The Hidden Truth

Non fiction

I was called to my master’s room a few days later. I found him sitting in front of his computer, playing another cursing game of pazaak. I laughed out loud and asked him if he was ever going to learn.

“After I win the next game”

I told him he might go bank robbed for the millionth time before that happened. He looked as if he had something smart to say, but thought against it and signaled at the bed.

“I want you to lie down and start a short meditation. You are to clear your mind and be at peace. Let me know when you are done”

This was not entirely a strange request, but not a usual one. He did make me meditate beyond his class, especially if I was close to punching someone, or even looking like that such would earn me twenty minutes of mediation. The request was strange because I was not angry or up set. It had been a rather slow, calming day, and for the life of me, I could not think of why he wanted this. By the time, I knew better than to ask him such questions, for answers were usually revealed later.

I lay down on the bed, relaxing all muscles and willing my mind to settle into a clear, deep nothingness. For some unknown time I stay there, never quite truly letting go of my grasp upon reality or the concept of anything. I grew impatient, unable to understand why I was doing this and opened my eyes to stare at Mirmo.
“I see that you are done. Good. You may recall a previous night where your dreams disturbed you greatly. As I have said before, I only wish to help you. Since you seem unable to tell me, or even hint to me as to your troubled past, I have found another way to delve in your history with your parents. This will not be an easy method, or one that you will like, but I think it will give me a greater insight as to how I can help you. This method requires me to enter your mind and view your memories. I need you to be relaxed, and not only allow me to enter your mind, but to stay there until I am through. It is important for the safety of both of us that you do not panic for any reason. Remember, I will be there and they are only memories. They will cause pain, but they will only harm you if you allow them. Do you have any questions?”

I shook my head. He was right. I didn’t like this at all. I hate people going into my mind, but there was nothing I could do. Master Mirmo was acting very formal about all of this and I knew he was dead serious.

“Then lie down, relax, and let me in”

I did as he asked. I felt his finger tips lightly touch my temples. The Force entered me and I felt him. I manually opened my mind, resisting my mental defense system, and allowed him to come in. It wasn’t quite telepathy or empathy, but a combination of both from him, telling me to start reviewing memories. I picked an early one, going back when I was fourteen.

I was in the living room, close to my father, both of us steaming with anger. My father threatened to punch my teeth out, but that didn’t scare me. We talked more and then he slapped me across the face. For a moment I was shocked that he had done such a thing, but recovered quickly to notice my father had gone to my room to take away my cd player. My mother, held my arm, telling me not to do anything. I was so angry, I went to my room. I tugged on my father, lightly hitting him, trying to get him to let go of the cd player. He wouldn’t. Instead, he slapped me again across the face. Then, he forced me to walk back, a foot away from my bed. He angrily told me if I ever talked to him again like that (I still don’t know what he meant) he was kill me. I was shaking, swearing I had wet my pants. He screamed at me if I understood that. I couldn’t talk. He raised his hand in a fist, making it clear he would punch me if I didn’t answer. I managed to stutter out yes and he left. The scar of that scene was so great, I couldn’t feel the Force for a month, I was that scared.

The next remember was a few months later, when I was in the car, parked near the house.

My father wanted me to do some math problem in my head. I wasn’t good at math and could barely do it in my head. My father got angry at me and screamed at me. That scared me, but made me think. I asked him why he tried to scare me. He told me a person thinks better when they are scared. That answer felt so wrong. My father knew nothing of the monster he was.

The next memory I wasn’t sure of my age, but I knew I was a young teen.

I had spent several weeks angry, growing more and angrier. It seemed anything I did was never good enough. I was asked to trim the ivy. I had done so, but not good enough for my father. When he got home from work, he called me and started yelling at me for missing some spots. My temper flew and I half kicked at him. I made sure I didn’t touch him, but I just wanted to do it so bad. That was a huge mistake. My father grabbed my hand, dragged me from the front of the house to the porch and twisted my arm behind my back. I screamed and screamed, knowing a neighbor was near by. My father threatened to break my arm if I didn’t shut up. He yelled at me, telling me I should be ashamed of myself and left me to run to my room. My mom had been standing there the whole time. She came in a bit later, asking me if I thought my arm was broken. She said sometimes my father didn’t realize what he was doing. I was too upset to realize how wrong her words were.

The next memory focused on my mom, several years later.

I woke up and knew something was wrong. I didn’t have a clue, I just knew. I realized my mom was in the bathtub and it was late at night. What was she doing there? When she got out, I knew she was drunk. I huddled in my bed, too scared to move. I had never been alone in the house when my mom drunk. I heard her bump into the wall and somehow go into the kitchen. I prayed with my eyes closed she didn’t end up walking into my room like the first, until now, only time. She didn’t, but the crash in her room was so loud I jumped out of my bed and was at her door before I had time to think. I paused, not wanting to know what had happened. I didn’t want to face this. The Jedi part of me refused to give in to the fear and I walked in. My mom had collapsed in the closet, holding a big bottle of alcohol. I came to her and tried to get her up, but she was too heavy. I put the bottle away, to deal with later, and waited for ten minutes before she got up. She went to the bathroom, telling me I should go to bed. I didn’t say anything, but knew I wasn’t going anywhere until she was in bed. I emailed my aunts, asking for advise. I found out my mom was snoring on the toilet due to my cat opening the bathroom door. I went back to bed, staring at the bathroom door, feeling pale. After some time, my mom did go to bed. I never did go back to sleep that night. The next night my mom had gotten drunk again due to my poor hiding of the alcohol. It was a rough weekend and it didn’t help I was sick with a low fever. The memory fast forwarded to when my father came home and told me I shouldn’t have told my aunts. It was none of the business. He seemed so angry at me. It was hardly fair. I didn’t know what to do and I was scared.

I felt the gentle tug of my master leaving my mind and his finger left my head. I opened my eyes to find his closed and him taking a deep breath.

“Are there more?”

I nodded and then looked at the end of the bed. I felt pale and withdrawn. I hoped he didn’t want to see any more.

“We will have to continue this later. I think we both need time to process this”

I nodded again, determined not to cry. I swallowed and shifted in the bed.

“If you want to be alone, I understand, Karen”

I said nothing and got off the bed. I silently left the room and slowly went to my room, to sit and stare at the wall, thinking nothing. I only broke my mindless stare when there was a knock at the door.