Katie Beers by Buried Memories: Katie Beers' Story

nine at night, I was not allowed to sleep in the bed. If I did not make it upstairs in time, I had to sleep on the couch in the living room and Sal would have his way with me. I would often awake to Sal hanging over me, taking off my underwear. He would lie next to me masturbating and touching me. He would rub up against me and touch me, and then it became me touching him. He would tell me what to do, sometimes holding my hand to show me. It went on like this for a while. Later, if I didn’t make it up to bed with Aunt Linda, Sal would come hunting for me in the house. When he found me, he would turn me over and lay me on my stomach. He would take off my underwear and start to rub his dick in my buttocks, never penetrating me this way. I guess he just used it to get off. It went on for years like this—at first once a week and then every day. Eventually —when it was clear he wouldn’t get caught —he began to rape me.
    Marilyn was never there at night. She spent the nightshift caring for an old woman. She needed to work more than one job because she was the only one in the house earning a dime. So there was no one to turn to. Sal knew the nine o’clock rule and would deliberately delay me.
    When he was finished, Sal would pull my underwear up and tell me to clean myself up. He would always escort me to the bathroom and watch me while I cleaned up. He would do the same then walk out and return to his La-Z Boy chair in the living-room, lean back and crack open a can of beer.
    Aunt Linda’s rule got even stiffer. If I went upstairs too late, even if she were awake, she would send me back downstairs saying, “You didn’t listen; you were supposed to be up here ten minutes ago.” There were times that I would sleep on the floor behind the couch, hoping that Salwouldn’t be able to find me. There were times that I would accidentally fall asleep on the couch, and I would awake to Sal grunting at me to roll over or giving me some other command, not to move, to keep quiet, no talking, hold still while he penetrated me. Grandma Helen was right down the hall on the same floor but never heard a thing. I’d pretend to be asleep while he raped me, night after night. I thought if I would pretend to be sleeping, Sal would leave me alone. It didn’t happen that way. When he would finish, he would shake me and tell me to go clean myself up. I have memories of waking with my underwear soaked, and I didn’t pee myself. Sal was using my body as I slept.
    I started to beg my grandmother to allow me to sleep in bed with her. Sometimes she let me. I felt safe there. But it was short lived. Sal then realized where I was sleeping and would come wake me up and make me come out and “play” with him. It was always in whispers. Whispered threats.
    As Sal started to feel more comfortable with abusing me, he started to do it during the day. I would start to avoid coming home from school because I knew what was going to happen as soon as I arrived. Sal would ask me to come to his bedroom. As I slowly took steps across the linoleum tile floor, he would gesture to me to come closer, over to his bed. There, with his enormous pot belly and erection sticking up, he would lay with no pants on. Then he would tell me to play with him. I was seven years old and this was my daily routine.
    As his confidence that he wouldn’t get caught increased, so did the abuse. He raped me on a regular basis. I don’t recall anymore how often it was, but it seemed like it was more than once a week, for years. When he raped me, I always had to be on top because he was an obese man and would have probably crushed me. Sal would make me use lotion when he would make me play with him—he kept the lotion right next to his bed or in the closet in the bedroom. Lubriderm. I would sneak into Sal’s room when he was not home and steal the lotion, hoping that if he didn’t have the lotion, then he wouldn’t make me play with him. It didn’t work. I would throw it in the