Mauricio Betancourt

I write when I dream the stories

Mauricio Betancourt

Mauricio Betancourt
Location
Cali, Colombia
Birthday
February 06
Bio
Colombian journalist (37). Gay advocator and social worker. I like people and believe people like me. I am as honest and transparent as I can be and like to meet people around the world. I´ve been away from OS for a while but I intent to keep writing and reading of course as it is the only thing that really awakes my heart... Hugs from Colombia and much love

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NOVEMBER 5, 2010 5:14PM

Little Frail Porcelain Kid VI

Rate: 37 Flag

mother-and-son-mdThe task of writing this story is becoming harder every time I go deeper in my memories and closer to the ones I have with my mother. Those are the ones that are going to drain me dry and actually those are the ones I fear the most.

                      I´m trying to focus my mind in better things for the future. Knowing that the only way to those dreams is to go all the way through the pain and rocks in the path. But, eventhough life has taught me all about pain I still refuse to add more scars to the ones I already have.

                  It feels unhealthy to always have a heartache that bearly lets me breath but the sense of solitude and social extraction is comforting in some way -in a very sick sodomic way- now that I think about it. I got used to the voices claiming their momentum in my everday charade. If I lose my self while dealing with my demons at least I will know that I tried. I really tried.

1800-John-Vanderlyn-mother-and-sonI´m getting used to be like this and now that I´m here in this house with my mother, facing my own old fears that keep me agonizing, this feels like going into the deep blue knowing that there is no coming back.  No salvation. No U-turn for my mind nor redemption for my heart.

                 It all happened so fast. Twenty one years away from home. Away from her rules and away from her world. Away from her heart. Twenty one years of struggeling with my own life all by my self and then, catastrophe. The banks came and took everything. They didn´t leave a single thing so I have to run away from that city for they were actually trying to take my pride too.  I grabbed my bags, my clothes and the pride I was trying to protect and left. Didn´t turn back. Just left.

                  The airplane lands in my hometown. Cali. It is hot and still. The wind is taking a breather. I step off the plane, walk to the  baggage  tapeline, grab my only two suitcases, walk out the airport, get a taxi and twenty one minutes later I´m in front of my mother´s house. They; mom, my sisters and my stepdad are waiting for me, even the dog´s there at the porche waiting next to Mom. My head is spining. My temperature is high. The heat makes me sweat. Then, I see her, and they all become a blur to my eyes. All I see is my mother and her smile.

45542_boy_mom_lgShe is smaller, bigger, her hands are nervously trying to comb her now very short grey hair, her eyes are dropping tears... my heart feels hers racing. We are about to explode. Together again after so many years and after so many battles and conflicts. Together again because I got my wings broken. Together again because I didn´t have anywhere else to go, or anyone else to turn to.Together again after all the pain. It had been a long time since I felt all these emotions when seeing her. There was this one time before that I recall feeling like this. Too many years before, but I still remember how I felt then... it was just like this now.

                   I´m seven or eight years old. I´m walking a sidewalk next to my dad, he has my hand in his. I recognize this sidewalk. It is close to my aunt´s house. We are going to my aunt Betty´s house. Though I used to enjoy coming here, this time is different. According to Dad, my mom was not coming home ever again because she was dead. So, I knew he was leaving me here at my aunt´s. But, that wasn´t what was about to happen. Days before he and I had a talk in which he said:

You will never see your mother again because she is dead -My father said to me to make me cry- She is in hell because she is a whore. She is dead you hear me you faggot?

He smackes my head and even though it hurts I wasn´t crying for that. I was crying for mom.

Do not cry now faggot... I will teach you to cry over something real if you don´t stop this whinning you hear? Stop crying now. I´m telling you. I will punch you in the face you faggot. 

the-letter Little I knew about the evil and wickedness of adults. Little I knew about dad´s capacity to do hurm to his own kid. Little I knew about the truth on adults lifes. I was just a kid with a very soft personality who was taking life as it came. But, though I didn´t know then, all those things happening to me were just giving me the means to be on my own years later.

                     As I wrote above, we were walking toward my aunt´s. We got to the door, my dad rang the bell and when the door opened I just couldn´t believe my eyes. My heart was bursting from my chest. I smiled and jumped to her arms. It was mom. She wasn´t dead. But with all the innocence I had back then, I asked her:

Are you an angel now? Did God give you permission to come and see me mommy? (I don´t remember saying those words, but Mom does. She says that everyone cried when they heard me saying that)

hopeMom started to cry and talk, but I don´t remember her words. I was just happy to be in her arms again. I remember that she was hugging me tight. She was talking to my dad in the normal way they always talked.  Screaming at eachother. And then...

Sir, are you XXX XXX XXX? (I will avoid his name)

Yes, I am

Sir, you are under arrest for the kidnapping and endangerment of a minor. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney during interrogation; if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you... do you understand your rights Sir?

Yes, I do

                    And they took him away. I looked at my dad while they were taking him away in the Police car. Mom was taking me inside the house and I stared at my dad and he did the same back at me. I waved my hand. The door closed. 

                        My mom ran to the bathroom with me, my aunts came after her and they all five started to undress me. They took off all my clothes and got me naked and then started to scan my body and skin with their eyes. They found what they were looking for. Bruises.

rtpapercrownBut those weren´t the regular bruises gotten from a punch. There were bite bruises. All over my back and legs and buttocks. Mom hugged me and told me that I was to forget what happened with my dad. That my dad was a bad person and that he was going to be punished for doing those things to me. Then...

... a Police lady came into the bathroom with all of us. She saw me and saw the bruises. She reaches for me. Mom screams. My aunts scream. The Police lady grabbed my clothes and didn´t care  that I was naked. She took me with her and handled me to another lady who got into a car with me, naked, in her arms. I was screaming and crying. I was watching mom crying in despair. I was crying my lungs out. I just got her back and they were taking me away again. What was happening? What did I do? My dad told me that I needed to take my clothes off for I have been a very bad boy. It was all my fault. My dad told me to do bad things, because I needed to be punished. I am sorry. I am sorry.

I wil be good. I will be good. I want mommy. I´m sorry. I want my mommy.  Please Señora. I don´t want to go Señora please. I´m sorry.

                   They took me away with them. They snatched me from my mother´s arms. My father was sent to detention while his trial took place. I was placed at a foster care for I don´t know how much time.  My mother wasn´t allow to see me. My faith was now in Government´s discretion.

                    But, I didn´t suffer much there. I made friends. The ladies taking care of us were caring and one of them was always wearing funny customes. They made us laugh. Gave us great food and treats. They were always saying that we all were there on vacation. So, I figured that if I was on a vacation I should be ok. Mom was going to get me anytime. Soon.

                   My father was charged and convicted for child molestation. They gave him 5 years. He was a model inmate and started to study and quit alcohol and drugs. They made him do just 3  years.

  sketchbook-mother-and-son My mother and I were living alone in a new house. He found us...he came inside the house while we were sleeping and got into my mother´s bed. I heard the racket in my mother´s room. I got off the bed and walked the corridor. Got in front of her door and put my ear at the door so I can hear the noise and voices inside. I heard my dad saying: 

You´ve been bad hu? Puta?. I am going to punish you for being a bad whore you puta. I am going to make you beg for my forgiveness you bitch

                   When I heard all of that, I got so scared I fainted. When I woke up again, she was next to me. Crying and hugging me. He´d rapped her. She was shaking like she was freezing to death. I didn´t understand what was happening then; she told me the story many years after. In an "I am sorry for everthing" letter she sent to me.

                    We were in my room and we could hear him in the living room listening to music and singing. Getting drunk. 

Don´t fall sleep mi amor ok? Look at me. We can not fall sleep ok principito?

                    I nodded and listened to dad having his own party in the living room. We got too exhausted. She was totally worn out. I was falling asleep. We felt asleep.

 father-and-son1Then I felt something pulling me off my mother´s arms. She wakes up and screams. He hits her in the face and she faints. He takes me to the other room. He slaps me. Orders me to get undressed. He takes his clothes off. He grabbes me from my hair and throws me to the bed. His teeth are biting my backside. That is all I remember, the pain from the bites. I don´t remember anything else.

                    When he was finished he dashed out the room naked. Minutes later my mother came and took me to the bathroom. We both were naked under the shower. She was cleaning my body and hers. We both were watching at eachother´s bruises. We had the same bruises at the same spots. She was crying. I was just mute. I didn´t feel like talking. From that day after I decided that I was not to talk more than required. 

                     Time after, one night, she came into my bedroom. She wasn´t scared or crying or anything alike. She woke me up and said:

Baby, wake up. Come on my amor. Wake up. We need to go to the kitchen and make some coffe for Papi ok? Wake up amor. Come on. 

                       I woke up. Got off the bed and took off my pajamas.  Kept the underware. We went to the kitchen. She made the coffee. Set the usual tears before she handles me the cup. She lowers her face and says:

Now honey you take this to your Papi ok? And remember that I love you.

                      I walked the corridor to his room. I knocked twice. I hear his heavy footsteps. He opens the door and lets me in. The door closes behind me.

                       I´m here in front of her again twenty one years later. Hugging her. Feeling her. Smelling her hair again. She doesn´t smell like she used to. Her hands feel diferent. Her embrace feel diferent.  She even walks different. They all show me their smiling faces. I belive them. I believe they are happy to have me here. But we are strangers now. They don´t know what happens to a broken soul. They don´t have a clue of what to do with a broken soul. We will have to reintroduce ourselve to eachother again. Learn to be together. I just hope that in the meantime, the hurt calms down a bit. We need to take a breath. We need a break.

                     

 Continue to

Little Frail Porcelain Kid VII 

By Mauricio Betancourt 2010 ©

  Prior Installments:

Little Frail Porcelain Kid

Little Frail Porcelain Kid II

Little Frail Porcelain Kid III

Little Frail Porcelain Kid IV

Little Frail Porcelain Kid V

 

IMAGES CREDITS

http://www.reprodart.com/a/cassatt-mary/mother-and-boy.html

http://etc.usf.edu/clipart/45500/45542/45542_boy_mom.htm

http://www.capitalistguide.com/blog/my-mom-might-help-me-make-millions-53.htm

http://nagonthelake.blogspot.com/2010_01_01_archive.html

 http://www.hoopla.ws/graphics/gif/Proud_Parents/Proud_Mom_Of_Foster_Kids/

http://www.brycebrownart.com/images/the-letter.jpg

 http://businesstm.com/stay-at-home-dad/bad-father-advice.html

 

 

 

 

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Comments

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My heart cries for you each time I read another chapter.
Rated with hugs
I've met a few people on OS who had traumatic childhoods. You're obviously one of them. If this helps you cope with that, keep writing. It's certainly worth reading.
This is painful to read, Mauricio, but I can't even imagine how painful it must have been to write and even worse to live. My goodness, man, you have had some horrors in your life! I trust you are finding some peace now, despite these horrific memories.
Well my dear one you sing now.
This is hardship of the worst sort. In my own world, such terrible things happened that I dare not relate them online or anywhere in public. I feel for what you have been through. I feel from experience. you are a good person, Mauricio. My wish for you is that you may discover more of who you are and who this family is to you, and that you find peace in spite of any ugliness you nay have endured.
Bless you, friend. Bless you.
Rated
This is a very difficult story to read, but much more difficult to tell, I am sure. I don't know where you are right now, if you are in her home yet. I think that if time can change anything, it can change how we process what happened. So, you know it happened, and time has put distance between you and that part of your life. Your mother too perhaps. Maybe she is better, not trapped in that cycle anymore too. You are not some object, you are a person and I hope that you and your mother can reach the place of peace, that she can now help you, because she could not then. If this cannot be done, then your life does not repair here. My best to you.
I forgot to congratulate you on your EP! This is a wonderful acknowledgement of the power of your story...
My dear friend, you are a battered, yet a brave soul. Through writing, you'll conquer the memories you fear the most, and in the process, become stronger. That, which drains you now, will be your strength and hope to help you move forward with more self assurance. Don't give up, stand strong, Mauro. Purge this painful past once and for all. Rated with love and support.
You've done an excellent writing job on this one, mi amigo. How you endured all this I will never know, but the best revenge, usually said to be living well, in your case is writing it well. Every chapter is helping you release your pain into the ether.

Lezlie
:( My friend! ~hug~ Rated.
Just extraordinary writing Rated
This is exceptional writing, Mauricio. It must be more difficult to write when English is not your first language. Kudos!
I honor your path, your pain, your written and deeply felt truth. Thank you for sharing everything you are, everywhere you have been with us. Rated for exceptional reflection and riveting read. Thanks Mauricio !
Mauricio, I will not even pretend to know what your went through. It's unfathomable to someone who hasn't been there. Keep writing my friend. Write away the demons, if only for awhile.
Maurizio ... oh God ... I really don't know what to say right now. Perhaps if I just let you know that I'm here with you ... that I am listening ... that I feel your pain .... and that I am so very, very sorry. Things like this should never, NEVER happen to an innocent child. I am so utterly sorry that they did happen to you.

Peace is yours to find, Maurizio ... keep writing as I think it might be the right path that leads there.
Life will suit
Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit,
Like to the apples of the Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste.
-"Childe Harold's Pilgrimage"
My heart breaks for you. I wish you peace and the ability to find the joy you deserve so very much.
Very brave writing. Thank you for sharing your story.
Thank you all for your kind messages of support... I have realized that by writing I can survive the days... this experience here in OS is saving my sanity... thank you all. I love you.
I will have to be off for the rest of the day... I will be back and catch up with you guys....
I am proud of us all
Impressive writing....

Has anyone ever told you, that you look like Alton Brown?

{[R]}
Mauricio, my heart aches for you and rejoices at the same time. It aches and bursts for all that you have suffered, but it rejoices for your incredible strength to live to tell your story. You were extraordinarily courageous to have survived then and equally courageous for the strength to not only write your truth but to do it so beautifully. We are all here as your witnesses and cheering you on. Rated (of course)
Forgive me. I read you at first and found you so gifted and honest but I couldn't read more as I have some experiences with these things and this brings them too close. But I read tonight again and feel sickened yet deeply touched by your courage in writing this. Admiration. The artwork is beautiful.
oh Mario,
I know baby, I know.
I wish i could hold you in my arms.
I wish I could take it away.
I can hold you in my heart
and i keep this piece of you
that you have shared safe.
My Love to you
Sweet Mario.
Please don't stop communicating.
You have a give for it
and it can serve you well.
I need to know you are okay over t here
and that you will seek some place safe
or someone safe for you to be with.
There are many on here that can see your beautiful heart in your words, and see how strong you are. Your grip on reality is certain and the foundation under your feet is comes from this. You can trust it . It has brought you this far.
Peace to you
Dear Mario, I will keep you in my heart and soul
xoxo
Mauricio, wasn't there any help offered by social workers or the police? Why was this horrible man allowed to stay with you and your mother without the authorities knowing or even other family members taking action? I am baffled...It was a horrible childhood for you. Had been happening anywhere near my family, and the law didn't take care of it, rest assured someone would've.
I want to kill him, beat him to death slowwwwwwwwly, so slowly that he only wishes he weas dead, hurt him deeply and forever.
I am the wrong one who lived.
At least that is what I heard from MY father.
I feel for you, Mauricio.
I am just stunned with sadness over this. Is writing about it helpful at all?
Your story is so full of sadness, I pray that writing it will heal the wounds.
rated with love
It is so amazing to see the phenomenal art that comes out of such treacherous pain. Thank you and I am sorry, in one breath.
I'm sorry but all I can do is sit here, huddling with a coldness that has gripped my heart and let my tears flow.

Maybe there's a place in heaven where everybody's tears meet and the angels direct them for those who need them. I hope so.

Rated with love.
This is just brutal and unjust on so many levels. There is so much pain and history to have to process just by reading this. I can't imagine what it must be like to live it and to have to walk back into your mother's house knowing that all this heaviness hovers over all of you. I'm so sorry that you were subjected to such a monster. Well written, Mauricio. Hugs and peace to you.
I can't even imagine the pain - physical and mental - that you have endured. It is cold comfort, but you are, sadly, not alone. I feel guilty for having a "normal" childhood.
Keep writing. You are doing a terrific job and it must help to put these feelings into words. R
Eres tan valiente...mucho mas que ese agua ardiente. Paso a paso, breath by breath...there is no rush to get anywhere even though your heart might try to race out of your chest. Estamos pensando en ti, siempre mandandote buenas vibraciones.
You deserved so much more, so much better than this. Heartbreaking. I am glad you survived to tell this.