Posted by: Marie | March 10, 2009

(27) Who had hands like that?

Post #27
[Journal entry written to my therapist on Saturday, April 19, 2008]

Hi, Mark –

I had been lying on my bed, talking on the phone this afternoon.  After the call, I stayed on the bed and relaxed for a few minutes (thinking, not sleeping).  All the sudden, I had a flash of memory where I was about four years old – I was sitting on the edge of some kind of raised platform, with my legs hanging over the side.

A man was sitting next to me, on my left side, and he had his arm behind me, up against my back.  I could see his hand, flat on the platform, next to my right hip.  I had a sense of dread.  I could clearly see his hand and a few inches of his arm.  His hand was well manicured and his sleeve was dressy (like the long sleeve of a dress shirt).  I could see a gold bracelet and a gold (class?) ring.  His arm hair was lighter, almost blond.  I was aware that he was very fussy about his clothes and his appearance.

None of the men I had considered before had hands like that – those men are/were all blue-collar workers and their hands are/were torn up and stained, and none of them have/had blond hair.  I immediately remembered who had hands like that – Mr. “X”, our minister of music at our church we attended from when I was a few weeks old until I was nine.

I don’t know if that association is accurate.  However, everything fits.  He called me his “girlfriend” and brought me little gifts – when I was maybe seven or eight, he gave me a heart locket necklace – in the inside, I put a picture of him on one side and a picture of me on the other side.  I told everyone I was going to marry him (I didn’t understand that his married status might be an issue) – I didn’t understand why everyone thought it was funny and “cute” when I said that – I was serious!

I did spend some Sunday afternoons at their house when I was younger (age four?) – my mom would pack my play clothes in a paper grocery sack and I would change clothes at their house.  Their kids were way older than me, and his wife had chronic pain and she usually slept Sunday afternoons (she was later arrested for stealing pain killers from the hospital where she worked as an RN), so I would spend my time alone with him – but I have no memory of what we did.

I am guessing that the “platform” was the stage at church – I starting singing during services when I was two, so I felt very comfortable at the front of the sanctuary.  I remember hanging out with him as he played through the different vocal parts on the piano in preparation for choir practice.  Sometimes I would sing along, or he would play a song especially for me to sing as the choir members were arriving.  I remember always looking for his attention and approval (very similar to what I have been doing as an adult when I am “infatuated” or “desperate”).

Anyway – I’m not ready to say that this association is accurate, but it feels more accurate than any other possibility I have considered – and more believable.  It takes my breath away.

– Marie

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