Daryl's Story

Chapter 1: Early Childhood (contains mention of child physical abuse and domestic violence)

The classroom is dim, the curtains over the windows shutting out the bright sunlight and the heat. It's high summer and there are several mosquitoes are buzzing around the old fashioned fans spinning slowly round. It's hot in the South in summer.

Ten year old Daryl is sitting at his desk. He's barely listening to the teacher drone on, he's bored already. In front of him is the textbook he's already read from cover to cover. The page they are studying shows a diagram of a flower with the stem, petals and stamen. He devours books at school but there aren't any at home except the Family Bible and they have no money to buy more. Neither of his parents can read and they don't understand why he should want to. They say they got on fine without 'readin', his Daddy says it's only for pussy-footed whites and uppity niggers who were trying to overreach their station in life.

He's a tall for his age and skinny with brown hair and blue eyes. His older brother, Merle could read though, and had taught him from a young age, when he was at home, that is. Merle particularly liked reading the Bible and quoting it back at their father when Daddy got riled up. Although he can't read it, Daddy has memorised the entire Old Testament chapter and verse. Daddy worked as a car mechanic and did other odd jobs but still there was hardly ever enough money to put food on the table. Mama had never worked, as far as Daryl could remember and had hardly ever left her bed because she was always feeling 'delicate'. This meant she would spend most of her days sleeping, watching television while chain-smoking and sipping from her 'medicinal' flask to try to build up her strength. All this was in the hope that someday she may be able to leave her bed. She was a small, elegant, black-haired woman for all that and always 'put on her face' every day and always wore silk and lace in bed. She didn't do housework, go shopping or cook like other mothers so the men of the house did these chores. Daryl was usually the one to bring up her meals on her tray in the mornings and evenings. And when there was no money for food (which was more often than not), Merle and Daddy would have to go hunting deer and small animals or go foraging in the forest.

Mama didn't hug or kiss him and Merle like other mothers did to their children, she'd never touched him or Merle as far as he could remember. She was always feeling so 'fragile'. He knew this because sometimes his classmates' (he wouldn't exactly call them friends) mothers would invite him round for dinner (out of pity, he realised later) and he would see how their mothers would behave. Usually, this affection was embarrassing for the boys and they would go red and squirm away. But Daryl would wonder what if felt like to have your mother touch you. Sometimes the mothers even ruffled his hair and kissed him on the cheek and gave him extra food packets (the food was only going to go to waste otherwise) and hand-me down clothes. At least Daddy would give him a bear hug once in a while or touch his hair when he had a beer in his hand and was in a good mood. Daryl knew that his parents were ashamed of his brother. Merle had already been in trouble with the law since he turned thirteen when he'd been caught stealing smokes from the local store. Daddy gave him the whipping of his life and afterwards, Merle had shown Daryl the scars on his back. But Daddy had never beaten Daryl like that, only given him the odd slap now and then when he did something stupid like spill his whiskey when he handed it to him. But he'd beaten Mama severely once or twice and given her broken ribs and a black eye because she had talked back at him or told him not to drink so much. Afterwards, Daddy had passed out on the couch and Daryl had to take Mama to the hospital by himself because Merle was off doing whatever he did. The doctors and nurses exchanged knowing looks but they'd known better than to ask how she got the injuries. But it was Merle who received the brunt of his rage, when he was there, that is. Merle began to stay away more often, for longer periods of time and he never talked about where he'd been or what he'd done.

Daryl could tell that they'd given up on Merle. In fact, when Daddy came back roaring drunk from the bars at the weekends, Merle would deliberately provoke him so that he would leave Daryl and Mama alone. Daddy would scream at Merle, 'You good for nothing son of a bitch' and 'Why don't you just kill yourself, no one would miss you.' Or 'Even those niggers down the road are smarter than you.' Or 'I don't give a rat's ass what you do just get out of my sight, you Jew-Boy Kike.' Merle would take it all, the beatings and whippings without complaint until one day he came back home and heard drunken yells. He raced into his parents' bedroom where Daddy was standing over Mama who was cowering on the bed, blood already trickling from her mouth. Daddy was threatening her with his fists but never Daryl, never him. Daryl tried to stop him but Daddy just shoved him out of the way. What could he do? He was only ten.

Merle came racing in from wherever he'd been and did something he had never done before. He punched Daddy first to distract him from Mama. He screamed 'Don't you touch our Mama ever again!' Then, when Daddy started to pound at him with fists, he actually fought back. Daddy had forgotten how big Merle was getting and that he was almost a grown man, able to fight back. Merle had also started working out and Daddy was nearly middle-aged and a little out of shape.

Merle beat Daddyto a pulp and Daryl had to make him stop while Mama stared with wide eyes and screamed blue murder. Daddy's face was an unrecognisable bloody mess and there was gore all over the floor. Then Merle calmly walked out of the door, as the howl of the sirens drew nearer and nearer, without a word to either of them and without looking back. Daryl didn't see or hear from him for another ten years. And it took Daddy months to fully recover from the beating administered by his own son. But Daddy didn't change, didn't stop drinking and Daryl gradually began to replace Merle as the focus of his drunken rage. He was no longer the protected Golden Boy. Now and again he attacked Mama but Daryl was too small to protect her.

Sometimes, lying in bed at night on his stomach (it was too painful to lie on his back) with the blood trickling down his back from one of Daddy's latest punishments, Daryl would curse Merle for leaving. He would fantasise about what he would say to him for leaving him and Mama without so much as a word. He would make him pay. Since his older brother had gone, Daddy was worse than ever, drinking every day, worse than he'd ever been in fact. The good daysnever happened anymore. Daryl no longer bothered to read books or study hard. And after a teacher noticed he was limping again and asked him after class why he'd been missing school, he never went back. The teacher had known, Daryl could see it in his eyes and he couldn't stand the pity he saw there. Everybody knew that his Daddy was a wife-beating drunk and they were nothing but redneck, racist scum. But when the teacher had tried to put his hand on his shoulder and Daryl had flinched from the pain there, Mr Lewis had put his hands around the back of his neck, - the place where it didn't hurt. Then, without a word, he had pulled him to his chest and just held him. It had felt so good to be touched by an adult without being hurt that he had broken down and cried. He couldn't help it. Mr Lewis had told him 'Don't let him beat you down. You're a good kid.' But Daryl had never gone back to school, the humiliation had been too much to bear and he'd never opened a book again. That was until Carol gave him her dead husband's books. She'd asked him why he pretended that he couldn't read. The others in the group thought it was strange that a young redneck and a middle-aged woman were friends. They couldn't understand what the two had in common but then they didn't know about the scars on his back. They knew, of course, her husband had beaten her and after he was bitten, Daryl had allowed her to finish him off. It was a mercy really if he hadn't died then, Daryl might have killed the bastard himself. He'd known what he was the first time he saw him – a red- in-the-face-drunk just like his father. He'd even had the same swagger. Anyway, somehow, Carol had recognised something in himself and she had found out about his secret by accident when he was recovering from his injuries from looking for her daughter. He'd been drugged up with painkillers and it was hot in the room so he'd let the sheet slip down his back as he was dozing on his side. She'd come in with a glass of water and seen the marks from his childhood. Her eyes had widened and she'd given out a little gasp but she hadn't seemed that surprised. He'd been embarrassed and mumbled an apology for letting her see them but she'd said it was OK. Then, she had reached over and given him a peck on the cheek. He had flinched because he always did when someone tried to touch him but she'd said that he was every bit as good as Shane and Rick.

He smiled quietly to himself.