Joan Hicks Boone - The Best Girl

Praise for

THE BEST GIRL

In The Best Girl, Joan Hicks Boone has put forth extraordinary courage by laying bare the trauma of her childhood and taking readers through her journey of survival. It is not easy to face the dragons of our past, but that is exactly what Joan has done, and is what is needed for transformation and healing to occur. My hope is that Joans bravery will provide other survivors of trauma with hope for their own future; it is possible to heal.

KEITH J. SULLIVAN, PT, BodyWorks Physical Therapy, Inc.

An intimate portrait of the surreal terror of growing up in an abusive household, The Best Girl takes you on a journey that will ground you in the reality of the fear that many victims of domestic violence faceoften in silence. The Best Girl is engaging, vulnerable and captivating from beginning to end. Rays of light pierce through the cascade of unceasing torment, shedding light on moments of genuine human joy and contentment providing the reader with insight into the full scope of the authors experiences.

HUNTER E. CANTRELL

A compelling emotional journey brimming with strength, survival, tears and even smiles. Told with poetic soul, The Best Girl reminds you that hope cannot be stopped.

RENITA FISHER

The Best Girl

by Joan Hicks Boone

Copyright 2018 Joan Hicks Boone

ISBN 978-1-63393-582-2

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meanselectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any otherexcept for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the author.

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Virginia Beach, VA 23451

800-435-4811

www.koehlerbooks.com

SCHOOL PRAYER

Diane Ackerman

In the name of the daybreak

and the eyelids of the morning

and the wayfaring moon

and the night when it departs,

I swear I will not dishonor

my soul with hatred,

but offer myself humbly

as a guardian of nature,

as a healer of misery,

as a messenger of wonder,

as an architect of peace.

In the name of the sun and its mirrors

and the day that embraces it

and the cloud veils drawn over it

and the uttermost night

and the male and the female

and the plants bursting with seed

and the crowning seasons

of the firefly and the apple,

I will honor all life

wherever and whatever form

it may dwellon Earth my home,

and in the mansions of the stars.

Always Hold On To Hope

Joan Hicks Boone

IN MEMORIAM

LYLA TIGHE HICKS, AKA MOM

FEBRUARY 28, 1929SEPTEMBER 21, 2012

BERNICE AND LAWRENCE YOUNGBAUER

KAY KEWATT

ANNIE SAWCHUCK

EARLY YEARS

WITNESS

DADS IN A VERY bad mood. Hes been yelling loudly at Mom almost all day. He keeps yelling louder and louder. I dont want to be in the family room with him. I think we should run away from him! Dad is lying on his back on the white floor, and hes listening to his favorite song, Your Cheatin Heart. Dad taught me the words, but I dont feel like singing along todayI only want to do that when hes happy and he says, Hows my best girl today? Then I know I can sing with him, but not today.

Its just me, Mom, and Dad in the house today. My brother Mark is ten years old, which is way older than me, so he gets to go outside and play with his friends whenever he wants to. Mom and I are sitting at our tableshe calls it a Duncan Phyfe. I hate our table because its very tipsy and always makes me spill my milk, which makes Moms angry face come alive. Thats when she presses her lips together so they go into a very straight line, and her eyes become kind of squinty. I try super hard not to spill, but sometimes it just happens. So anyways, thats why I hate our Duncan Phyfe.

When Dads in a bad mood, everyone must be silent. If I ask for a glass of milk, Dad might yell at me. I dont want to leave the family room right now because if I did, I would have to tiptoe on my highest of tippy-toes, because if he heard me would roar like a lion, or maybe a bear. Whichever one roars the loudest. But what I worry most about is that he might get mad at Mom. Thats when he gets meaner than the ugliest, greenest monster I can think of. So right now, Im trying to sit still and not make a single sound.

Dad has his favorite things right by him: his can of Hamms beer, a scrunched-up pack of Camels (his ashtray is full, but I dont want to empty it right now) and his special records. As soon as he finishes one can of the icy-cold beer, he orders Mom to bring him another one. Mom takes a beer for herself, too. I dont know how many cold ones Dad is going to drink today.

Oh no! Mom made Dad roar like a lion! She was supposed to pull the tab off the top of the Hamms, but she forgot! Mom is trying to back away from him and get to her spot at the table. Dad is screaming at her. Uh oh. Mom just stepped on one of Dads records! That is another rule in our housedont ruin any of Dads records!

For Gods sake, Lyla! How can you be so stupid? Cant you do anything right? How am I supposed to drink this?! How? Dad yells. Hes on fire now, yelling bad words at Mom because she doesnt know how to follow orders. I try to help Mom now. I send her a message with my mind. Mom, remember to take the top off. Dont stand on Dads special records.

Mom brings Dad another beer and Im so happy because she opened it right this time! But now hes shouting at her, because she put it next to his Camel cigarettes instead of by his hand. I try sending a mind message to Dad: Tell Mom what you want.

Dads Your Cheatin Heart record ended, and he hates it when there isnt any music playinghe hates the scratchy sound the needle makes on the record even more. He orders Mom to make it play again. Did she do it right? Im only four years old and I know how to do it, but I dont want to right now. Oh, good, she did it right. Now the music is playing again.

I dont know why Dads still mad, but he is. Im afraid hes going to turn into the ugly green monster type of Dad. Oh no! Dads getting up! He wants Mom to come over to him.

Get over here, Lyla! Front and center, Dad demands. I watch as Mom gets up from her chair and takes a couple steps towards him, then I close my eyes as tight as I can and plug my ears with my fingers, because hes yelling so loud it hurts my ears, and I dont want to see what he does to Mom. But waitI guess I do want to see. I open my eyes. Dad is standing up now, his hands are on Moms shoulders, and hes shaking her. Oh no! Now hes holding Mom by her hair; I havent seen him do that before! I want to close my eyes again, but I cant.

Dad, no! I cry. But he doesnt hear me. I watch as he lifts Mom into the air and then throws her down onto the white floor.

Now hes dragging her through the kitchen by her hair. I guess he wants her to be in the living room. She cant get away because her arms cant reach the floor. I wonder if Moms hair will come out? I get off my chair and follow them. My stomach hurts. What if I throw up? My eyes are burning. Dont cry, Joanie,