Good Aafternoon, Ladies & Gentlemen,
May I present, for your reading pleasure, chapter three of my story. Now, I know this chapter is quite a bit shorter then the others. However, this part of my life was very difficult for me and it was very hard for me to write about. These short chapters will appear a few more times as I continue to tell you about myself. I hope it does not detract from your enjoyment of this unbelievably true story that is my life. As always, comments are welcome and I thank you for visiting my blog.
Legal Criminal
Chapter Three
It was quickly getting to the point where I again dreaded going to school. This time, though, it was because I was popular, not because I wasn't. My family was also acting strangely and I began to question the motives of everyone around me. I had no actual evidence that they were doing anything wrong, it was just an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. There were times I'd wake up in the middle of the night with between 1 and 4 women standing over my bed, watching me sleep. Sometimes I'd only pretend to go to sleep and watch them as then silently came in my room and stood over me. Being the only guy in the house, only one thing came to mind when I started catching them in my room. A few other things began to happen around that time as well. I was forced to share showers with my two cousins ( who were 7 & 8 years older than me) and all of the women began acting as my mother. I wasn't physically hit very often. But when I was, it was bad. As in I couldn't leave the house until the hand prints on my face went away. And it was different from woman to woman. One would hit while another controlled while another just ignored me. I learned to accept that this was my life and there wasn't anything I could do to make it any better. If I wasn't in school, I was in my room. It was at about this point that books and music became my passions. I had the stereo on all night and my face was always buried in one book or another.
A few months later, life again hit me below the belt. I was in school one day when I was called to the Principal's office. As I walked down the hall toward his office, I saw my family standing there, looking stiff and nervous. They told me I wouldn't be going to school for a while and they had some bad news for me. When we got out to the car, I was told my father had died. He had "water on his heart". (To this day, I still have no idea what that means). I could not have been happier if you had told me I just won the world lottery. Now, let me explain why I had a huge smile on my face.
I had only met my father five time in my life. And, on all but one of those occasions, he was drunk beyond any logical thought process.
My father was a bus driver and the very first time I met him, my mother took me on his bus to have lunch. We rode on his bus till he drove back to the depot. We then sat on the bus and talked while we had lunch. It was an alright day. I don't know what they expected to happen, but I didn't feel any different then at any other time in my life. The next three times I met him, over a period of several years, I began to realize that there was something seriously wrong with my life. As well as being a bus driver, my father also owned a bar. It was a special bar. The only patrons were police, firemen, and e.m.t.'s. The first time we went there, the bar wasn't even open yet. We went in and my mother sat at the bar and had a cup of tea. My father, who had started drink when his alarm clock went off in the morning, brought me in the back room and beat me worse than my family and enemies ever had combined. When we left, my mother took me to the hospital. I don't know what she told them, but, they bandaged me up and sent me home. This happened twice more, the exact same way, and each beating was just a little bit worse than the one before. An example of the abuse was a game of darts. Normally, you would stand a distance from the dart board and aim for the middle. Now, picture the same game, except using a small boy instead of a pointed edge plastic dart.
It didn't occur to me until much later that my mother never stepped in or said anything to him while this was going on. I found out the reason for that a few years later. Now, I'll tell you about visit number five. The very last time I ever saw my father.
Even at a very young age, I knew all holidays were bullshit. Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, Thanksgiving. All lies. I played along, to a degree, so I wouldn't spoil it for everyone else. But I knew. One Christmas Eve, while I was supposed to be "sleeping so the jolly fat man would think I was being good", I heard sirens. Very loud ones. I got up and looked out my window. There, parked in front of my house, were two firetrucks and a cop car. The guy stumbling around drunk was clearly not St. Nick. He was carring a huge bag and you can guess the rest. I tried to go outside, but both of the doors to my room had been locked. I kept watching out the window as my aunt went out and had a huge argument with him. Eventually, he dropped the bag and climbed in one of the firetrucks as everyone pulled away. I then watched my aunt pick up the bag and throw it in the trash.
A while later, she came in my room and told me I didn't have to worry about anything and to go to sleep.
All things considered, I have no idea why they thought I'd be sad or depressed at his death. I wasn't allowed to go to the viewing or the funeral. I instead used the time to figure out what I wanted to do in my life. Being a somewhat intelligent person, I quickly understood what would happen when Jenny heard the news and devised a plan to counter her intentions about me. Don't get me wrong. I still believed her to be a very wonderful, beautiful, sexy young lady. I had learned, however, that she wasn't the one for me. I decided that I would much rather be single with no prospects. Even though I was very popular, I considered myself to be a loner and I attempted to live that life.
No comments:
Post a Comment