A Child Abused

Melissa was in my 4th grade class. She was the sweetest girl any one could ever be blessed to meet, and she was my best friend. I will never forget her, not even now that she's gone.

When I first met Melissa, she looked so sad. Actually, she often looked sad, but I will never forget that dejected look on her face that bright Monday morning when I first saw her. She walked with her head down, golden brown hair sheltering her face, hands clutched tightly around her little red lunchbox. When I approached her, she seemed surprised, but she smiled. I noticed she was missing her two bottom teeth. Melissa told me she was new to the area; her mother had moved them there after remarrying a man from the local police station. As we walked to school, I noticed her fidget with her sleeves a lot, wrapping them tightly around her thumbs. I figured she was just shy.

I sat next to her in class, and it always warmed me when she smiled over at me. But something in her eyes...they hurt me. They looked so sad, and I felt like I wanted to cry every time I saw them.

At recess, we seemed to be having fun for a little while, swinging around as high as we could go. But then I noticed something that scared me. As she swung higher, Melissa's sleeves fell, and I saw bruises everywhere. I immediately stopped swinging. She could sense that something was wrong, so she stopped too. She looked at me with frightened brown eyes, the scardest eyes I had ever seen. "You can tell me," I said softly, and Melissa seemed to believe me. She nodded and led me over to the benches next to the fence. She closed her eyes for a moment, rubbing the surface. I could tell she was wondering if she could trust me or not, but I supposed she had never had a real friend before, because she wanted to confide in me. She took a crumbled piece of paper and a small yellow pencil out from her pocket. I watched her, and on that little paper, this is what she wrote:

My stepdad hits me. My mommy's okay with it. Don't tell anyone.

And with that, she walked away.

I didn't know what to do. I just sat there, tears welling up in my eyes, asking myself why. Melissa was such a nice girl. She didn't deserve this. No one did.

When the recess bell rang, I went back to class, and Melissa took her seat next to me. The teacher watched us, and her expression told us she knew something was wrong, but she didn't ask. Melissa's face gave nothing away.

As the final bell rang and we picked up our bookbags, the teacher stopped us before we made it out the door. "Is everything okay?" she asked us. I wouldn't meet her eyes, but Melissa gave me a fearful look that told me to keep my mouth shut. She looked back at the teacher and smiled. "Everything's fine," she said. Then we walked away, towards home.

I couldn't contain the tears when I entered the house. My daddy asked me if I was okay, and all I could say was "Melissa lies" as I darted to my room. He brushed it off at first, probably thinking I had just gotten into a fight with someone at school, but he didn't know how badly I hurt. I held a secret, a secret I didn't know what to do with. I heard the knock on my door, knowing my father had come to make sure I was okay, afraid to hear the silly girl problems that would be better suited for a mother that I didn't have. "You can tell me," he said from the other side, although his voice begged me not to. But I couldn't hold it in any longer. "Melissa lies," I repeated, and he entered the room.

I sat on the bed, pillow held tightly to my chest, and he sat down beside me. He twirled my hair as I said "Melissa lies to the classroom, Daddy, she lies everyday at school. She lies to the teachers, and she tries to cover every bruise."

He didn't know what to do. He just sat there, wiping the tears from my eyes, and told me to get some rest. I laid my head down, feeling suddenly defeated by the weight of the world. He kissed me on the forehead, and as soon as I heard the door click shut, I climbed out of bed and said a little prayer:

"God, please bless Daddy, and please bless Mommy in Heaven. Please bless Melissa, my new friend, because she needs you bad. God, Melissa lies."

I couldn't sleep that night. I tossed and turned, trying to think of a way to protect Melissa. I walked down the hall to the bathroom, and a small muttering sound from my daddy's room stopped me. He, too, was saying a prayer:

"God, my little girl is so scared right now. Please guide me, help me calm her fears. Please be with Melissa. I know I have to help that little girl. I have to tell somebody about the abuse. Please give me strength. Amen."

The phone rang late that night. I was still awake because I still couldn't get to sleep. I walked back down the hall to answer it, and the tearful voice informed me that it was Melissa. "I wish I was never born," she whispered. "I wish I wasn't here with my Mommy. I want Daddy, I  want Daddy." Her tears became so hard that I couldn't hear her words anymore, and I didn't know what to say. When my tongue became untangled, I said "It's going to be okay, Melissa," but I knew it wouldn't be. I took the phone back to my room and slept with it. Melissa did, too. I could hear her sobs, and surely the whole world could, but they were all ignoring her, turning out their lights to go to sleep. I sang the lullabies I remembered from my early childhood to her, and finally, her sobs ceased and turned into heavy breathing. I could now get some sleep.

My daddy insisted on coming to school with me the next day. I knew what he planned on doing, and part of me was scared, the other relieved. But when we got there, we heard the news.  

"Why does everybody look so sad?" I asked my father, looking up at him with horrified blue eyes. I was sure I knew the answer, but I needed to hear it.

He swallowed, clearing the lump that was growing in his throat. I had only seen my father cry once before, when my mother died, but suddenly the tears were streaming down his face. "Melissa's not going to be in school today, sweetheart," he said cautiously, his voice cracking. "Melissa doesn't lie anymore at school." He shook his head and looked up, closing his eyes tightly. "Melissa lies with Jesus, because there's nothing anyone would do."

"Daddy why!?" I screeched, my face contorted with the pain I felt. "Why did Melissa have to lie?"

He didn't know the answer and, with tears streaming ever so faster down his face, he pulled me in for a tight hug.

Melissa was buried in a shaded place in the cemetery, her name written formally across the headstone. The years beneath the name made a tear catch in my throat. She had only been ten, the same age as me, undeserving of death, a fragile soul caught in the hands of fate. I looked around; so many people were there. I grew angry. How could a little girl who was so loved in death have been so forgotten in life? The tears welled up in my eyes again. Then I noticed him; a tall man with dark brown eyes and golden brown hair. He wore a camoflauged uniform, and he held his hat against his heart. He stared intently at the grave, and I knew immediately that this was Melissa's father. My heart broke for him; He couldn't have known about the abuse, and he had probably counted the days until he could see his child again, but instead, he had to bury her. I looked at the gravestone again, and I saw the extra words inscripted there: Daddy's little soldier. I looked over at my own daddy, trying to be brave like Melissa, but I couldn't stop the river of tears. He held me tighter, and I glanced around, eyes stopping on a statue that stood very near Melissa's spot. It was an angel, a little angel girl, that had an uncanning resemblance to my friend. It was made of stone, standing as hard as Melissa had, in a world neither could rise above. But now, her dreams gave her wings, and I know she has flown to a place where she'd love and be loved...Heaven. She may have been a broken heart that the world forgot, but I would never forget her, and I will make others remember my concrete angel as well.