Two days...two crappy days, I mean that literally, I pulled those weeds. My hands looked like Michelin man's hands so puffy they were. Multiple cuts scored the surface of my palms and between my fingers.  Touching anything was out of the question. I couldn't close my fingers.

I showed my stepfather after the first day, the damage it was doing to my hands. He told me, "You're not doing It right. Try again, get your ass out there!"

God how I hated him and her too.  But then I hated feeling hate for them as well.  Most kids, I don't think, feel that way toward their parents. The second day I was out there pulling weeds. I wore a long-sleeved shirt, folded it over the end of my fingers and pulled the weeds. That was better, but still very painful. I was running out of strength quicker than I had been. I could feel my body was run down. My limbs felt like rubber and I had to fight the grey which threatened to overwhelm me.

I told my parents my runners were ruined. They were almost gone before I even stepped into that quagmire. They told me to dry them out, they'll be fine. I couldn't believe they wanted me to keep wearing those things. They stunk like shit just like the rest of me did. I threw them out. Be damned the consequences. They wouldn't let me have a bath either until they inspected the job I did. 

All I heard was, "Not bad." From him.

I was blessed that I could have the tub to myself to wash.  I'll explain:

My mother would fill the tub and have her leisure bath reading her romance novels. After a while, my stepfather would join her. When they both exited the bathtub, it was my turn to use the tub but I had to use the same bathwater. I wasn't allowed to add any extra warm water. Then it was my sister who got the water to wash.

Following that, it was my youngest sister and the water was stone cold and very dirty.

By the time it got to me, the water was lukewarm and when I was done, it was cold and it just got dirtier and dirtier with each successive use.

So I was extra grateful to have the tub to myself this time. I did however ask them if they'd like the water when I was done.  To which they angrily declined.

I was building up my courage and with each successive barb, I gained a little bit more courage.

I knew what was coming and it was inevitable. We would be head to head sooner rather than later.  While I was gaining courage, he was gaining anger. I sensed it.

I could feel the tension in the air as if I could grab it like a rope and in the grabbing a message telling me clearly, "It's only a matter of time."

I ran the tub hot even though I knew it would hurt my hands.  It just couldn't be helped. My skin was crawling with the stench of the septic tank.  The mud, the yuck that was all over the bottom half of my body. Wrecked clothes on the floor rotting into themselves, a toxic scent filling the air. The humiliation was great this time and not a friend to self-esteem at all. He might be gathering anger but, I was pissed off too and I planned on using it.

First things first, get a job. I'm old enough, it's time.

Gingerly, I picked up the cloth and the soap I forced my hands to close enough to be able to wash. They stung like angry bees, enough to keep me alert and washing. I thought it was to keep Status quo as much as possible while I'm here. If I want to keep eating that is.

A plan was forming.  I was just praying that he doesn't explode before I can leave but, a plan was forming anyway.

It was something to hang my sanity on, some light at the end of the tunnel...some light.