| Young Adult Non-Fiction posted June 27, 2024 |
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1,400 words. Another Rabbit, Allen, and Roy adventure.
The Day My Life Changed
by papa55mike
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The three boys have been contentedly riding around Drexel Elementary School for the last hour. Roy had stolen two of his Father's cigarettes but neglected to get any matches. They've been begging everybody for a light with no luck. All while hearing, "You're too young to smoke!" from everyone they ask.
Rabbit leans back on The Tank and chuckles. "You two can't do anything right."
The optimist, Allen, says, "We'll get a light, Rabbit, you'll see. There's no point in you begging for a draw, either."
"And go home to Mom smelling like a cigarette. You might as well call the mortician. Why don't you rub two sticks together?"
Roy smarts off, "That's funny, Rabbit!"
Allen asks, "Doesn't your Mom have any matches?"
"If she does, they'd be in her purse, and I don't know of any in the house. Why don't you go to Schnieder's and buy a pack? Surely, one of you has a penny."
They both shake their heads no.
I smile, "There are plenty of sticks under our Maple tree. I've got to go. Mom should be home shortly."
Rabbit turns The Tank around and heads up Drexel Avenue, with Roy and Allen close behind. They catch the light on green and glide across Third Street to Infirmary Road.
Since this is my last ride on The Tank until Monday, Rabbit thinks I might as well visit Jack's Junkyard one last time. I notice Mom's car parked at Grandma and Grandpa's house. She must have got off work early. The Tank and I float by Uncle Butch's house, which is next door, one with the moment. Until I hear Mom's car door slam like I've heard too many times before.
"That didn't last long." My stomach turns while my heart falls to my toes. I forget to wave at the guys at Jack's while turning for home and see Mom whip the old blue Ford out of one driveway, then fishtail into ours, two houses down.
"What have I done now?" The Tank and I stop at Grandpa's to figure out what's happening. About five agonizing minutes later, I hear Mom bellow on the hotline, "Micheal!" That yell might have made Main Street.
Slowly, I start pedaling home. There's no use to rush to a beating. Roy and Allen stop short our driveway with stunned looks. I shrug, saying, "I don't know," and turn in, taking the long way around to park The Tank.
My heart races when I open the screen door and say, "Hi, Mom." She greets me with an open-handed slap that knocks me against the stove. I feel the welt rising on my left cheek.
Mom screams at me with ferocity, "Why didn't you come when I hollered?" She follows with another blow to my face, causing my lip to bleed.
I'm on my knees when I answer, "I started home when I heard you, Mom."
"I heard you've been dreaming again, Michael. I found your books along with those stupid stories you've been hiding. What's left of them lies scattered around your bedroom."
"Mom, I was just reading a book."
"You mean filling your mind with that science fiction crap and dreaming of a future that you'll never find. Because it will never exist. We're all bound to the stinking life we get!" She steps closer and hovers over me with a frightening look. Her face contorts, and her bloodshot blue eyes match her flaming red hair. "I told you before that I'd beat that dreaming out of you. I guess today is the day." She searches the room for a weapon and finds a long extension cord lying on the table, then wraps the middle around her hand. An evil rage appears on her face.
I scramble backward on all fours into the living room and turn my back to her when the first blow strikes me across the face with the plug - breaking my glasses and cutting my forehead above my nose. A small pool of blood gathers quickly on the floor.
The beating continues at a furious pace, lash upon lash. The scene reminds me of The Hunchback on the pillary. Searing pain racks my body. There's no use in moving; it will only make it worse. Tears are pouring from my eyes with no sobs at all. My mind begins to filter out some of the pain, but a deep sadness engulfs my soul. I see that pit of despair opening again, and I'll dive in soon.
With her rage finally consumed for the moment, she tosses the cord on my back and screams, "Now get to your room and clean up that mess."
"Yes, ma'am." I quietly answer while wiping the blood and tears from my eyes, then gather my broken glasses.
"You better be done by the time I get back, or you'll get another beating just like that!" She slams the door behind her.
"I will." I can taste the blood running down my nose, gathering at the corner of my mouth. Slowly, I start to my room when the car jerks to life, slinging gravel against the house. I wonder where she goes after beating me, probably to the bar on the corner beside the Dollar Store.
My body quakes with every step toward my open door, and I collapse to my knees when I see the mess scattered throughout the room. Mom stripped the covers of every book and shredded everything. She even ripped every page from my notebooks and broke all my pencils. The weeping comes when I pick up the last few pages of Dandelion Wine. That's when I perform a perfect swan dive straight into that pit of despair.
Two hours later, I heard Mom slam on the brakes while parking the car. The screen door slams and her footsteps lead to my room. I'm staring out my window, watching the leaves dance on the trees in the sun. Basically, I'm numb.
She asks, "I'm starting some supper. Do you want anything?"
I answer in a whisper, "No, ma'am. I'm not hungry." But I refuse to look at her.
She storms off, saying, "I guess my cooking isn't good enough."
~
It's almost midnight, and I'm listening to the crickets below the window while Mom snores in her room.
Many thoughts have crossed my mind since this afternoon. They run the gambit from running away to killing myself. But none of them seem right.
Earlier, when I cleaned the blood off my face, I counted over thirty dark purple stripes across my back, with countless deep bruises on my chest and stomach. They were from the plugs at both ends of the cord. I still remember the sound of the cord whistling through the air.
Who can I reach out to for help with my troubled thoughts? No one.
~
It's Sunday, and I'm determined to spend every minute of this day doing something away from her. These simple tasks included pulling weeds along the house, checking the lawn mower, and raking the yard. Mom finally walked down to Grandma's so I could turn off my defense mechanisms for a minute and take a deep breath.
I already miss my books. They were more than simple prose gathered in amazing collections. Their words brought hope to a generation of readers before me and countless more to come. I still remember how each one made me feel—the joy, the fascination, the hope, and most of all, the smiles they brought me in my troubled world. What's wrong with that?
Mom is still gone, and I'm sitting on the floor in the living room when I hear two bikes stop by the screen door. A voice whispers, "Rabbit, are you there?"
"Go away before you get me in trouble, Allen!"
Roy says, "We found out what happened."
"What are you two talking about?"
Allen explains, "Your Mom was having coffee with your Grandma when Mrs. Forrest walked in, thanking them for all you did with her Grandson. Including all of the books you read together. They both saw the rage build in your Mom's eyes."
"Dear, Lord. That's what I get for being a good friend. Now, please leave before you get me in trouble again. My sentence will be through in a month. I'll see you then."
Roy says, "Goodbye, Rabbit." The sound of their bikes drifts away.
I dive even deeper into that pit.
The three boys have been contentedly riding around Drexel Elementary School for the last hour. Roy had stolen two of his Father's cigarettes but neglected to get any matches. They've been begging everybody for a light with no luck. All while hearing, "You're too young to smoke!" from everyone they ask.
Rabbit leans back on The Tank and chuckles. "You two can't do anything right."
The optimist, Allen, says, "We'll get a light, Rabbit, you'll see. There's no point in you begging for a draw, either."
"And go home to Mom smelling like a cigarette. You might as well call the mortician. Why don't you rub two sticks together?"
Roy smarts off, "That's funny, Rabbit!"
Allen asks, "Doesn't your Mom have any matches?"
"If she does, they'd be in her purse, and I don't know of any in the house. Why don't you go to Schnieder's and buy a pack? Surely, one of you has a penny."
They both shake their heads no.
I smile, "There are plenty of sticks under our Maple tree. I've got to go. Mom should be home shortly."
Rabbit turns The Tank around and heads up Drexel Avenue, with Roy and Allen close behind. They catch the light on green and glide across Third Street to Infirmary Road.
Since this is my last ride on The Tank until Monday, Rabbit thinks I might as well visit Jack's Junkyard one last time. I notice Mom's car parked at Grandma and Grandpa's house. She must have got off work early. The Tank and I float by Uncle Butch's house, which is next door, one with the moment. Until I hear Mom's car door slam like I've heard too many times before.
"That didn't last long." My stomach turns while my heart falls to my toes. I forget to wave at the guys at Jack's while turning for home and see Mom whip the old blue Ford out of one driveway, then fishtail into ours, two houses down.
"What have I done now?" The Tank and I stop at Grandpa's to figure out what's happening. About five agonizing minutes later, I hear Mom bellow on the hotline, "Micheal!" That yell might have made Main Street.
Slowly, I start pedaling home. There's no use to rush to a beating. Roy and Allen stop short our driveway with stunned looks. I shrug, saying, "I don't know," and turn in, taking the long way around to park The Tank.
My heart races when I open the screen door and say, "Hi, Mom." She greets me with an open-handed slap that knocks me against the stove. I feel the welt rising on my left cheek.
Mom screams at me with ferocity, "Why didn't you come when I hollered?" She follows with another blow to my face, causing my lip to bleed.
I'm on my knees when I answer, "I started home when I heard you, Mom."
"I heard you've been dreaming again, Michael. I found your books along with those stupid stories you've been hiding. What's left of them lies scattered around your bedroom."
"Mom, I was just reading a book."
"You mean filling your mind with that science fiction crap and dreaming of a future that you'll never find. Because it will never exist. We're all bound to the stinking life we get!" She steps closer and hovers over me with a frightening look. Her face contorts, and her bloodshot blue eyes match her flaming red hair. "I told you before that I'd beat that dreaming out of you. I guess today is the day." She searches the room for a weapon and finds a long extension cord lying on the table, then wraps the middle around her hand. An evil rage appears on her face.
I scramble backward on all fours into the living room and turn my back to her when the first blow strikes me across the face with the plug - breaking my glasses and cutting my forehead above my nose. A small pool of blood gathers quickly on the floor.
The beating continues at a furious pace, lash upon lash. The scene reminds me of The Hunchback on the pillary. Searing pain racks my body. There's no use in moving; it will only make it worse. Tears are pouring from my eyes with no sobs at all. My mind begins to filter out some of the pain, but a deep sadness engulfs my soul. I see that pit of despair opening again, and I'll dive in soon.
With her rage finally consumed for the moment, she tosses the cord on my back and screams, "Now get to your room and clean up that mess."
"Yes, ma'am." I quietly answer while wiping the blood and tears from my eyes, then gather my broken glasses.
"You better be done by the time I get back, or you'll get another beating just like that!" She slams the door behind her.
"I will." I can taste the blood running down my nose, gathering at the corner of my mouth. Slowly, I start to my room when the car jerks to life, slinging gravel against the house. I wonder where she goes after beating me, probably to the bar on the corner beside the Dollar Store.
My body quakes with every step toward my open door, and I collapse to my knees when I see the mess scattered throughout the room. Mom stripped the covers of every book and shredded everything. She even ripped every page from my notebooks and broke all my pencils. The weeping comes when I pick up the last few pages of Dandelion Wine. That's when I perform a perfect swan dive straight into that pit of despair.
Two hours later, I heard Mom slam on the brakes while parking the car. The screen door slams and her footsteps lead to my room. I'm staring out my window, watching the leaves dance on the trees in the sun. Basically, I'm numb.
She asks, "I'm starting some supper. Do you want anything?"
I answer in a whisper, "No, ma'am. I'm not hungry." But I refuse to look at her.
She storms off, saying, "I guess my cooking isn't good enough."
~
It's almost midnight, and I'm listening to the crickets below the window while Mom snores in her room.
Many thoughts have crossed my mind since this afternoon. They run the gambit from running away to killing myself. But none of them seem right.
Earlier, when I cleaned the blood off my face, I counted over thirty dark purple stripes across my back, with countless deep bruises on my chest and stomach. They were from the plugs at both ends of the cord. I still remember the sound of the cord whistling through the air.
Who can I reach out to for help with my troubled thoughts? No one.
~
It's Sunday, and I'm determined to spend every minute of this day doing something away from her. These simple tasks included pulling weeds along the house, checking the lawn mower, and raking the yard. Mom finally walked down to Grandma's so I could turn off my defense mechanisms for a minute and take a deep breath.
I already miss my books. They were more than simple prose gathered in amazing collections. Their words brought hope to a generation of readers before me and countless more to come. I still remember how each one made me feel—the joy, the fascination, the hope, and most of all, the smiles they brought me in my troubled world. What's wrong with that?
Mom is still gone, and I'm sitting on the floor in the living room when I hear two bikes stop by the screen door. A voice whispers, "Rabbit, are you there?"
"Go away before you get me in trouble, Allen!"
Roy says, "We found out what happened."
"What are you two talking about?"
Allen explains, "Your Mom was having coffee with your Grandma when Mrs. Forrest walked in, thanking them for all you did with her Grandson. Including all of the books you read together. They both saw the rage build in your Mom's eyes."
"Dear, Lord. That's what I get for being a good friend. Now, please leave before you get me in trouble again. My sentence will be through in a month. I'll see you then."
Roy says, "Goodbye, Rabbit." The sound of their bikes drifts away.
I dive even deeper into that pit.
 Recognized |
In all fairness, times were different in 1968. You could beat your child in the middle of any store with no problem, and a few people would root for you. Now, if you raise your voice to a child in Walmart, security will follow you all around the store. But I don't give Mom a pass for what happened. Our relationship completely changed after that day. I'll write more about that later. She never deterred my reading and writing. I just hid it better.
The ideas for these stories must have come to me after a visit from my brother John last June. We talked a little about Mom and the beating with the extension cord. He remembered standing there helpless while it happened. I think he was five or six.
Many thanks for stopping by to read!
Have a great day, and God bless.
mike
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. The ideas for these stories must have come to me after a visit from my brother John last June. We talked a little about Mom and the beating with the extension cord. He remembered standing there helpless while it happened. I think he was five or six.
Many thanks for stopping by to read!
Have a great day, and God bless.
mike
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