All my boyhood, all I ever wanted was to be loved. – Norman Wisdom
He went away.
Not his body, just his mind. Away from the here and the now.
At first it had been out of boredom.
He was a clever kid. While others in his class had been struggling, he had already made the connections, seen the patterns in the numbers. And his mom had introduced him to joy of reading early, so the written word was no stranger. His mom and her beloved books had also opened a door to the wider world; to science and history and geography. So school was not a challenge and he was often bored. Leaving him with hours to fill with daydreams and "what ifs?" until the sound of his name or the bell ringing brought him back...
Then it became a place to go that was reliable, secure.
When he could no longer depend on cookies and milk on his return home, when dinner could be a lovingly prepared feast or a forage in sparse cupboards. When his mom was smiles and stories one day and nagging and nightmares the next. When his dad went away... again. When Frank found new friends and excuses to be out, and had no time for childish games with his little brother. The world in his head was always there, and the only changes were the ones he made.
Sometimes it was a sanctuary.
A place to be a child when the scary world of grown-ups seemed too near, too soon. When First Communion meant first confession and the concept of sin. When the dry wafer on his tongue felt like the crackers he ate watching the game on the big television; feeling hot and sickly excited at the strange noises from the next room. When the Blood of Christ and sweet incense smelt like his father, afterwards. When the secrecy and the lies was a mixed blessing of his father's attention and trust coupled with guilt and shame. When his mother looked like the Madonna and started speaking in tongues like the Devil.
At the worst times, it was survival.
He could look at the scrawny pale kid, all elbows and knees, and not feel the dull ache of bruises, the stinging slaps. He could watch and not feel abandoned as the father left again, could watch and not feel the fear at the mother's approach. He did not have to check if she was smiling or scowling, what she was holding in her hands. He did not have to listen to her harsh spiteful words. He could watch and did not have to feel the hurt. Did not have to feel anything.
Other times it was simply time and space.
A clear space and uncluttered time to think, try to figure things out. To try to match what he saw around him to what he knew. Why the rules in the world were so important but so conflicting. Why the Church and the Priest said one thing, why the teachers said another, and at home the rules changed on a daily basis. Why words and rules did not match deeds and behaviours. To try to work out "why him?" Why he was different; why his words and behaviour seemed to provoke such reactions. Times like now...
"Robert Goren! Are you listening to me?"
He brings himself back to the here and now; looks at his 5th grade teacher. Her words are sharp, her face red, and he realises that the truth is not the right answer to give. After all, it was speaking the truth that had caused this latest trouble. Bella did look like a frog; shiny skin, wide mouth, bulging eyes. Why had that made her cry?
"Apologise to Bella, now!"
But he was not sorry, he had not lied. He needs some instruction, some guidance; that's what teachers are for. So he asks:
"Why?"
And by the look on her face he knows that he will be staying late after school again.
Well, at least it is better than going home...
Sitting in the empty classroom, listening to the ticking clock marking time; boredom drives him away again.
He does not yet realise every time he goes away he leaves a little piece of himself there. Every time he comes back a little emptier. Does not realise that soon, all that will be left will be a shell, and an aching void...