— this could be triggering for survivors of childhood abuse.
please, if that’s you – reconsider reading this —
It wasn’t intended. Well, maybe it was. And maybe it was more gruesome than it needed to be … but I snapped. I still don’t remember exactly how it happened, but I think I can cover the why …
I was nine. I remember that part well. Just after Christmas – my older brother and his friends were messing around with his new drum set. I came down stairs and said something like “you jerks sure make a lot of noise” … they charged.
Next thing I knew I was flat on my back, brother sitting over my stomach as he punched at my arms. Not hard enough to bruise – he wasn’t that stupid I guess. But hard enough to hurt.
Anyway, at one point his best friend leaned over and whispered something to him. He got this weird luck and said “I dunno man”. His friend whispered again and my brother shrugged. Then he got off me.
I didn’t have a chance to get away. Suddenly my shoes were gone, my socks. Shirt. But when he started on my belt I knew I was in trouble. This is where the memory gets a little foggy. I recall trying to roll out of their grasp, screaming, crying, promising anything to my brother if they’d just stop. But they didn’t stop.
They grabbed me, threw me on my stomach onto my dad’s favorite chair with my feet almost on the floor. Then nothing. I remember pain. Horrendous pain. Tears. That’s all.
Next I knew I was in my room curled up on my bed. It took me forever to be able to move. Then Dad and Mom came home. I got dressed as fast as I could manage.
Dad always said “Mind your brother when we’re gone. If he does something wrong, just tell us about it when we get home – but be obedient while we’re away.”
I ran, flew, fell down the stairs to stand in front of him. I remember the tears. I remember him looking at me, the displeasure in his eyes… I started to tell him, but all I got out was “Bill and his friends…” before Dad back-handed me – practically knocked me to the floor. He was yelling “How many times do you have to be told not to tattle on your brother? Get to your room. I can’t stand looking at you.”
That was 25 years ago. Then in mid-January this year Dad died. After the funeral we were at the house, going through things – Mom died a couple years ago. Anyway my brother shoved me aside to get at some papers and I pushed him back. He said that I’d better watch it if I knew what was good for me. I turned, looked him in the eye, and said “Screw you”.
He grabbed at me. “Screw me? I’ll show you screw me,” and ripped my shirt open. And I ran. Next thing I remember I was in Dad’s study, his revolver in my hand, and Bill lying dead on the floor, blood everywhere, and the revolver empty.
That’s all I can tell you ‘cause that’s all that I know. Now I guess I have to wait for your judgement. Or your mercy.