Chapter Twenty-Three
Declan
Ilay on the cold packed clay, shivering as though it’s a frozen lake. My body aches all over. My vision’s blurred by fog. Slowly, I’m able to make out wooden beams above me and the dampness in the air. The dark leaves me unable to see.
As I try to gather my thoughts and figure out where I am, a sharp pain signals I must have been beaten again. Probably by my father, though I can't be sure. It wouldn't be the first time.
Struggling to move, I crawl over to the nearest wall and prop myself against it. This room, I know all too well, is bare. I feel around for the toilet but, judging by the smell, I quickly realize it's too late.
I wonder what I did this time to deserve such a punishment.
I remember my mother making an egg salad sandwich.
I hate egg salad, but I didn't have the heart to tell her.
It was Friday afternoon, and school had been cancelled due to tornado warnings, so we were spending the day watching movies together in the bathroom.
Once the danger subsided, I went to play in the backyard, where I found what looked like chocolate candy. Thinking it was my lucky day, I popped it into my mouth and chomped down. Now, whenever I force down bites of egg salad, all I think about is the disgusting taste of the cat shit in my mouth.
Desperate for something else to drink besides the orange juice-like liquid in front of me, I turned to see if my mother was looking.
My plan was to chug the drink and throw away the sandwich when she wasn’t paying attention.
But in my haste, my elbow knocked over the drink and spilled all over my plate.
Not knowing what to do, I left the mess for someone else to clean.
That someone turned out to be my father, who came home just as the sun was setting.
He screamed my name loud enough for me to hear him from the yard.
I sprinted to the kitchen, hoping he had a surprise for me or wanted to give me a hug.
But when I saw the sandwich still sitting on the table, I knew I was in trouble.
I tried to run away, but my father grabbed me by the neck and lifted me off the ground in anger.
If only I had known it was going to be him cleaning up the mess, I would have done it myself.
“Boy, what is this?” My father grunted, slamming my face down into the orange mess. “Why is this sitting here? Was there something wrong with your lunch?”
I began choking on soggy bread and orange cat shit. I would have tried to reason with my father, but the only thing that ever earned was a beating worse than the one originally intended.
“You’re going to finish your lunch, and you’re going to finish it now.” He pushed my face down harder and snapped. “Do you hear me, boy?”
The choices available were limited. I considered sucking in the disgusting clumps and waiting until my father let go, at which point I would have turned and spit it all in his face.
But I decided against suicide. Instead, I just sat motionless, face down on the plate until I saw my brother come walking in the door with our mother close behind.
That was the cue. Knowing my father always released me when my mother caught him in the act, I waited for the pressure to go away.
As soon as his hand was gone, I spun around in the chair, pulled my right arm back, balled my hand into a small fist, and plunged it forward into his crotch, causing him to momentarily drop to one knee.
I knew I had bought myself the world's worst beating, but I wasn't going to stand around and wait for it. With my father taking a moment to catch his breath, I bolted down the hall towards my bedroom. I could hear him screaming, "You're dead, boy," but that only fueled my attempt to flee.
Into the room with the door locked, I started tossing all my belongings behind the door. My father was going to have to work to reach me, and he did. After a minute or two, I could hear him trying to unlock the door.
“You better open this door right now!” he screamed, but I had already made my decision, and my father was not going to get any help from me.
He eventually gave up and decided to kick the door down. Once past the barricade, and with the determination of a bull chasing red, he trudged across the small mountain left in my trail, and as his fist made its way toward me, I smiled.
The room in which Miss Paxon has left me reminds me of the basement in which I awoke after my father beat me within an inch of my life. But at least I haven’t eaten any cat shit recently.