The Boy

One

"Boy!" He howled to me. My heart pumped so hard I thought it might burst through my chest. I tried to control my breathing as I hid in the cabinet under the sink listening to his heavy footsteps stomp around the house in search of me. I don't know why I always hid when he was angry. I knew hiding would only make it worse. I just couldn't make myself face him when I knew what was to come. I had only just turned nine years old and was no match for him.

Daddy had been out with Uncle Clyde tonight. When he goes with Uncle Clyde, he always comes home drunk with the smell of whiskey so strong I almost get drunk off his breath. I hated when he came over. He was always mean to me, and it made Daddy even meaner. Clyde wasn't my real uncle. He was Daddy's best friend and only started being mean to me when Momma died last year. Daddy never seemed to really like me much even before she died. But it was worse now that she wasn't here to protect me.

Momma was my angel even though she always said I was hers. She kept me safe and loved me. I wish she were here now to stop Daddy from finding me. Thank God Uncle Clyde didn't come home with him.

"Boy! If I find you, you're gonna wish I hadn't!" I heard from the living room. He was turning over furniture and knocking things over, glass shattering on the floor. I closed my eyes and prayed he would give up and go to bed. But praying never worked either. Momma always told me to pray, and God would protect me. And she always sang the song "If I Had Wings" by Dolly Parton. It was her all-time favorite. As I got older, I understood how she related to the song and loved it so much. She'd sung it a million times to comfort me. I wish I could hear her now.

It got eerily quiet, and I held my breath. Silent tears ran down my face, and my body slightly trembled involuntarily. It was still sore and bruised from a few days ago. Suddenly, the cabinet door was yanked open. My eyes shot open, and I shuddered at the murderous look on Daddy's face. His big hand struck out like lightning and viciously gripped my hair in his fist. He jerked my head so hard I felt a twinge of pain in my neck as he drug me out of the cabinet. I cried out.

He got in my face. "I told you to come here!" His arm went up, and I braced myself for the hit from his heavy hand.

I jerked upright in bed. I was soaked with sweat and breathing heavily. I had nightmares often. I wouldn't exactly call them nightmares when it was me reliving my past. That night had been eight years ago. Daddy beat me 'til I was black and blue. Before, the most damage he'd done was backhand me, shove me down, pulled my hair, grabbed me by my throat... I'd have bruises from where his hands gripped too hard when he was angry. I couldn't go to school after that night. And eventually? I never stepped foot into a school again. He pulled me out for his girlfriend of the month to teach me. She didn't actually teach, though. She didn't like me much and always made up lies to tell Daddy so he would beat me. Lies like I had an attitude with her. That I cussed at her. And my favorite...that I spit in her face and called her a bitch. I wouldn't dare do any of those things, but she enjoyed my misery. Sometimes she would make me stand in a corner all day while she played or talked on her cellphone. Those made for long days. She didn't let me eat or drink. And she said that since I wasn't drinking anything, I didn't need to go to the bathroom and wouldn't let me go. I think she was hoping I'd eventually piss myself.

I ran my hand through my hair and looked at the clock on the table beside my bed. A picture of my mother laid beside the clock. It was old and worn. A piece of scotch tape ran down the middle holding it together where it had been ripped. It was the only picture I had of her. It was almost daylight, so I decided to go ahead and get up.

When Daddy died, a man named John Williams took me in. I was twelve. Life wasn't much greater here but at least I didn't get beat on every day. I wouldn't necessarily say I was safe, but I was safer. He brought me to his ranch and put me to work. John didn't send me to school, and anything I learned came from reading it on my own. I didn't get paid for the work I provided. John said it paid for my living there. He is very strict with me. I'm not allowed to interact with the other paid hands except for Benny. He was the one who ran the show with the workers. I didn't live inside the house or at the bunk house like the other ranch hands. John gave me a room in the barn that had been used for storage. It was small. Only a twin size bed, a little table beside it and a wooden chair could fit inside the small space. I had a plastic tub that held my clothes. I didn't have many anyway. There was no window but at least I had a door.