Hey World. I’ve been having some pretty vivid nightmares lately. This has caused me to delve into my past, in hopes that I might unearth an explanation for the dreams. Freud or some dude said that most disturbances in life are caused by childhood trauma, so today, I have decided to privilege you with the story of one of my very deepest, darkest, disturbingest childhood memories. Is it traumatic enough to cause my nightmares more than fifteen years later? Yeah, probably not. But hey, if writing it down proves to be all magical and therapeutic, I’ll let ya know so you can, like...write down traumatic experiences in a public space in hopes of healing your scarred minds as well. Ever’bodies doin’ it! Anyway. On to the story.
Once, when I was very young, but old enough to know better, I had a strange horror of an E.T. doll belonging to one of my friends. Actually, it belonged to her little sister. I could hardly wrap my mind around the strength of mind necessary to know such a thing was in your house all the time (aalll throughhh the niiight...) and yet not go insane or become paralyzed with horror. So you might say I thought I was doing the whole family a favor when I, in a paroxysm of fright, ordered my friend to take the doll from her sister and throw it “behind the couch”...a land of forgotten toys and socks and VCRs and whoknowswhatsits piled two feet deep, contained in a cranny perhaps two by six feet, behind the moldering argyle basement couch. To retrieve anything from this area, you had to crawl over the back of the couch, landing in whatever awaited you on the other side. To get back was impossible, unless you were incredibly strong or had mad ninja skills. Anything thrown back there was, to a seven year old, lost forever. Now, the little sister had an attachment to this particular doll. It’s as inconceivable to me now as it was then, but she certainly did, because no sooner had she seen her beloved sentenced to the third circle of hell than she began crying hysterically. Parents were summoned. Their father came downstairs. It’s always, always a serious thing when the father appears on the scene. I remember fading into the background with the hope that my friend would be blamed for everything...after all...the little sister knew only that my friend had thrown her doll behind the couch. She couldn’t possibly know that it had not been by her sister’s own free will. But alas, how my heart aches to recall the moment when I first discovered betrayal.....when I first realized how weak we humans are as we do anything, say anything, to escape retribution.......as my friend pointed at me and said “she tooold me to”. What happened afterwards is a convenient blur, but this is strangely the last memory I have of playing with that particular friend. Perhaps my memory is faulty, or, perhaps, the family decided I was a bad influence on their children. I’d like to think its the former, because listen - a child who has a fondness for a stuffed E.T. can hardly be led astray by any outside influence. She has already traveled well down the path of darkness all by herself.
PS I later found out that this kid turned out to be a demon-worshipping tattoo artist heavy metal rock band singer/songwriter who later joined a cult that believes in the reincarnation of aliens. It was very satisfying.
PPS That was a lie. She’s probably a missionary or like, Mother Theresa.
PPPS I’m still scared of E.T. Is there anything creepier? I ask you.
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