Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

by Sarah Elizabeth Alvarez

Overview

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made is a biographical account of a young girl who grew up with her parents, and siblings in a modest home in Upstate New York in the late 60's and early 70's. Sarah was emotionally and physically abused by her mother, and sexually abused by her father.

Throughout her childhood she sought comfort and refuge in her intimate relationship with God. In her mid 20"s, she becomes a mother of a darling little boy, and is also diagnosed with Bipolar.

Her life seems complete when Sarah meets her future husband, Nehemiah, while vacationing in the Caribbean. They happily raise their vivacious baby boy. Then, Nehemiah is incarcerated for selling prescription drugs to an undercover detective. She is left alone to raise her children. Her faith is tested but she proves to be unshakeable.

Sarah eventually reconciles with her mother, and fully embraces her past.

This true story was written with the deep desire of shedding light on the serious effects of child abuse, and to inspire others to never give up hope.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781490779058
Publisher:	Trafford Publishing
Publication date:	11/29/2016
Pages:	108
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.26(d)

Read an Excerpt

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

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By Sarah Elizabeth Alvarez

Trafford Publishing

Copyright © 2016 Sarah Elizabeth Alvarez
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4907-7905-8

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CHAPTER 1

Mayo Jar

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"Bend forward," Mama said as she poured a few delicate droplets of coconut oil mixed with pungent herbs from the local botanica on my hair. Mama was massaging it in hopes to get it to grow again. I hungered for these moments with my mom. It was only then that I felt loved and assured around her. The coconut oil was kept in a mayo jar and was placed in the left hand side of the refrigerator door. Its sight pulled me in like a silly suction cup.

Thinking back on it today, I can honestly say that it was not the most appealing mayo jar of our whole collection. It has yellowed from within, and it bore a crack from competing for space in the crammed refrigerator. The faded label was so familiar and comforting to me at that time. The s in the word Hellman's was gone from my caressing it lovingly every time I opened the fridge.

Mama began the hair treatments because I was pulling my hair out in chunks. While Mama hummed "Canta y no llores" and parted my hair in a nonsensical fashion, I formed a habit of counting the number of times that she made actual contact with my head and assured myself that that is how much she loved me. Occasionally, as I sat crouched on the floor between her legs, she would provide glimpses of her own childhood.

Mama was born in a small barrio in the Caribbean. She was the second one born in a family of ten children. Her father was a pastor of a Pentecostal church, and everyone called him Abuelito. He was short, stocky, and always wore a black hat with tiny feathers on the side. I laughed the first time I saw him without a hat. He was bald from the top, and he kept rubbing at it as if he were ashamed of his own head. Mama always said that he was a fair person, and he did not play favorites with his large family. Mama would say that if he had just one orange, he would cut up that orange in ten equal wedges for his children. Aida, my maternal grandmother, was petite with milky skin and jet-black hair. In church, she always wore it in a bun, but at home, she will let it cascade past her shoulders.

They arrived in New York in the mid-1950s and quickly settled into a life of immigrants. Long hours working as a store security guard during the week for Abuelito and pastoral duties on Sundays. Aida settled into a life of housework and child care. Aida was significantly younger than her husband, and much later on abandoned her large family. My mama was already married when this happened, but she had younger siblings who needed their momma around.

Mama's childhood was one of deprivation. She and her nine siblings were not allowed to attend social functions. The female siblings had to wear long skirts and dresses all the time. They were forbidden to wear makeup and certain jewelry. Mama said she was once slapped in front of Papa and called filthy names when they first started to date and were caught by Aida holding hands. Mama wanted so badly to escape that lifestyle that she became pregnant with me by the age of seventeen.

When Mama spoke about her childhood as I sat between her legs waiting for the hair massage to begin, I would come to understand why Mama was that way with me. At such a young age, I was emphatic. It did not ease my own pain, but I came to understand why things happened as they did. Mama never cried when she recited her own snippets of abuse. I would at times watch my mama from a distance, wedged in a corner on the kitchen floor, with a razor in her hand, making small crosses on her forearm. The first time I witnessed her doing that, I ran to get a towel. How I longed to get close, but her mood swings prevented me. With my hand outstretched, I handed her the towel, but she seemed to have not noticed. She stood up and said absolutely nothing.

I do not remember pulling my own hair though, but I do recall the events that led up to that. The one time that she attempted to drown me in the bathtub while trying to wash my hair stands out because I was tall enough to see myself in the bathroom mirror. It forced me to witness the toll on my body, mind, and spirit.

The tub was filled to capacity, and the scented bubbles were just beginning to form. I wanted to burst every one of them and giggled to myself. The faucet was still on, and Mama asked me to go under it in order to wash it. When I slipped, she grabbed me by the throat and tried to drown me. As I gasped for air and shot up, my forehead hit the faucet and tiny drops of blood trickled. It was then that she awoke from a trance and dried me off with a towel. She then wrapped my forehead in gauze. I stayed in the bathroom for a long time after that, utterly shattered and looking at my reflection. In my head, I was piecing together what had actually happened. I replayed every second over and over. The mirror begged me to hate my mom, my mind said I shouldn't have slipped, and my heart said my mama did not mean it. The stark truth was I looked like I just survived a war. I did. A war with my mama's demons.

CHAPTER 2

Winston

* * *

Sneaking that first Winston from Mama's pack of cigarettes was not only easy but also strangely funny. Easy because she liked gossiping on the phone with her girlfriend Anita. Strange because it was my first time stealing something, and funny because I was strategic and darn good at it.

It was not my first time holding a pack of cigarettes in my hands. Back in the midseventies, storeowners sold them without hesitation to very young kids. Mama would send me to the store because she had to care for my younger siblings. I was only six at the time when I stole that first cigarette from mom. Luckily for me, the pack was already opened but still fairly new. I carefully tipped the front tab and made sure to pull a cigarette from the back row. Ever so gently and with nervous trepidation, I pulled the front tab closed and placed it back down on the kitchen counter. Pulling a thin one from the back middle row was essential. By doing so, the rest of the cigarettes stayed in place, and it provided the owner an illusion of having never been tampered with.

With a cigarette and matches in hand, I made it to the bathroom and lit up quickly. That first drag gave me that "music in my head" feeling, and I soon discovered why my mama loved her Winstons. She was never really far from one. It either bounced precariously on her bottom lip while she talked or it was clutched between her fingers like a drowning kitten.

Within weeks after my first clumsy pull of the cigarette, I became an adept thief, liar, and nicotine addict. Mama did eventually find out. She would beat me each time, but I continued to smoke. I only smoked when I could get my hands on one because she began leaving them inside her purse. Now I had to steal two at a time to decrease my chances of getting caught.

Once, I even dared to light a cigarette in bed with my sister sleeping next to me. I had waited quietly in the dark until she fell asleep, but Ellie awoke suddenly, and I immediately froze with fright. Ellie relished tattling on me. Little sister saw only the lit part of the cigarette because the room was dark and asked if I was smoking. When I did not answer, she screamed because she thought there was a fire. I dropped the cigarette the minute she yelled for Mama. I pleaded with Ellie not to tell, but it was too late. When Mama walked into the room, I swore that I wasn't smoking, but the smell and the cigarette hole in the sheet squealed on me. After my beating that night, Mama was determined that I was not going to give up smoking, and that she needed a new tactic to deal with me.

Mama began lying on me to my papa about my smoking. She would tell him that I was caught smoking on days when I really wasn't. Mama would stand by the door with an eerily nauseating smile on her face while he questioned me about my smoking. Papa did not believe in hitting his children, and Mama knew this very well. With his back turned to her, she egged him on and simultaneously mouthed threats to me. "Si Papa," the bobbing of my head said because my throat closed up from the sides and top like a workman's tool. His weary eyes pleaded for understanding, but he smacked me once hard across the face that first time and then left when I promised not to smoke again.

CHAPTER 3

Barbie Mall

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I woke up earlier than usual that Easter Sunday of 1975. I was careful not to rouse my sister from her slumber as I searched for my new shoes under the bed. Shoebox in hand, I tiptoed past my parents' and younger brother's sleeping quarters to the living room. It was that time of day where moments before it was pitch black. I moved the curtain panel slightly behind the recliner and sat down. The shoes were the Mary Jane type, simple, black, and with an intricate white flowery design embroidered on top. I traced my fingers over each of those flowers and admired how they were formed in a line straight across where the toes are supposed to be. I unbuckled the shoes and slid my feet in. Buckling them was a bit harder, but oh, what pure joy I felt at that moment. I enjoyed the fact that although Mama purchased identical dresses, raincoats, and bonnets for my sister and me, our shoes were different. My sisters', Mary Jane's, were just simply black.

I believed at that moment that Mama was proud of my hard work around the house and was rewarding me.

After church, we stopped at the park to take family pictures. Papa purchased a giant balloon for each of us. These floating "snow globes" were decorated in a colorful confetti style pattern, and each time the elastic band was jerked in yo-yo fashion, the tiny rice danced inside, much to our delight.

As soon as we arrived home, I changed clothes and tucked my shoes inside the box and stored it under the bed. I couldn't wait to show my friends my pretty shoes. Since Mama warned us that we were to wear our new shoes on special occasions only, I had to sneak them inside my book bag. I proudly showed them off by putting them on and turning my foot in every direction. In my haste to put them away because the teacher was watching, I lost one, but I didn't realize it until I had to do my homework. I was devastated. I not only lost my beloved shoe, I was paralyzed with fear about my mama finding out.

A month later, Mama asked us to wear our Easter shoes and outfit because we were going to celebrate Mother's Day in church. At first, I pretended to look and then lied about its whereabouts. I finally admitted that I lost the shoe in school. Mama said that she was going to tell Papa that I was caught smoking once again and told to "admit" doing so when he interrogated me. My siblings were also coached to lie. When Papa questioned me, I said yes. In my head, I was screaming no, and I tried to pull his attention toward my eyes so that he would believe otherwise. Instead of hitting me, he turned and smashed my Barbie mall to pieces with his heavy black work boots.

I felt as if all sounds ceased, and that everything came to a crawl. I am quite certain that everything happened in a matter of minutes. I gazed up from the mess and watched his back furtively as he left fuming. I saw Mama at the door with a curved smile on her face and then quickly looked toward the floor. It took me a couple of hours to clean up the mess because I was in such a state of shock.

While cleaning, I was flooded with memories of when I first saw the two nicely wrapped boxes under the Christmas tree. One box was labeled for Ellie and was just slightly smaller, and the other was labeled for me, Sarah. At night, we would take guesses of what it could possibly be. Ellie guessed hers right. She was given the Barbie dollhouse, but I never did guess correctly. I couldn't believe my eyes. The Barbie mall came equipped with many accessories and fine details. The tiniest of hangers holding the latest fashions. An upper and lower level were accessible by a narrow escalator. I spent hours on Sundays playing with it because the dollhouse and mall were placed side by side. I enjoyed moving some of Ellie's toy furniture inside the mall and having Barbie try on different outfits. Left without my beloved Barbie mall and watching Ellie play with her dollhouse was especially painful.

I decided immediately not to display to others my attachment to things or people. When things were taken away from me throughout my childhood or people changed, I cried inwardly. I know my eyes reflected pain because adults were always making comments about my eyes. Sometimes, they would stare and then look away shaking their heads. Whenever they would get too close, I would put on a brave face and quietly dismiss their concerns.

Memories lodged in my psyche, and my wishful imagination took me to quiet places filled with nature's beauty. I saw myself surrounded by lakes, mountains, and children laughing. My early childhood drawings were filled with rainbows, big houses, and happy families. These were necessary because they helped me to escape and survive. These childlike drawings fueled my dreams of a better tomorrow.

CHAPTER 4

Slap Me

* * *

"Slap me, Sarah," he softly pleaded. It was certainly not the first time I was commanded to do so. "Harder, slap me harder," he would say in a voice that sounded ridiculous and muffled to me. After all, he had to half whisper and also speak in quick sharp commands because of my disassociated state. It was only when I heard his voice did I awaken from my numb state. He wanted to believe that by slapping him, the incident that just occurred somehow did not.

It always started the same way, when Mama was on an outside errand or visiting her best friend, Papa will beckon me with his eyes. He had to because my siblings were around. Sometimes, when I was not aware that Mama left the house as I played with Ellie and Mateo, I would sense his nervous excitement evade my space and instantly knew to get up and follow him to an unoccupied room. Once there, I would pull up my skirt or pull down my pants. Then I'll get in bed while Papa pulled down my underwear. He always did so halfway, just in case I had to dress in a hurry. Then the caressing will start. I'll close my eyes, and my fingers traced the path his tongue made around my private area on the quilt beneath me. He always inhaled when he first made contact and shuddered a couple of times when he was finished. Then he would stop suddenly, and tell me to get dressed while he left the room. The slap me commands came much later on. My guess was that he knew I was getting older and that I might tell. Sometimes, we ended with asking Jesus for forgiveness.

I was seven and Ellie was three when the whole ordeal first began. We were taking our nightly bubble bath when Papa barges in without knocking. He really had to use the bathroom and probably did not realize that we were in there. While he urinated, he looked toward us, and I saw him differently. I immediately felt as if my life were in danger. I turned my focus on Ellie and began washing her back. My instincts were correct. I was able to sense danger because I constantly lived in danger of a beating. This time, the danger was deceptive and confusing on so many different levels.

As I made my way in the dark to use the bathroom later that first night of many, Papa grabbed me, and I followed without questioning, protesting, or crying aloud. He already had no shirt on, and as he sat on the toilet, I could smell his musty nervous state. I held my breath and felt him pull my panties down. I knew very well what he was doing. I knew it was wrong, and yet I did nothing. I sat straddled on his lap with my face pressed against his chest. I counted his heartbeats as he clutched my skinny legs from both sides. He kept opening and closing his legs, and when his thighs met, I prayed.

Then it was over, and I was left alone to tend to myself. I awoke the next morning with a wet pillow and my legs cramped from keeping them crossed the whole night. Papa always constrained himself and only fondled with his hands and mouth. However, the internal damage was done, and whenever I see a man without a shirt on or smell musk, I am temporarily transported back to that first dark night.

These incestuous scenarios were played out quite often until the year I turned sixteen. When I was much, much older, I asked Papa why he did what he did. He explained that he always sensed that I was a sad child in need of affection.

In the weeks and months after that first incident, Mama would accuse me of doing many things that I was actually innocent of. She always claimed to have psychic powers. In my head, I would tell myself, "Yeah, Mama, you know many things, but you don't know about Papa and me."

CHAPTER 5

Noah's Ark

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Anita was Mama's best friend and Ellie's godmother. Mama and Anita became best friends because they were from the same small town from the Caribbean. Although they did not really know each other as children in the barrio because of the significant age difference, Anita and Mama were inseparable once the two met while enrolling their children in school. Anita saw Mama as a young mom in need of support and guidance. Mama was drawn to her independent spirit. Anita was happily married with one child and worked as a receptionist. It is my belief that Anita suspected Mama was abusive toward me but kept her suspicious to herself, and instead quietly steered me toward God. During Christmas time, she came with gifts for not only her goddaughter Ellie, but for Mateo and me. Mateo was given mostly action figures, and Ellie received dolls. I usually received fairy tales and coloring books.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Fearfully and Wonderfully Made by Sarah Elizabeth Alvarez. Copyright © 2016 Sarah Elizabeth Alvarez. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Prologue – Am I Crazy?, vii,
Chapter 1 – Mayo Jar, 1,
Chapter 2 – Winston, 5,
Chapter 3 – Barbie Mall, 7,
Chapter 4 – Slap Me, 11,
Chapter 5 – Noah's Ark, 15,
Chapter 6 – Old Man Williams, 17,
Chapter 7 – Loose Change, 21,
Chapter 8 – All Alone, 23,
Chapter 9 – Stay a While, 25,
Chapter 10 – The BG's Club, 27,
Chapter 11 – Aaah Dolores, 31,
Chapter 12 – Stop in the Name of Love, 33,
Chapter 13 – Smurfs, 35,
Chapter 14 – Heart for Sale, 37,
Chapter 15 – Bottoms Up, 41,
Chapter 16 – Sixteen Candles, 43,
Chapter 17 – Now Why Did Go and Tell Mama For, 45,
Chapter 18 – Budweiser, 47,
Chapter 19 – Dumb Turtle, 49,
Chapter 20 – Napalm, 51,
Chapter 21 – Hush Little Baby, 53,
Chapter 22 – No Turning Back, 59,
Chapter 23 – Nehemiah, 63,
Chapter 24 – Bendiciones, 67,
Chapter 25 – Party Animal, 69,
Chapter 26 – Incarcerated, 73,
Chapter 27 – Welcome Home Mama Part 1, 79,
Chapter 28 – Welcome Home Mama Part 2, 83,
Chapter 29 – Family Reunion, 85,
Chapter 30 – Eyes Were Like Mine, 89,
Chapter 31 – Beautifully Flawed, 91,
Epilogue – Fearfully and Wonderfully Made, 95,