Sons of Bitches, People in Dire Trouble, and People Who Fuck up Completely - Randy Wong

I told her to come towards me. She took a quick look at my face, and then she went back to staring at the ground. I took a step towards her, and she quickly took a short step backwards. We’ve played this game before, she and I. It was the same game we’ve played for years. She looks much older now. She looks so much like her mother. Normally, she would hesitate only for a moment before eventually coming to me. For some reason, it was different today. Not that it mattered.

I remember when my step-father and I played the same game. It started when I was really young. At first, I did not understand what was being done and how I was supposed to react. After a while, it no longer mattered why he did what he did. I only knew that I had no choice, and I wanted it to be done and over with as quickly as possible.

One day, when I was fifteen, I finally decided enough was enough. I eventually told someone who then told someone else, and in the end, all the right people who were supposed to know finally did get to know. I don’t remember much what happened afterwards only that it never happened again. Except I’ve never forgotten. How could I?

Some of the people who were supposed to know told me terrible things. They told me that I should have said something at the beginning, and why on earth did I wait so long to tell anyone? But they didn’t understand. They did not understand the fear and the helplessness. What could I have done? And besides, where were they? Couldn’t they tell that something was wrong? None of them suspected? How could they not have suspected anything? They were the guardians and protectors. They were supposed to know.

Today, now I play the same game. They were supposed to help me. They were supposed to know what to do. The powerful people. The smarter people. The ones who could put a stop to this. But they didn’t. They couldn’t. I couldn’t. So, I keep playing.