RAGE (10 page)

I was grateful when Travis passed my room and went straight to his own. If I was certain he wouldn’t change his mind and come back later, I would’ve breathed a sigh of relief. But I could never be certain that he wouldn’t change his mind.

For a while, I lay there, waiting for the trembling to pass and the sweaty palms to dry up, and the knot in my stomach to relax. I tried to find sleep, but it wouldn’t come.

Finally, I sat up, putting a pillow between my back and the wall. I leaned over and switched on the lamp on my bedside table. I picked up my sketch pad and flipped through it, thinking that even though I had nothing else, I could draw. I turned to the last sketch I’d been working on. Pulling my knees up toward my chest, I placed the pad on my legs and began to draw.

Sleep must’ve finally found me because the next thing I knew, I snapped open my eyes, aware that I wasn’t alone. I looked over and saw Travis walking toward my bed, still obviously drunk.

I snapped fully awake instantly, on guard for whatever he might throw my way. My body tensed, my stomach knotted, my heart pounded furiously.

Travis leaned over the bed, crinkled his nose as if something smelled bad, and said, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Shaking my head slightly, I managed to say, “Nothing.”

“Well it sure as hell doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I was drawing.”

“Do you know what fucking time it is? Well, do you?”

“I know, but I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh. You couldn’t sleep.” He nodded his head and stood erect. “Having trouble sleeping, huh? Well, I can help you with that.”

He quickly leaned down over me and grabbed a fistful of my hair in each of his hands. He pulled my head forward, and then slammed it back against the wall. The sudden stop made my head pound.

He repeated this move several times, banging my head against the wall harder each time. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to brace myself for each hit. Instead of fighting against him, I went with it. When he pulled my head forward, I leaned forward. When he slammed my head back, I leaned back. It helped, but it didn’t stop the pain from growing more intense with each blow.

Finally, he grew furious that I hadn’t been knocked out. I could see it in his eyes when he let go of my hair and stood up. He stared down at me, nostrils flaring, and shook his head.

“You little bastard. Your momma works her ass off to pay these bills and you sit in here and waste electricity like this. Turn off the damn light,” he yelled. Then, he backhanded me across the face, sending hot flames spreading across my cheek.

Before I could recover from the slap, Travis said, “Turn off the damn light or I’ll turn your lights off for you.”

I saw him make a fist so I quickly leaned over and turned off the lamp. I didn’t want to do anything to provoke him or cause him to hit me anymore, and I was afraid his yelling would wake my mother.

He left, saying he better not catch the light on in my room again. I was certain that he would not.

I sat there in the darkness, knots growing bigger on the back of my head, and I hated him. I had done nothing wrong. I don’t think I’d ever done anything wrong. Even if I had, it was certainly not worth being beaten. The asshole beat me because he liked it. It was the same reason he raped me. He had fun doing it.

But I was getting tired of it.

My head pounded. I considered going into the kitchen for a Tylenol, but didn’t want to risk running into Travis. So I would just have to wait it out. Besides, it was far from the worse pain I’d ever suffered through.

As I leaned over to put the sketch pad back on the nightstand, I suddenly became very angry with it. After all, had I not been sketching, I wouldn’t have had the light on and Travis wouldn’t have come in my room. Realistically, I knew the sketch pad had done nothing wrong. It wasn’t alive. I also knew that I wasn’t the problem. I had done nothing wrong either. I knew the problem was Travis, but he wasn’t in here, and even if he was, there was nothing I could do to him. But the sketch pad was an easy target for my anger.

I held the sketch pad in my hand, angry with everything, and I threw it across the room. I watched it hit the wall and fall to the floor, pages fluttering. I slid down in the bed, making my head pound even harder. I rolled onto my side so I wouldn’t have to lay the back of my head on the pillow.

For a long time, I just laid there, unable to close my eyes. They wouldn’t shut. I was so angry at the way I was being treated. My eyes were locked on something across the room, but I didn’t know what it was. They weren’t seeing it, or anything else. They were just staring, unfocused.

At some point, I calmed down enough to sleep. It was a restless sleep, though. Every time I rolled onto my back, my head screamed in pain and I had to quickly roll onto my side. And if I rolled onto the wrong side, there was more pain from the almost certainly cracked rib. And of course, there were the nightmares.

I often had nightmares. I always had. Well, at least since Travis had been in my life. They were usually the bogeyman kind, where a large man was trying to kill me. Many times, he nearly had, but just before he killed me, I woke up. It seemed to me that the bogeyman which haunted me at night was Travis, the same bogeyman which haunted me during the day.

In this particular nightmare, the bogeyman shot me between the eyes. He stood there laughing while I bled. My head pounded and the blood trickled down my face from the hole in my forehead. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he laughed while I died. The blood ran into my eyes, turning my vision red. From red, it began to grow black. The laughter grew louder. Just before I couldn’t see anything at all, I woke up gasping for air and covered in cold sweat.

I had no doubt what made me dream this particular dream. I knew it was the pistol. I knew it was the way Travis had told my mother he was ready to kill someone while he stared at me, and then had used his hand to pretend to shoot me.

Trying to calm myself down, I lay there shaking uncontrollably, knowing that it was only a matter of time before my nightmare became my reality.

I managed to sleep late Sunday morning. It was nearly nine before I opened my eyes. The sunshine usually burst through my window and fell upon my face, waking me from sleep. But today, there was no sunshine. The sky was heavy with gray clouds.

Rubbing my eyes, I got out of bed, taking care to not hurt my side. I got up as slowly as possible to keep my head from pounding. Quietly, I eased my way out of my room and across the hall to the bathroom. As quietly as I could, I peed. I then combed my hair, taking care with the back of my head. The knots were sore. After my hair, I brushed my teeth. Then, before I left the bathroom, I flushed the toilet. I had the lid down and the door shut, trying to block out as much of the flushing noise as possible.

After dressing, I crept down the hallway and peeked around the corner. No one was in the living room or the kitchen. I walked on, relaxing a little.

My stomach gurgled and rumbled, creating the only noise inside the house. To ease the hunger pains, I quietly searched through the cabinets and refrigerator for something to eat, taking great care not to slam any doors or rattle any dishes or bags. We had little, as was always the case. Just once, I would like to have cabinets full of good food, with plenty to choose from. Things I liked, too. Not just healthy food. I wanted cookies and cakes, cheese that came from a can with a nozzle, potato chips, popcorn, and maybe some pudding. I wanted bread that wasn’t stale or that I didn’t have to pick the mold off of before I ate it. I would also love to have soda or Kool-Aid. Just once.

On the bottom shelf of one of the lower cabinets, I found a pack of crackers. The package had a hole in it, and I could tell it was where a mouse had chewed into it. Not only could I see the little teeth marks in the plastic and the crackers at the end, but he’d left his poop lying around it. The little guy had eaten half the crackers. He must’ve been hungrier than I was.

I considered throwing away the crackers, but I knew what it was like to be hungry and have little food to eat. So I put the package back where I found it. The next time he came, he would have food. At least one of us would eat well.

Searching on, I grew hungrier by the second. In the freezer, I found ice cubes and a frozen pot pie. It would take too long to cook that, so I kept looking.

In the refrigerator, I found a couple slices of cheese and three eggs. Those were hidden behind the beer bottles that filled the top shelf and the middle shelf, and part of the bottom shelf.

I was too hungry to even cook the eggs. I needed immediate satisfaction. I took out a piece of cheese and went for the bread. There were two pieces of bread in the wrapper, both hard enough to be considered toast, and one of them was the end piece. I didn’t like the end pieces, but I would have to eat it anyway.

After I slapped the cheese between the slices of bread, I went back to the refrigerator. I hoped to find some meat hidden somewhere, but didn’t. I took the ketchup from the door and poured a hefty amount onto the sandwich, leaving the bottle nearly empty. It would take the place of meat, and help soften the bread.

I placed the top piece of bread on the sandwich and pushed it down a little, causing ketchup to ooze out the bottom and drip onto the counter when I picked it up. As if it tasted good, I gobbled it down. I then drank two glasses of water to fill my stomach, tricking it into thinking it was full when in fact, it wasn’t. I was still hungry, but at least I wouldn’t starve.

I didn’t want to sit around the house all day. Mainly because I didn’t want to be trapped there with Travis, but also because sometimes I just got what people call stir crazy. Or cabin fever. I was tired of being trapped in my bedroom. I wanted to do something or go somewhere. I wanted fresh air. What I really wanted was a friend to do stuff with, but that wasn’t the case. It was never the case.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, I tried to think of something to do. When I realized that I was standing just as Travis always stood, I quickly pushed myself away from the counter and walked out of the kitchen, through the living room, and out the front door. I didn’t stop on the porch, or even in the front yard. I just kept walking.

I knew that when I went home, Travis would probably beat me for leaving without asking or even telling them where I was going. But at that moment, I didn’t care. It seemed that he was going to beat me no matter what I did, so since I was going to be beaten anyway, I might as well have actually done something to deserve it.

With no destination in mind, I walked. Thinking of as little as I could and paying no attention to where I was or where I was heading, I walked for a long time. When my legs grew tired, I took notice of my surroundings. I knew I was near the park so I headed there, where a handful of kids were practicing baseball on the field. There were a few families having picnics. One family was celebrating a birthday with a group of people.

Keeping my head down and walking past them all, I went to the far end of the park where I was the only person. I sat on the ground under a tree. With my back against the bark, I stretched my legs out in front of me and relaxed for the first time all weekend.

I knew what I would face when I returned home, but I wouldn’t worry about that now. Now, it was time to unwind myself a bit.

I pulled a blade of grass from the ground beside me and twisted it around my finger. I untwisted it, and then twisted it again, mindlessly.

Several minutes later, I heard someone calling my name. I didn’t respond at first, because usually when someone called my name, it was a shout, and nothing good was to come afterward. But then I recognized the voice and realized that no harm was to come to me. At least not right now.

“Hey, Brian. What are you doing down here all by yourself?” asked Carly.

I watched her walk over to me, curly hair swirling around her pretty face. She sat on the ground beside me, facing me. She smelled so good. Quickly, I had to bring my knees up to my chest to avoid an embarrassing situation.

“Just sitting here,” I answered. “What are you doing?”

“My mom dropped me off earlier. I had to go to my cousin’s birthday party.” She pointed in the direction of the party. I hadn’t even noticed her as I’d walked by. Of course, I hadn’t been looking. Living my life with my head down, there was no telling how much stuff I missed. “Here,” she said holding a small paper plate and a plastic cup out to me. “I thought you might like this.”

I looked at it. It was a piece of birthday cake and a cup of orange Kool-Aid. I didn’t get to drink Kool-Aid often, but when I did, orange was my favorite. And the piece of cake was a corner piece, which meant that there was extra icing on it. Also my favorite, though I hardly ever got any.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the cup and plate. I tried to not be overly excited about something as simple as cake and Kool-Aid. I didn’t want her to think I was a weirdo.

For a minute, Carly just sat beside me without saying anything, watching me eat. I had to force myself not to gobble it all down at once. Instead, I took slow bites, savoring the flavor.

Then, Carly said, “Brian, I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

My heart thumped in my chest, and I had to swallow twice to get that bite of cake down.

She continued, “I’ve been trying to think of a way to make you smile. I’ve told you my best jokes, and that didn’t do it. I’m afraid I’m going to have to kick it up a notch.”

“Why do you care so much?” I asked, not wanting it to come out as snotty as it did. So I softened it a bit by adding, “I mean no one else does.”

“Maybe that’s why I do. Because no one else does. Besides, I bet you have an amazing smile.”

I looked at her, and she smiled at me. I wanted to smile back at her, but I couldn’t. Maybe it was because in the back of my mind, I knew what kind of trouble I was going to be in later when I got home. Or maybe it was the memory of the incident with the pistol. Or maybe it was living half my life afraid to move, scared of being bullied or beaten or raped. And maybe, just maybe, it was all of those things.

“Why don’t you smile, Brian? What happens to you that makes you so sad and serious all the time?” With her legs folded, she put her elbows on her knees and leaned toward me, eager to hear what I would say.

Wanting to tell her but fearing what might happen if I did, I said, “Nothing you want to hear about.”

I couldn’t help but feel that if Carly knew the things I went through, she would see that I was just as horrible and disgusting as I felt I was. If she knew the things that Travis had done to me, she wouldn’t see me the same way anymore. She wouldn’t see a shy boy who never smiled or laughed. She would see me for what I truly was, a broken down, abused, mistreated and neglected boy who struggled his way through every day of his life, hoping - for some reason - to see another one.

“Brian,” she said in a very serious tone. “I will listen to anything you have to tell me. I would never repeat any of it to anyone, and I wouldn’t judge you.”

I considered telling her. But I just couldn’t.

Setting aside the empty plate, I said, “Maybe one day, Carly.”

She nodded. “Okay then. I’ll be here when you decide to tell me.” Changing the subject, she added, “In the meantime, we should do something about that smile of yours that I’ve never seen.”

I finished the last of the Kool-Aid, and set the cup on the plate. I picked up the blade of grass, and began twisting it around my finger again. It was looking pretty bad now. I’d worn it thin.

“I’m thinking that since my jokes don’t make you smile, maybe I should tickle you.”

I jerked my head up and looked at her, which caused a dull throb to begin pounding beneath my skull. Shaking my head slowly so as to not make the pounding worse, I said, “No.”

She nodded. In a serious tone, she said, “Yes. You’ve left me no choice, Brian.”

“Don’t you do it,” I said.

“I’m going to have to.” She leaned toward me, got up on her knees, grabbed each of my sides and began to tickle me. It hurt my injured side, but fortunately, she kept her hand high enough on my ribs to not cause me to scream.

I playfully tried to pull her away from me. “Carly, stop,” I said, though there was no force in it. Had I not been afraid she’d touch some of my injuries, I would’ve cherished this moment more than I was. I wouldn’t have tried to stop her. In a perfect world, I would’ve pulled her to me and maybe even tickled her in return. But that was in a perfect world, and this world wasn’t even close to perfect. Although in that moment, it was as close for me as it had ever been.

“Smile, Brian, and I will,” she said, her face only inches from mine. She was even prettier this close. Oddly, the thought of kissing her popped into my head. It would be so easy to just lean forward a bit or pull her toward me and plant one on her lips. I wanted to more than anything. “Smile, Brian,” she said again.

I almost did. I felt it coming, felt the muscles around my mouth tighten and my lips begin to stretch. But before the smile could happen, all the wiggling around from the tickling caused me to hit my head on the tree. Instantly, I stopped the horseplay and grabbed the back of my head. The knots were screaming in pain, and the throbbing in my head intensified.

Carly must’ve noticed something had happened because she stopped tickling me and leaned back, resting her butt on her heels. I saw worry on her face.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I struggled to keep from crying, though the tears came quickly to my eyes. “I’m fine,” I managed to say. Feeling I owed her some explanation, I added, “I just have some knots on my head, and when I bumped them against the tree, they started hurting again.” I wasn’t sure how, but I’d said it all without crying.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have been tickling you like that. I didn’t know you’d hit your head.”

“It’s okay.” The pain was starting to subside, as was the urge to cry. I blinked quickly to help it along.

For a few minutes, we just sat there, neither speaking. We didn’t have to talk. I enjoyed her company even if we never said a word to each other. She gave me a peaceful feeling that I couldn’t get anywhere else. It was just nice to have her there.

Finally, Carly broke the silence. “Brian, when are you going to ask me to the dance?”

I looked at her, trying to determine if she was serious. I’d suspected before that she was, and the look on her face now confirmed my suspicions.

“Don’t look so surprised, Brian. I’ve been hinting all week for you to ask me. I’m starting to think you don’t want to go with me.”

“That’s not true,” I said quickly.

“So then why haven’t you asked me?”

I shrugged, causing me to wince from the pain in my side. “I don’t know. I wasn’t sure you wanted me to, and I didn’t want to look stupid asking if that’s not what you wanted.”

She giggled. I loved the sound. “Of course I wanted you to ask me.” She hesitated, the look on her face suggesting she was trying to decide something, and then added, “You know, I didn’t really need your help in Woodworking.”

I was confused. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, silly. I just wanted you to help me so we could talk more and stuff. I know how to build a shelf.”

I loved that she’d gone to so much trouble to talk to me and spend time with me. No one ever had before. I felt my cheeks get warm as I blushed.