The Memory

I am nine years old. We go as a family to an island in the Gulf of Mexico off the coast of Siesta Key, Sarasota, Florida.  Where I grew up.

I am woken up in our tent, my sister's tent. My father carries me to Steve and Diane's tent. They are the married couple that have come along the camping trip with us on.

They are sleeping as I lie down next to Diane. She was always the nicer of the two; she acted like the mother I couldn't have. I snuggle up a bit and start to fall asleep.

I wake up and Steve is on top of me while Diane is behind me holding onto my arms. I am kicking so hard. I aim for his weapon. I give him more.

Now I am passed out waking up and I slowly walk back to our tent, my sister's tent.

I do not get out of my tent for a long time. I am really sore and I am so tired.

I have my bathing suit on with the longest t-shirt I can find. I make it to the water safely.

Diane is there watching me and the girls. I am in the water all day.

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