Dawana Davis

My Life

A Glimpse My sister and I were at my grandmother’s house lying on a mattress that was placed on the floor. We were down on the mattress when uncle Jean walked into the room, inebriated - his breathe, reeking alcohol. I was only eight years old at that time and my sister was just four. He laid on the mattress with us at the bottom where our feet were positioned, with Vaseline in his hands. Curiosity wouldn’t let me be as I stare oddly at what he was about to do with the Vaseline. Few seconds later, I felt a sensation down my feet; uncle Jean was massaging my feet with the Vaseline. I remember him going up my legs and that of my sister’s too, but I can’t remember anything else from those filthy sessions. Years later, Tanya, my sister, came to consciously remember what had happened to her; she remembered being molested.