. Their faces all look sad to me. I bet they all like to do different things too, if they’re allowed to. One of the dresses is laying on my bed. It’s stiff, and probably going to be itchy. It looks really old, and it doesn’t smell like soap like my clothes do at home. After I put it on, I look like the other girls. I’m one of them now. Am I still me?
I want to curl up in a ball on my bed. But I don’t want to get into trouble, so I think that I better stand in front of my bed like the other girls. I wonder what we do now. Are we just going to stand here? The lady just blew a whistle. The rest of the girls are grabbing rags, brooms, and mops. I bet they do this everyday, since they knew what to do right away. I’m so little. I don’t know what I’ll really be able to help with. One of the girls handed me a rag, and waved for me to follow her. We’re wiping of anything we can reach. The book shelves, the chairs, the beds. Not that they were dusty, especially if someone did this yesterday.
I heard the whistle again, and everything got put away. Some of the girls made a circle of chairs, while some others grabbed piles of books. One of them handed me a book. This is a big girl book. I don’t see any pictures as I look at it really quick. I’m just starting to learn my letters, numbers, and some words. One of the older girls starts to read out loud. I hope I’m able to read like her someday. It’s comforting to listen to her. I think she’s talking about some people from a long time ago. It reminds me of the stories mommy would read to me at bedtime. I close my eyes and pretend that’s where I really am. I’m sitting right beside her. So close that I can feel here breathing. I can almost hear her voice. I’m going to forget what her voice sounds like.
The lady opened the door, and said it’s time for lunch. We put the chairs and books away, and I followed everyone to a line by the door. I can smell food as we walk through the door, but it’s not a good smell to me. Like the girls in front of me, I grab a tray and a spoon. Another lady put a big scoop of something on my tray. I’m so afraid that I’m going to drop my tray if I’m not really careful. I don’t want to find out what will happen if I spill my food all over the floor. That’s for sure. I’m watch where I’m going, following the girls back to our room, and to the tables. What I got was a scoop of meat, rice, and veggies. I don’t know if I feel hungry or sick to my stomach. I guess I should try to eat a little bit. There are five girls sitting at the table with me. They quietly introduced themselves, and asked me where I was from. I really don’t know where I’m from, so to told them about my house and my family. I told them that my dad said I was too bad to stay there anymore, so I’m here now. They all had a family like mine, and weren’t sure exactly why they were brought here. We’re all missing some people, and happy not to be seeing others. I asked them about being allowed to play, or going outside. I just remembered about for getting Cassie. They said that they make some of their own toys with socks they sneak out of the laundry. They even play clapping games and sing songs when they think they can get away with it. I’m feeling a tiny bit better, but I could only eat a few bites of my lunch. It’s hard to swallow when you feel like you might cry at the same time.
At dinner, we had the same food. I had a couple more bites than at lunch, but my stomach still feels funny. Right after that there was a routine for bedtime. We were all given a clean dress to put on in the morning, and we were sent to brush our teeth and go to the bathroom. The lady checked all of our beds for toys. She didn’t find any. I wonder where the girls I was talking to hide them. I hope there’s some kind of nightlight. I’m really scared of the dark. I feel really nervous again. When we came back from the bathroom, we all stood in front of our beds like in the morning when I got there.
“Get in bed, and go to sleep.” The lady turned off the lights and closed the door. There was no bedtime story, no hug and kiss, no “love you”. My brothers aren’t here for me to whisper to. I miss them and my mommy so much. Now I can curl up, and hug myself. My eyes are full of tears again. I feel so alone. I pull my blanket over my head, and hold it there tight. I wish that this was actually my cozy, warm blanket. My pillow feels all wet where my tears are falling on it. I didn’t even know I started doing it, but I started humming “You Are My Sunshine” to myself. The lady must have heard me. Here comes the sound of her shoes. She pulled my blanket off of my head and told me to stop. I know I shouldn’t do it, but I pulled it back up. She just grabbed me by the arm, the same way dad did this morning. She’s walking me through the door, and into an office. She sat me down on the floor without saying a word. There’s a wall that’s keeping me from seeing all of the room. Why did I do that? I’m really going to be in a lot of trouble. I am just a bad girl who can’t do anything right. A big man came around the wall, and he’s holding a small wood paddle. This is only my first day. Won’t he give me a second chance to be good? He told me to stand up and turn around. I’m too afraid to tell him how afraid I am. I don’t think I should say anything, or my spanking might be even worse than I think it will be. I hoped I’d never have to meet another man like this again.

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When my daughter was five, she began being repeatedly told that she would be taken to the Bad Girl House if she didn’t start behaving. She was told this by her father. He told her that she would never play with her toys, never eat her favorite foods, or never see her brothers again. She wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to her mother when we dropped her off. She would have to stay there forever. I can’t even remember why she was being told this. The fact is that she wasn’t always misbehaving. She was a normal little girl, who was learning right from wrong. Unfortunately, she was already learning how to navigate her father’s mental abuse. Her father was the one overreacting to most of her behaviors. I know that anything that she might have done absolutely did not warrant the punishments that she received. She was sent to her room for hours at a time for a time out, and was supposed to come out with a good explanation for why she had misbehaved. If her reason wasn’t good enough for him, she was sent back to her room to think again. How many children can give a good reason for what they did wrong, especially when they haven’t actually done anything? I remember her looking at me to say something and help her. I was also managing his abuse, and depending on the day, even depending on the moment, there wasn’t much I could do. Sometimes I was able to say that she doesn’t have to go back to her room, but other times I could only give her a look that tried to tell her that she would be alright.
I don’t recall the details of the morning she was going to be taken to the Bad Girl House, but she seems to. Her father had apparently had enough. He packed her a small bag of a few outfits, and told her they were leaving. She doesn’t remember having the opportunity to say goodbye to me or her brothers. She does remember driving to a building down the street. He actually put a five year old little girl in the car, making her believer that she would never see her family again. In a therapy session when she was eleven, she was discussing how her father used to punish her. She began talking about the Bad Girl House, and what she imagined it would be like there. I know what I had always envisioned in my own mind, and she recreated those images almost exactly with her words. As I sat there beside here, I couldn’t control the rears that were filling my eyes. She described a dark, drab, dreary place. I was thinking about her as the five year old that had no choice but to believe that this place was real, and that she was going there. She imagined a long main corridor with many halls of beds against the walls for all of the orphan girls. It was very depressing and grey with very little light. All of the girls were sad and lonely, with no toys to make them feel better. In my own mind, I pictured a very tall ceiling with narrow windows along the top to give just a hint of the outside world. Enough to tease you by reminding you that it is still there. I pictured pale, thin girls in dirty nightgowns, with blank, lost expressions on their faces. My daughter said that the girls weren’t allowed to play or call home.
After she described this awful scene, her therapist made a statement that I had already realized. My daughter had just metaphorically defined domestic violence. That being said, the story about the Bad Girl House that preceded this, expanded on that metaphor, with quite a bit of reality tied in.