Signing His Life (complete)

Signing His Life 8

Okay so this chapter is going to be a flashback of Jonathons childhood if you don't already know so here we go! P.S. I havent been able to update recently do to the lack of wifi, so sorry about that... As always sign on dear readers!

Flashback Jonathon POV

I curled in on myself. I had just turned twelve yesterday, but it all was a blur. Father had come home drunk again, so mother and me went into town. We had a low budget, so I was limited to only a small gift. Mother had gotten me a new book. It was called "Yesterdays Moon".

It was about a boy who had discovered a small chunk of rock, the day after his birthday. It had fallen from the moon, and landed on Earth. That night he brought it home. The next morning he woke up. His mother came into his room, wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Basically every time the moon reaches it's highest peak the day restarted.

I had finished the book in a days time, having nothing more to do. I slowly rocked myself back and forth, in my closet. Mother had told me, to stay in here for the rest of the night. She didn't tell me why, but the look on her face was enough. Father was back.

I decided to turn on the small light bulb the swung lazily back and forth. It flickered a few times, before it turned on, though it was dim I could still see. I pulled my worn blue backpack in front of my feet, and took out a crumpled white paper. It was a paper from my speech therapy class. It had a few easier lines. But down at the bottom it had a few lines, some kids considered tongue twisters.

I gave the sheet a glance over before concentrating. I opened my mouth and managed to spit out something. I could not hear it so I had no idea what I said. Mother could not afford a hearing aid, and father would rather spend the money at a casino, or a liquor store.

Once again I struggled through the words. I tried to move my tongue the way my therapist told me, but only got more confused. I opened my mouth but didn't know if anything even came out. I finally gave up and threw the paper to the side. It fluttered down, without a care in the world. I wish I was a piece of paper, so I wouldn't have care about anything. But I wasn't paper, I was dirt. Mother tries to do her best, but I can tell if she could have a hearing child she would. I slouched my shoulders further.

Dirt is heavier than paper, and takes up more space. Dirt is all I am, it's all I ever will be. That's what father says.

I felt anger and sadness chasing each other trying to gain control over my thoughts. It was like cold air and hot air chasing each other round, and round. A tornado began to churn in my stomach. I blinked my eyes a few times. I was crying out of sadness, and anger. But one more thing had rising to the surface as well. Fear.

I feared for my own life at moments. This was one of those moments. Mother may care about me but she would never get in the way of my father, not even for me. Father wouldn't care if he murdered his own son. The only thing he would miss is having his deaf slave to bring him his beer, or do the chores around the house.

As I gathered my thoughts quietly, I felt vibration spread through the closet door, behind me. I almost fell back as the door swung open behind me.

I turned around and saw my father yelling something at me. I was unable to read his lips, they were moving to fast. I blinked a few times, as confusion masked my face. Father knew I couldn't understand and that only made him more mad. He lifted me by my shirt and began yelling in my face. His spit was now flying into my face, causing the urge to look away sink in. I knew if I did look away the consequence would be brutal. I was able to make out one word and one word only. Idiot.

I bit the inside of my cheek. This action had now been used as a way to get through stress.

My father dropped me and walked away. By the small movement of his lips I could tell he was muttering something, but I didn't know what.

I picked myself back up off the ground, and scrambled quietly over to my dresser. I opened my drawer and began rummaging through the little clothes I had. I tossed aside my black long sleeve shirt. Holes lined the front of it and rips ran across the sleeves. A bit of dried mud concealed the bottom of the shirt. I moved more dirty clothes to the side until I got to the corner of the drawer.

I used my fingernails to delicately lift up the thin piece of wood at the bottom. A small compartment was at the bottom of the drawer. I used it to keep scraps of food, and little gadgets I found. My book from mother was also in here. I moved aside a postcard from Tulsa, that I had found on the street. On the back it said stuff like I miss you, and a few names I didn't recognize. I then saw my small swiss army knife I had stolen from a gift shop, when I was nine. It was now rusted and the knife was dull, but it helped me feel a little bit more safe around father. I doubt I would use it, but just in case. I slipped that into my pocket.

Under a little bit more nick nacks I found the black and grey photo. It showed my parents at their wedding day. I was not born yet. The looked so happy, and my father was actually sober. His brown hair was combed back behind his ears, and his meaty hand was wrapped around my mothers waist. In this photo my mothers black hair was down to her rear. Although the picture made her eyes look black I tried to imagine them bright and shining,as if her eyes themselves were elated.

Now they were dull and pale, as if she were in a daze. Thankfully they were not like fathers. For his were glazed over, with arrogance, and hate. You could see it on his lips, as well.

Mothers dress was white like any other brides. He lacy veil reached the ground. Her hair was up in a tight bun, and her dress was a foot longer than a normal one, causing it to scrape the ground. In one hand she held white, and grey roses. The other arm was wrapped around my fathers thick neck.

They were so happy then. But of course a child came along, and ruined their happily ever after. Me.

Pic on side is Jonathon's dad...