Recounting, a day at a time

Frail, thin woman sitting on a round chair. Boys soccer and basketballs in background.
malnourished and hiding in a hotel room with my son’s basketball, soccer ball and football in the background © Zora Zebic 1990

I’d moved to St. Catharines, Ontario, relying on a promise from a relative. The promise was a steady babysitting job, while the relative worked at her job with the government. I’d always found it a breeze to care for children, it had sounded like a great alternative to working for the man!

To my son’s great disappointment, I’d asked him to say goodbye to his friends. We’d packed the house into a rental truck to move to the apartment I’d found for us. My friend Stanley had offered to drive us and our truckload to our new home.

While we’d unloaded the furniture and boxes into the apartment, Stanley had become extremely agitated. I’d asked him what was up. Truth be told, I did know he liked to imbibe in a little too much beer and I’d thought he was feeling a need.

Stanley, bristling at my suggestion, had then asked, “I don’t get why the hell you would move into a place with cameras everywhere!” I’d been stunned and had asked, “What cameras?” Stanley had pointed to the wall in the hallway and asked, “Can’t you see them?” I couldn’t see any cameras, and I’d told Stanley he definitely needed a drink.

Stanley then stormed out and watching on the balcony, I’d was saddened by the harshness of my words, as I’d watched him drive away in the rental truck. To this day, I wish instead I had insisted Stanley prove to me there were cameras on the walls. I would not have suffered so much, and shamefully I admit, my son would not have endured such horrors.

The move to St. Catharines, Ontario was not the beginning of my nightmare, but I did not know that then.

© Zora Zebic 2018

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