"DeDee, an 11-year-old only child of a single mother, longs for acceptance and companionship. She is lonely and seeking something or somebody to love, who will love her in return. She finds comfort playing with an Ouija board, which she discovered in an old, dusty trunk in the basement. She cannot resist going down into the basement, even though she finds it scary because she is sure that something lives there, which is watching her. She is bullied at school: even Sasha and Kita, whom she thinks are her friends, didn't care to visit."
Back then, I could never understand the need to latch onto something, the need to feel loved, the need to feel needed and the need to be saved. I also never realized the power of a simple touch. Now, looking back on my years as a child, I understand and I have learned the importance of listening to the whispering of my heart.
As an only child growing up with an overly strict mother - I guess a single parent needs to find that delicate balance between discipline and freedom, something my mother never really mastered - I longed for companionship and recognition that any eleven-year-old child might crave. I had two friends: Sasha, a shy and rather reserved little red-haired girl, and Kita, who loved to hear her own voice and felt that what she had to say was of utmost importance at all times. In her mind, nobody was as interesting as she.
I attended a small school not too far from our rather humble home, which stood out like a scar on a beautiful person’s cheek. Because of the close proximity of my place of learning, on a weekday morning, I would arise early, wash, eat and ready myself for another day of bullying, teasing and learning. I guess it was during these moments at school that I discovered more about relationships than I did of mathematics. I also learned the art of escaping, by allowing my mind to wander beyond the four walls that trapped me for eight hours every school day.
Whilst Sasha and Kita played tug-of-war with my emotions at school, my home-time companion was an Ouija Board that I had found buried at the bottom of a rather rusty, broken trunk which I stumbled upon one stormy afternoon in our dark, dank basement. I knew that this was not the ideal companion and Mother would often say I was “looking for trouble mingling with such nonsense.” But I was so terribly lonely. I was desperate. I had survived another broken day at school. And Mother believed that I had spent enough time “out on the streets”, so on afternoons and weekends, my home became my prison. I’d wonder from one sparsely furnished room to another, aching to interact with someone, anyone, anything. I knew I was different to all the other children in my class and I guess I was a little awkward around people. So, the yearning to be accepted and understood by someone, anyone other than Mother, ate away at my soul.
“Mother,” I’d cautiously approach her. “Please...”
I would fall silent, crushed by her anger and irritation. Her fiery eyes would glare right through me, singeing my already wounded self-confidence. I knew what the answer would be anyway. But, driven by my desperation, I’d try again, some other day.
Excerpted from "The Whispering Of My Heart" by Petite Breaux. Copyright © 2016 by Petite Breaux. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.