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His Story

As the light fades, I wonder if my eyes are finally a shade deeper, like she'd always wanted them to be. Secretly of course, she'd never tell me- but one can always notice certain things. Disgust is one of those things. I've always been able to see it, since the first time my aunt hit me atop the head with her frying pan. I noticed as she leaned above me and I got my first good look into her eyes. I'd never thought that blue could be a bad color before then.

In the beginning, I must first remember the cold. I haven't always hated the cold, and once, I could even say I enjoyed it. Then came the winter of 1977, and my perception on life changed for the first time in my memories.

It wasn't the coldest of winters, I recognize now, but for my 7 and a half year old body, it was enough. The day had started out fine, at least. I'd gotten an above average helping to breakfast- I was only allowed one helping, and only after Dudley's second- and hadn't had to help Aunt Petunia in the kitchen for once.

Dudley had needed to be woken up, and it had seemed that I'd been given the honor to do so.

I was excited for this, because I so rarely went upstairs'- there was simply no reason to- and it had always seemed to be a strange and wondrous place.

This was mainly because I loved climbing the stairs, and when I saw the plush tan carpet I'd always imagined it to be the sand of the dessert swimming around me. My muscles were tight with a strange form of anticipation; I'd always loved to imagine new things. And upstairs, I had a whole new realm to explore- oh how I'd wished that I could explore- but in my young mind everything seemed more vivid, enticing. The light peach and white stripes on the walls were bars. Beyond that I could almost feel the sun on my back- a tan I'd never achieve at Number 4 Privet Drive appeared in my mind as well. As I crept closer to the worn wooden door I'd feel my heart thump loudly at the thought of the lion that would surely lay in wait behind it.

Then I'd open the door, and my daydreams would tumble into disarray. I saw no lion here, just the softly snoring body of my comatose cousin. Perhaps, a thought came to me, if I squinted I'd see the lion. I did.

Then- a surge of disappointment swelling from somewhere in my chest- I'd sigh and call softly, "Dudley? Uncle says its time to get up!" My words, I remember now, had yet to form the cultured sound I'd one day grow proud of. Instead they sounded wheezy and small.

Still, I had been somewhat happy to find that my speech was complete and lacked the strange accent it used to have. Aunt Petunia had helped me through that stage, her words, bitter and cutting, had given me the encouragement I needed to try to adopt a more British sounding tongue.

Today I thank her.

Back then I didn't mind: I hadn't liked the looks other people had given me either.

Dudley's reaction to being woken up slips my mind; but I gather he'd probably whined and punched my shoulder as he always did.

I'd ignored the pain, most likely.

I do know quite clearly that after this I'd been sent outside, for my Uncle had decided I was old enough to add another chore to my steadily growing list. (So far I was to help with the dishes, vacuum the living room, help cook the meals-under Aunt Petunias strict supervision- and clean up after Dudley when needed, which thankfully wasn't as often as those who know him might think)

I was to help out in the garden.

The weeds that come in summer and die in winter had returned with a fury, and he'd wanted me to clear them from the garden- a small patch of land out in the backyard. (Conveniently, I'd notice as I grew older, in a spot where the residents of Number 7 Privet Drive might see over the low lying hedge dividing our yard from theirs.)

It was chilly, and I'd drawn the jacket I wore tighter around myself, for once glad that it was so big. Dutifully, I'd gotten to work, a bitter edge my thoughts as I imagined Dudley inside, a hot cup of cocoa in his hands.

On and on I went, plucking the dead weeds from the grass. Before I knew it, my hands were solid from the chill. Quickly, I went to see if I could go back inside- the sun was just beginning to set. Dimly, I'd noticed the clouds gathering above me, wondering when it had gotten so cold.

I walked carefully to the porch, only to notice with growing despair that the lights inside were off. I knocked softly at first on the glass, but as time passed and no one came I began to grow frantic. I pulled on the door handle, my limbs trembling as I did so. Still- no one came. I ran around to the front after what seemed like a lifetime, tears coming to my eyes as suspicion rose within me. The car wasn't in the front as it had been earlier in the day, as it usually was. (The garage was packed too thickly with junk, old toys, and decorations for the family car to fit in it so I knew something was up.)

When it dawned on what must have happened, I broke down-a loneliness enveloping me like none before.

They'd forgotten me.

They'd forgotten me.

I sat there, by the front door, as night fell upon Number 4 Privet Drive. I looked up in wonder, as first, when a flurry of white began to fall from above. Shivers racked my body, my hands wrapped tightly around me. I wass to cold to move, but what hurt the most was not how hard it became to breath, my chest filing to expand properly. It was the loneliness. I'd known of course, that my relatives didn't like me like they loved Dudley. That they wished I'd just disappear occasionally even, but this was the first time I realized the how they really felt. They didn't care about me, in fact they probably hated me.

Something broke inside my chest that night, but it wasn't until years later that I'd know what it was.

As I lay there, stuck between new levels of drowsiness yet too cold to fall asleep, I wished desperately that I was anywhere, anywhere but there. I wanted my cupboard, I wanted the warmth of the blanket that covered my cot, but most importantly I wanted someone to care. I wanted my relatives to love me, even more than Dudley. For them to tuck me in at night, and whisper soft stories to me, as they always did with him.

But as minutes crept by and transformed into hours, an old wish stuck me. No, I thought, I want to have parents of my own. Something that seemed to be reserved for all the other children; everyone but me.

I suppose I did fall asleep eventually, a thick numbness enveloping my body. Through this I eventually heard a shriek of fear. When I next came to awareness I was swapped up in blankets, on the tan couch in the living room. I was shocked-I wasn't supposed to sleep on the couch!

Getting up quickly I was met with the soft snores of my aunt. She lay prone on the cushioned chair next to the couch. I sat there for a moment looking at her, for I had never seen her so defenseless. Aunt Petunia was someone to be respected all throughout my childhood, and feared almost as much. I was startled out of my reverie when she twitched suspiciously, and nimbly I stood. The memories of the day had rushed into my head, and confusion must have been all over my face.

To this day I don't know why she sat through the night for me. Maybe, a hopeful voice seemed to whisper, she does care.

It was crushed swiftly by the negative thoughts invading my conscious. I walked on autopilot; it seemed, towards the cupboard door. Once in bed, I realized that I'd never appreciated my cot this much in my entire life.

The next day, life went on as normal, with a few exceptions. For one thing, I'd often think I'd see my aunt looking at me through the corner of my eyes, only to turn my head to see her concentrated on something else. For another, I wasn't asked to garden again till the summer before my third year at a very special school.

But, as often happens, any effects that night have been didn't last long. Soon, life returned to normal-and normal was always good, Dudley apparently unaware of the incident all together.

All the way, that is, up to my first trip to the zoo, the prelude to the second major life changing event in my early years.

And, boy was it exciting.