20 Questions

Storytime

We were raised in houses that always felt too small for the size of our family. For most of my childhood, I assumed it was because we were financially unstable, even though both of my parents worked full-time jobs. And yes, we had our struggles. More than a few, honestly. But the moments that hurt the most, the ones I can still remember clearly, seemed to happen back-to-back.

At the time, we lived in Twinsburg, Ohio. My parents hated being late, and you could always tell when they were annoyed with us because they drove faster on those days. Sometimes I noticed my mom or dad would take the long way home for no obvious reason. Whenever we asked, “Where are we going?” they would respond with, “You got a hot date? Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

The drive from our house to my grandmother’s home usually took about 30 to 45 minutes, depending on traffic. Back then, we all gathered at the same grandmother’s house. One day, while we were on our way to my mama’s mama’s house, my oldest brother and sister decided they wanted to play a game with me, one I had never played before.

My sister said, “It’s called 20 Questions.”

She started with easy ones:
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Where’s someplace you’d love to vacation?”

The questions felt harmless and fun, so I relaxed. I answered without thinking too deeply about it. At that moment, I had no idea the conversation was about to shift into something much heavier.

I respected my older siblings as much as the next seven-year-old kid. The next round of questions changed my life. I slowly realized over the years that I was being played. Duped. Nonetheless, my brother asked me, What do you think about…..Such and such family member. From little cousin, to auntie to grandmother, they worked their way around the family tree until their black little hearts were filled. After my sister reassured me for a few minutes, how I would be safe, and how the backseat was our ‘safe zone’. That seemed to be one of the longest car rides after each question. As their eyes grew bigger and bigger, they shared info with me that they too didn’t agree with, and it made them feel uncomfortable about our external family members. I really tried to say nothing, but they pushed the words out of my mouth. Honestly, I was not looking to rag on family members, but they were hunting and seeking for those trigger words to fall out of my mouth.

Finally, we made it to grandmother’s house. As we get out of the car, my brother and sister dart from the car, as if they were racing to meet the bathroom. I stroll from the car to the yard, because all of the words I just said were humming in the chamber of my mind. Why? How could I fall to the will of my demons? Is it because they reassured me nothing would be repeated? -Unbelievable. Trust? No. Moments after I entered the yard, one of my little cousins walked outside and said, “Well, if you feel that way, you are never allowed to play with me, my toys, or my younger brothers, ever again.” From there, every relationship with that side of my family changed.

Now, I ask myself, where were my parents during this car ride? – Now, I isolate myself from my family. Over 20 years later, I still regret what I have said; however, my family trust has never been the same.

I respected my older siblings as much as any seven-year-old kid would. But the next round of questions changed my life.

Over the years, I slowly realized I had been played. Duped.

My brother started asking me what I thought about different family members. One by one, they worked their way around the family tree, from little cousins to aunties to grandmothers, until their little dark hearts were satisfied. Before it all started, my sister spent several minutes reassuring me that I would be safe, that whatever was said in the backseat stayed in the backseat. She called it our “safe zone.”

That car ride suddenly felt endless.

After every question, their eyes would grow wider. They shared stories and opinions about relatives that even made them uncomfortable. I tried not to say much, honestly. I wasn’t looking to tear down family members or gossip about people I loved. But my siblings kept digging, searching for certain words to fall out of my mouth.

Eventually, we arrived at my grandmother’s house.

The second the car stopped, my brother and sister jumped out and ran toward the house like they were racing to the bathroom. Meanwhile, I slowly walked through the yard, replaying every word I had said over and over in my head.

Why did I say those things?
Why did I trust them?
How could I have believed nothing would be repeated?

Moments after I stepped into the yard, one of my little cousins came outside and said, “Well, if you feel that way, you’re never allowed to play with me, my toys, or my little brothers ever again.”

From that moment on, my relationship with that side of the family changed.

Now, more than twenty years later, I still think about that car ride. I still regret some of the things I said, even as a child. But more than anything, that moment changed the way I understood trust within family. Sometimes I still ask myself where my parents were during that drive, and why none of it was stopped before it reached that point.

Since then, part of me has kept my distance. Not because I stopped loving my family, but because my trust has never fully been the same.

Still, J.R.