hands over his ears.
When at last he took them away the house was silent.
He never saw Millie again. Millie, who had followed him about the house, smiling sweetly, blond curls bobbing as she ran to hug his leg, looking adoringly up at her big brother. She had loved him, and he her. His mother had taken away that love. Had crushed it. Crushed him.
And then for a second time.
He went through a series of uncles his mother ordered him to 'be nice to'. A couple of them beat the hell out of him; one or two ignored him. And one raped him. He was eight years old at the time. The man threw him face-down on the bed, his big rough hand pressing down on the back of his head, pushing his face into the blue and white striped mattress. Its sour taste and smell was still in his mouth and nose and throat. He could smell it now, taste it, like filthy socks jammed into his mouth. His small body felt like it was being torn apart, and he screamed out in pain, but the man just drove his face deeper into the mattress, smothering his cries. Not that anyone would have heard him; his mother was passed out in the other bedroom. When he was sure he was going to die from the pain, for want of breath, the man gave a guttural groan, then got up off him and told him if he ever told anyone, he'd come back and kill both him and his mother.
He buried the bloody sheet and his small stained shorts in the backyard so no one would ever know his shame.
And then one day Uncle Earl entered his life—big, gruff, fun Uncle Earl Parker who played the guitar and sang country songs, ruffled his hair, and said with a grin, "Hey, Buddy, how you doin'?"
He made Buddy ham and eggs and sat across from and asked about school and what he thought about things. Leave the kid alone, he'd say, when his mother was about to backhand him.
He said I was a good kid. He loved me. He cared. I know he did.
Buddy thought he had died and gone to Heaven when Earl lived with them. But it was not to last.
"She sent him away," he told the boy in the mirror. She took away love.
He would get it back though. He had always dreamed of having a father who loved him, and Earl Parker gave reality to the dream. His mother would stop drinking and she and Earl would get married. They would be a real family. A normal family.
For a brief time, he had felt safe and protected.
The dream was shattered when one day he arrived home from school to find Earl and his guitar, gone, the closet emptied of his clothes. His mother said he just took off, but Buddy knew better. Hs mother had sent him away. He hated her.
He waited and waited for Earl to come back to him, but he never did. Buddy checked the mailbox every day for a letter, but none ever came. He suspected that his mother tore them up and burned the pieces, or maybe flushed them down the toilet.
But none of that mattered now. Everything would be the way he had always dreamed. He would find Earl very soon. He knew Earl would welcome him with open arms, would be so glad to see him again. Buddy never knew his biological father, but he didn't care about him. Earl was his real father, his father in spirit. That was what was important.
Gradually, the face of the boy in the glass darkened, and akin to a photo aging, the features broadened, the smooth skin coarsening until it morphed into the man the boy had become, who looked back at him. Something forever changed behind the eyes. Even Buddy could see that.
He turned from the mirror. He didn't like looking at himself for long.
He hadn't meant to kill that girl. Not at first. It was her own fault. He had only wanted to talk to her.
The phone was ringing. Fully present now, the dead woman another mistake he'd erased, he picked up the receiver. It was his boss calling; he had to go in to work.
Eleven
It was lovely to sit on the sofa and watch her own television, (not have to worry about someone
When at last he took them away the house was silent.
He never saw Millie again. Millie, who had followed him about the house, smiling sweetly, blond curls bobbing as she ran to hug his leg, looking adoringly up at her big brother. She had loved him, and he her. His mother had taken away that love. Had crushed it. Crushed him.
And then for a second time.
He went through a series of uncles his mother ordered him to 'be nice to'. A couple of them beat the hell out of him; one or two ignored him. And one raped him. He was eight years old at the time. The man threw him face-down on the bed, his big rough hand pressing down on the back of his head, pushing his face into the blue and white striped mattress. Its sour taste and smell was still in his mouth and nose and throat. He could smell it now, taste it, like filthy socks jammed into his mouth. His small body felt like it was being torn apart, and he screamed out in pain, but the man just drove his face deeper into the mattress, smothering his cries. Not that anyone would have heard him; his mother was passed out in the other bedroom. When he was sure he was going to die from the pain, for want of breath, the man gave a guttural groan, then got up off him and told him if he ever told anyone, he'd come back and kill both him and his mother.
He buried the bloody sheet and his small stained shorts in the backyard so no one would ever know his shame.
And then one day Uncle Earl entered his life—big, gruff, fun Uncle Earl Parker who played the guitar and sang country songs, ruffled his hair, and said with a grin, "Hey, Buddy, how you doin'?"
He made Buddy ham and eggs and sat across from and asked about school and what he thought about things. Leave the kid alone, he'd say, when his mother was about to backhand him.
He said I was a good kid. He loved me. He cared. I know he did.
Buddy thought he had died and gone to Heaven when Earl lived with them. But it was not to last.
"She sent him away," he told the boy in the mirror. She took away love.
He would get it back though. He had always dreamed of having a father who loved him, and Earl Parker gave reality to the dream. His mother would stop drinking and she and Earl would get married. They would be a real family. A normal family.
For a brief time, he had felt safe and protected.
The dream was shattered when one day he arrived home from school to find Earl and his guitar, gone, the closet emptied of his clothes. His mother said he just took off, but Buddy knew better. Hs mother had sent him away. He hated her.
He waited and waited for Earl to come back to him, but he never did. Buddy checked the mailbox every day for a letter, but none ever came. He suspected that his mother tore them up and burned the pieces, or maybe flushed them down the toilet.
But none of that mattered now. Everything would be the way he had always dreamed. He would find Earl very soon. He knew Earl would welcome him with open arms, would be so glad to see him again. Buddy never knew his biological father, but he didn't care about him. Earl was his real father, his father in spirit. That was what was important.
Gradually, the face of the boy in the glass darkened, and akin to a photo aging, the features broadened, the smooth skin coarsening until it morphed into the man the boy had become, who looked back at him. Something forever changed behind the eyes. Even Buddy could see that.
He turned from the mirror. He didn't like looking at himself for long.
He hadn't meant to kill that girl. Not at first. It was her own fault. He had only wanted to talk to her.
The phone was ringing. Fully present now, the dead woman another mistake he'd erased, he picked up the receiver. It was his boss calling; he had to go in to work.
Eleven
It was lovely to sit on the sofa and watch her own television, (not have to worry about someone
Similar Books
