A Man Named Dave (2 page)

Without thinking I reach my left hand out to the wooden rail that I use to pull myself up the stairs.
I’m going to win,
I say to myself,
I’m actually going to make it!
I can hear the gurgling sound of the toilet flushing from above. I quicken my pace. I extend my arm toward the rail. I smile inside.
I’m going to beat her.
A split second later my heart skips a beat as my hand misses the rail and grabs air. My body begins to wobble.
The rail! Grab the stupid rail!
As hard as I fight to concentrate, my fingers refuse to obey. My world turns black.

A blinding glare pierces my eyes. My head seems as if it is stuck in a fog. I can make out a figure standing above me in front of a bright white light. “… aht ime is it?”

I try to shake my head clear. For a moment I thought I was staring at an angel sent to take me to heaven.

But Mother’s sickening cough soon erases my fantasy.
I
said, “What time is it?” The sound of her voice nearly makes me pee my pants. Mother uses a soft, evil tone so not to wake up her precious babies. “Let’s see how fast … you can move that sorry little behind of yours up here … now!” Mother demands with a snap of her fingers. My body shudders as I place the broom against the base of the stairs.

“Oh, no!” Mother beams. “Bring your friend with you.” I’m not sure what she means. I spin around, then look back up at Mother. “The broom, you moron. Bring it with you.”

With every step I take, my mind begins to plot a defense for whatever Game Mother has in store for the crime of not completing my chores on time. I warn myself to stay focused. I know she plans on using the broom as a weapon, either against my chest or face. Sometimes when we’re alone, Mother likes to smash the end of the broom directly behind my knees. If she has me follow her into the kitchen, I’m dead. I won’t be able to walk to school, let alone run. But if Mother keeps me on the stairs, I know she’ll only hit me in my upper body.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, I automatically assume “the position of address”: my body stands perfectly straight, with my head bent down and my hands glued to my sides. I am not allowed to move a muscle, blink, look at her or even breathe without Mother’s direct permission.

“Tell me, tell me
I’m stupid
,” Mother whispers as she leans over. I cringe as I imagine her taking a bite from my ear. It’s part of the Game. She’s testing me to see if I’ll flinch. I dare not look up or back away. My heels hang over the edge of the stair. I pray Mother doesn’t push me … today.

“Go ahead, tell me. Please,” Mother begs. The tone of her voice changes. Mother’s voice seems calm, nonthreatening. My mind spins. I don’t understand. Did Mother just give me permission to speak? I have no idea what she expects of me. Either way, I’m trapped. I focus my energy on the front of my shoes. The more I stare, the more my body begins to sway.

Without warning Mother thrusts a finger under my chin, lifting my face to hers. Her rancid breath makes my stomach coil. I fight not to pass out from her stench. Even though she does not allow me to wear my glasses at home, I glance at Mother’s puffy, reddened face. Her once gleaming hair is now oily and matted against the sides of her face. “Just how stupid do you think I am? Tell me, exactly: How stupid am I?”

I sheepishly look up and reply, “Ma’am?”

A raging fire stings the side of my face. “Just who in the hell gave you permission to speak, let alone look!” Mother hisses.

I snap my head back down as I quickly bury the pain inside.
My God,
I say to myself,
I didn’t see it coming. What’s happening to me?
I’m always able to see her arm swing back before she strikes me. I cannot figure out why I am so slow.
Dammit, David, stay focused! Think!

“When is It going to begin Its chores?” Mother bellows. “What is it with you? I bet you think I’m stupid! You think you can get away with whatever you damn well please! Don’t you?” Mother shakes her head. “I’m not the one hurting you. You are. You choose your actions. You know who – what – you are and what your purpose is in this household.

“If
It
wants to be fed, then it’s simple:
It
does exactly as
It’s
told. If It doesn’t want to be punished, then It stays out of trouble. It knows the rules. I don’t treat you any different from anybody else. It simply refuses to obey.” Mother stops to take a deep breath. Her chest begins to wheeze. It’s time for her fix. I know what’s coming next. I wish she’d go ahead and hit me. “And what about me?” Her voice rises. “I should be asleep, but no, I have to be here with It. You pathetic piece of filth! You little bastard! You know your function. You’re not a
person,
but … a
thing
to do with as
I
please. Do you understand? Am I making myself clear, or perhaps It needs another lesson?” Mother thunders.

Mother’s words echo inside my soul. For years I’ve heard the same thing over and over again. For years I’ve been her human robot to do with as she pleases, like some toy that she can turn on and off whenever she wishes.

I break down inside. My body begins to shake. I can’t take it anymore. Go
ahead,
I say to myself.
Do it! Just kill me! Come on!
Suddenly, my vision sharpens. My insides stop shaking. Rage slowly begins to fill me. I no longer feel ice cold. I shift my head from side to side as my eyes creep up Mother’s robed body. The fingers to my right hand tighten around the wooden broom handle. As I slowly let out a deep breath, my eyes stare directly into Mother’s.
“Leave me alone … you bitch!”
I hiss.

Mother becomes paralyzed. I focus every fiber of my being on piercing through her silver-framed glasses and reddened eyes. I will myself to somehow transfer every moment I had to carry for the last eight years of pain and loneliness into Mother.

Mother’s face turns ash white. She knows. Mother knows exactly what I’m feeling.
It’s working,
I tell myself. Mother tries to break away from my stare. She moves her head slightly to the left. I match Mother’s movement. She can’t escape. Mother looks down and away. I tilt my head up and sharpen my stare. I smile. From the bottom of my soul I feel so warm. Now
I’m
the one in control.

From the back of my mind I hear a chuckle. For a moment I think it’s me laughing at Mother. I lower my eyes and see Mother’s crocodile smile. Her putrid breath breaks my concentration. The more Mother smiles, the more my body becomes tense. She tilts her head toward the light.
Now,
I tell myself,
now I can see it coming. Go ahead, give it to me! Come on, do it! Show me what you got!
I see the blur a split second before I feel her hand collide against my face. A moment later, warm blood seeps from my nose. I let it drip on the black-matted stairs. I refuse to give Mother the pleasure of watching me cry or reacting in any way whatsoever. I defy her by remaining numb inside and out.

“Showing a little guts, are you? Well, you’re a few years too late!” Mother sneers. “You don’t have what it takes. You never have and you never will. You’re such a pathetic little worm. I can kill you anytime I please. Just like
that,”
Mother says with a snap of her fingers. “You are only alive because it pleases me. You are nothing more than …”

I block out Mother’s words as a cold fear creeps back inside my soul. I bow my head, resuming the position of address. Dark red blood spatters the toes of my shoes.
For a fleeting moment I felt so alive.

She’s in control now.

The more that Mother babbles, the more I nod my head, acknowledging Mother is indeed almighty and God-like for allowing me to live another day in her household. “You don’t know how lucky you are. When I was your age, you wouldn’t believe what
I
was put through. …”

I let out a deep sigh and close my eyes in a vain attempt to block out the sound of her voice. How I wish she would pass out and drop dead. In my mind I fantasize Mother sprawled on the hallway floor. I would give anything to be there as she quivered helplessly on her back before taking her last breath.

Mother’s voice changes in pitch. Suddenly my throat feels as if it is on fire as Mother tightens her grip around my neck. My eyes want to pop out of my head. I did not focus on Mother’s attack before it came. By reflex I wrap my hands around Mother’s fingers. As much as I try, I cannot pry her hands off. The more I struggle, the more Mother tightens her death grip. I try to scream, but only a gurgling sound leaks out. My head slumps forward. As my eyes roll backward, I concentrate on Mother’s face.
Do it!
I shout to myself.
Come on, do it! You’re so bad, you’re so tough, come on! Show me, show me what you got! Kill me, you bitch!

Mother’s cheeks twitch from her intense hatred. Her nostrils flare from her rapid breathing. I want Mother to kill me. I begin to feel myself drift away. My hearing seems as if I am in the middle of a long tunnel. My arms fall to my side. For the first time in years, my body relaxes. I’m no longer cold inside. I’m no longer frightened. I’m ready to …

A hard slap makes my head shake from side to side. “Oh no, wake up! Wake up, you miserable piece of trash! I’m not through with you yet! I know exactly what you want!” Mother hisses. “So, you think you’re so smart? How about … instead of sending you to your Uncle Dan’s this weekend, maybe I should have the boys go instead, so you and I can spend some
private time
together? Bet you didn’t think of that one, did you?”

I know by the sound of her voice that I am supposed to respond, but I can’t.

“Oh, what’s the matter? Does the little insect have a sore throat? Oh well, that’s just too bad!” Mother smiles. I can see her lips moving, but I can barely make out what she’s saying. After another quick squeeze, Mother lets go of her hold. Without permission, I rub my neck, gasping for air. Somehow I know she’s not done with me – not yet. A second later I nearly lose my balance as Mother snatches the broom from beside me. I automatically tighten my upper body. “This,” she says, “this is for cheating on your chores. I’ve told you a hundred times that you are to get that miserable butt of yours up and working before I get up.
Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

I hesitate, not knowing how or if I should respond.

“I said,
is that clear?”

“
Yes … ah, yes, ma’am,” I stutter in a hoarse voice.

“Tell me, what is your name?” Mother asks as she tilts her head upward in a show of supremacy.

“‘It,’” I answer in a sheepish tone.

“And what is ‘
Its
’ function?”

“Ta … ta … ta do … do as you command and stay outta … outta trouble.”

“And when I say, ‘Jump’?”

“I ask, ‘How high?’” I reply without thought.

“Not bad. Not bad at all!” Mother leers. “But I do think It requires another lesson. Perhaps this will teach you … teach It….”

I can hear a swishing sound. I brace my arms for the impact. My upper body is rock solid, but I have no way of telling which direction the sound is coming from. A jolting thud strikes the side of my neck. My knees buckle as I turn inside the doorway and lean against Mother’s body. Without thinking I reach out to Mother. Her eyes shine with pleasure. She slaps my hands away. As my feet slip, my head jerks backward. I can feel my throat collapse the same way it did when Mother had me swallow teaspoons full of ammonia. I fight to swallow a breath of air, but my brain is too slow to respond. My eyes lock on to Mother’s. “So, do you still think you can fly?”

I glance down and see Mother’s hand in motion. A moment later I can feel myself floating, my arms flung above my face. Suddenly, a rush of air fills my chest as the back of my head smashes against the staircase. I reach out, but I can’t stop my body from bouncing backward down the stairs. At the bottom of the staircase, my chest heaves; I want to find a bucket and throw up. At the door above me, Mother bends over with laughter. “Look at you! You’re a hoot!”

Her face becomes taut. In an ice-cold voice Mother says, “You’re not even worth the effort.” With a jerk of her hand she flings the broom at me, then slams the door shut. My only form of protection is to close my eyes. I don’t even bother to turn away or cover my face. I can hear the broom topple down the stairs before missing me completely.

Alone in the garage I let go and cry like a baby. I don’t care if Mother, or anyone else in the world, can hear me. I have no dignity, no self-worth. Rage slowly builds inside my soul. I clench my hands together and begin taking my frustration out on the floor.
Why, why, why? What in the hell did I ever do to you to make you hate me so much?

With every blow I can feel my strength drain away. The whitish-yellow garage light begins to fade as I lose consciousness. Without thinking of Mother catching me, I lie on my side, pull my shirt over my face, bury my hands between my legs, and close my eyes. Before I pass out, I clasp my hands together and mutter, “Take me.”

“Wake up! Wake up, I tell you!” My eyes flicker open. I’m trapped in a mental haze as I stand in front of Mother in the kitchen. I have no idea how I got here. And somehow I know it’s almost time for me to run to school. My mind struggles to recall why I keep losing track of time.

“I said, wake up!” Mother barks. She leans over and slaps my face. I’m fascinated that I can no longer feel the pain. “What in the hell is wrong with you?” she asks with some concern.

Forgetting who I am, I rub my face and reply, “I dunno.” Immediately I know I’ve just committed a double crime of
moving
and
speaking
without Mother’s permission. Before I can stop myself, I commit
another
offense by looking right at her and shaking my head. “I don’t understand … what’s happening to me?”

“You’re fine,” Mother states. I lean forward to catch what she said. I’m not sure, but I think Mother just spoke to me in a soft tone. “Listen. Listen up. Tell ’em … uhm, tell them that you were …” I strain to pay attention to Mother’s instructions, but her words seem mumbled and confusing. Mother snaps her fingers, indicating a breakthrough for her latest cover story. “If those nosy teachers ask, you tell them that you were wrestling and you got out of control … so your brothers had to put you in your place. Do you understand?”