Kendall Hill Road

I hated living on Kendall Hill Road, out in the middle of nowhere.
When Dad and I moved out, I knew I was escaping at last. I had my own
selfish motives for going with him. It wasn't just to protect him and
it wasn't just to hurt her. That one split second decision, which I
never ever wavered on or regretted, defined me.

My memories of the house on Kendall Hill Road are all clouded with
feelings of anger and frustration. I often catch myself frowning when
trying to remember. It was always cold.

It is in this house that my growing pains were deep emotional aches
that rocked me.

We had chickens, which were amusing at first when small and in a box.
Mamma-Cat Emily slept on top near the heating lamp, licking her lips.
If I had known what disgusting, stupid animals they would grow into, I
would have gladly let her feast.

It is in this house I cried myself to sleep because I was angry with my
father and resented my sisters.

I felt disgust every morning when I entered the chicken coop. The birds
would all be huddled together for warmth. When I stepped in they would
move in a wave away from my feet only to swarm back in again if I did
not shoo them away. I collected the eggs - stopping short of reaching
for those still underneath hens - and scattered feed. Then I would get
out quick before I had to witness the violent attacks made on the ones
at the bottom of the pecking order. Those chickens were bloody and
featherless, yet they still tried to fit in, ignoring the messages of
hatred from the others. They strutted around oblivious to their place
in the world.

It is in this house that I awoke to pains of anxiety about the days
inevitable social struggles over best friends and spelling partners. I
got pretty good at predicting when it was my turn to be bloodied and
plucked. I would ache for the warmth of my mother, or my cats or a
heating lamp during the cold friendless recesses. But the relief of
arriving home would only last a minute before it was cold and dark
outside and I had to head to the barn again to break the ice in the
chickens water.

I am sure the duty of feeding the flock fell to me as I was already
stomping out to the barn every morning to feed my Shetland pony. Ashley
was beautiful, but useless, given to us by a farmer friend when she was
quite young. By the time she was old enough to be ridden, I had grown
too tall and my sisters were not interested. There was little incentive
for me to break her in when I would experience none of the riding
pleasure. So she was more like a large dog that could not come in the
house. By the time I moved out with Dad, I wasn't interested anymore
either.

It is in this house that no one believed me when I said money was
disappearing from my piggy bank.

We lost a lot of cats on Kendall Hill Road. Emily had four kittens -
two went, two stayed. Tigger was one we kept. She lost her tail
eventually and had to wear a cone on her head. Then she disappeared.
Sugar was her brother. He slept on Mandy's chest and licked her face.
And then he disappeared. AC was an alley cat my mom brought home from a
Chinese restaurant. I remember where he came from because it was the
only time I knew of my parents going out. A car hit AC. Dad fetched him
from the side of the road with a shovel.
It is in this house that our neighbour repeatedly stole from us.

Just before we left, my mother gave me a (peace offering) kitten. I
named her Tyler and loved her more than any pet that came before.

It is in this house that my two sisters and I shared a room next to our
parents. It was crowded and my tolerance for my sisters was
non-existent.

My sisters were the helpers while he built the barn. If I close my eyes
I can see them in the distance, me standing in the driveway, they up
the hill Dad on the roof, Carey and Mandy watching his every move with
admiration and adoration. When this scene comes flooding back it brings
with it an empty feeling in my (heart) stomach.

It is in this house Dad built me a room at the back of the house, away
from everyone.

My sister Mandy cracked her head on the brick stove. I remember it
splitting open. Dad was not there. I tried to be a grown up. Something
in me worried my mother couldn't handle it on her own.

It is in this house that I started thinking about cutting off Carey's
long blonde braids and I altogether ignored Mandy.

We three were cornered in the downstairs bathroom, Dad screaming at us
and brandishing his belt. Though, I do not remember ever being hit, I
feared and loathed him at the same time. I would lie in bed and sob to
my mother about how much I hated him. Her knowledge of these feelings
would hurt and confuse her when I insisted on moving out with him when
she (met someone else) couldn't make it work anymore.