Chapter two – Welcome to the real world fuckers

I started high school in a main stream class five weeks into the first semester. Everyone else had made their friends. So naturally I was the outcast. I had no friends for my first two weeks. I went to a place called Jinjiikka High School. It was more like a jail rather than a school. It had a two meter high fence, all the doors to the outside was locked, if you were court outside a classroom you got yelled at for five minutes than got an afternoon school detention. I was in the library during recess when I saw a tall blonde boy sifting through the science books. He was in my year and was a loner because he was so smart. He became my best friend. His name was Gregory. He was a major geek. All that he needed was glasses. His teeth were crooked and pushed inwards. He had a Scottish accent, which was kind of cool I guess. I had a plain annoying voice. It got even worse when I fell out of the tree on my front lawn. I broke both my arm and nose. I never actually found out I broke it till the next year. I never told my father that I hurt my arm, so we drove out to Liverpool to see his parents, my grandparents. My Nan loved me. She would always ask if I was ok, and if I was doing well in school. I had to lie to her and say I was fine and I was doing great, when in fact I was depressed most days and failing nearly every class.

We went over my grandparents' house every Friday. I thought the only reason why my dad when to their house was because their TV was much better than ours. Friday night was football night. My dad, Nan and Pop went for the Hillside Rangers. I don't know why they did, because we lived in Jinjiikka and our team was the Jinjiikka Dragons. I hated football. I use to sit in the dining room playing by myself. If there was an ad break, my Nan would ask me if I wanted anything, then if I ever said yes which was rare, she would say "Merv, get the kid a drink". My Nan was the nicest person I knew. When I was in third grade, I went out trick or treating for the first and only time, and she made me this cape. I cherished the cape for months, then my sister Helen stole it off me and I never saw it again.

Four weeks till term one finished, I got suspended from school. It was music class and I had forgotten my sheet music. The fat blob of a teacher gave extra sheets out to the others who had forgotten them, except for me. When I asked for one she replied with "It's not my fault you forgot it!" I stood up and yelled at her. "You stupid fat bitch! Just give me a fucking piece of paper!" I got sent to the deputy's office. I had to wait an hour because he was busy talking to his wife on the phone. When I finally saw him, he looked pissed off. He yelled at me, telling me not to use such language and that I should be ashamed of myself. He called my dad and told him that I was going to be suspended for four school days. At that point, I burst out in tears and ran outside of the school grounds and into a park. Around two hours later, when I had recomposed myself, I picked up my school bag and went home. My dad was waiting for me. He yelled at me, then hit me four times with his belt. "One for each day you got suspended!" he told me. I had to go with him to his work.

My dad owns a small business repairing things. Its name was "John's Repairs". Those four days were hell. My dad made me clean his shop. Now in theory that sounds like it could be easy. Not in my dad's shop. The shop had many dangerous things in it for a ten year old. A key cutter with razor sharp blades for instance. A large needle for engraving on things and a five piece sanding belt machine. Not to mention an array of knives. My dad never told me when he was going to use one of the machines, so every time a machine started that I was cleaning, my hands would get cut or sanded. Blood would start flowing freely out of the wounds. I never cried once because if I ever cried in front of my father, he would hit me, no matter where we were. By the time the four days were finished, my hands were blistered, bloody and bruised. When I went back to school, I couldn't even hold a pen in my hand without a streak of pain going through it. I guess my dad just wanted me to be tougher. He didn't want a faggot for a son. That was one thing that was clear. That night my dad took me for a drive to Liverpool to see my grandparents. On the way he saw a man dressed as a lady on the side of the road. My dad looked at me and said "Watch this son; this is what you should do every time you see a faggot". He turned the wheel and went straight for the transvestite. We hit the man at 60km/h. My dad started laughing. We continued to my grandparents' house. When we reached there, my dad turned the ignition off and turned to face me. "Now Jeff, you do not tell anyone about what happened to that man. Do you understand?" he said with venom. I nodded too scared to say anything. We went into the house and everything happened as it should. They had dinner, and then watched the football then we went home.

That night my dad got really drunk. Around midnight, he stumbled into my room and started punching me. He head butted me, kicked me. I tried to fight back, but he was too strong. After five minutes he seemed to get sick of hitting me and stumbled back out the room and collapsed onto the couch and fell asleep. I didn't get any more sleep that night, in complete fear of my father. I contemplated calling DOC's again, but rejected the idea; because of I didn't want to be placed in a foster family again, but also because I wanted to be with the only family who would still have me. The next morning my dad woke up and left for work, not even checking in on me after his assault on me last night. I didn't go to school for the rest of the term because of the cuts and bruises on my face where my dad hit me and drew blood.

When my father left to go to work, I made my way painfully out of my small shabby room. I sat on the floor, not wanting to touch the couch that he slept on the night before. I turned on the television and started watching the news. It was about a 33 year old man who got ran over in Lallika the night before. The man had a fiancée and a new born child. Police were investigating it as a hit and run. Today was meant to be their wedding. I nearly went into shock then. It was the man my father hit in his hatred of homosexuals rage. The news reporter went on "The man, dressed as a woman by his mates at his bucks party was hit by a Red Holden Commodore. Police have no leads as of yet." I was about to call my father and tell him about it when the phone rang in my hand. It was a telemarketer. I yelled into the phone as I had seen my father do so many times and abused the Indian man on the other end. I hung up phone and tried to stand. I collapsed back down in pain.

I laid there for hours in pain. At twelve thirty my father came home and saw me lying on the floor. I didn't realise it but I was crying. My father just looked at me and said "Oh for fuck sake!" he walked over to me and picked me up. I screamed out in pain. He ignored me, and carried me out to the car. He put me in the back lying down and got into the front. Neither of us had our seatbelts on. He drove me to the hospital. He turned off the car and walked into the emergency block. Five minutes later two male nurses came rushing out with a trolley bed. My father was nowhere in sight. The two men carefully picked me up and placed me onto the bed. I was still crying and screaming out in pain. One of the nurses pulled a syringe and small vile from his pocket. He quickly measured out the amount he thought suitable and injected me with morphine. The two men pushed the cart into the emergency ward. I saw my father at a coffee machine, leaning on it with one hand above is head which was lowered in what I could only guess at being ashamed, though I don't think it was because he did it, I think it was because we were at the hospital altogether.

A young woman came around and asked my name. I could barely understand her, but I knew what she wanted. I told her my name. "Jeffrey Crows" I slurred. She then proceeded with the usual stuff a parent should tell them, but mine seemed to have vanished. I answered each answer carefully. Making sure I didn't give her the wrong information. Then she asked the question I had been dreading. "Jeffrey? What happened to you?" she asked me. I closed my eyes. I heard once that the eyes give away people who lie. "I fell out of a tree" I said. I reopened my eyes once I finished the half lie. I did fall out of a tree to begin with. "When did this happen?" the woman asked. I took a breath before answering the young doctor. "Yesterday". The doctor wrote on a piece of paper. It looked like she wrote more than "fell out of tree yesterday" so I adverted my eyes to make sure it didn't look suspicious. I started to bite my lip. I hadn't realized but the pain had subsided. Suddenly there was a large bang and I saw my father hit the coffee dispensing machine with his fist. A young man walked up to him in a white coat and put his hand on my father's shoulder. My father spun around and punched the man in the chest. The man fell to the ground with incredible speed. A security guard appeared out of nowhere and grabbed hold of my father and started to wrestle him outside of the hospital. The young doctor took all of this in. I could see that she knew the real reason why I was so bruised and sore.

"Jeff? Has your father ever hit you?" she asked suddenly. Shock shot through me. "Nnn…No" I stammered. "My father would never hit me" I added. I started staring at my toes. How could this person who doesn't even know me know that my father hit me? "You know Jeff, he can't hurt you while you're in here. You can tell me." she pleaded to me. I looked her straight in the eyes and said without flinching "My father is a great man. He would never hit me intentionally. My father loves me." The doctor studied my face. Then when she was certain she must have misread something she continued with her examination. "Jeffrey, I think your arm is broken. I would like to take an X-ray. Is that alright?" she asked. "You should ask my father for permission." I replied. My father always told me that if someone ever says something that relates to my health, I should always ask him. I never knew why he said that; maybe he was just covering himself. The woman nodded and started to walk away when she turned to me again. "Jeff? Why do you call him Father instead of Dad?" I didn't know how to reply to such a question as this, so I just looked at her. After a few more seconds she breathed deeply and walked outside to ask for my fathers permission for the X-ray.

Two hours later I was in X-ray. My father still hadn't seen me, but at least he did give permission for it, even if it was a "Whatever!". The receptionist man finally called my name and I went into the machine room area. The X-ray lady was a short Asian lady. I could barely understand her. She placed foam shapes around and under my arm. A bright light flashed in the room and then I got rolled out from under the machine and I went back to Emergency. Three hours of waiting isn't very fun. It is extremely boring. The only highlight was when a very hot young man came around every hour to check on my temperature and blood pressure. I think he was gay like me, but I wasn't entirely certain. The young woman doctor came back over with a large envelop holding my X-ray's. She didn't speak as she pulled out a large black sheet. She flipped a switch and placed the X-ray onto a board where the light was illuminating. She pointed to a piece of my arm which had a small fragment chipped off and a small crack. "You have fractured your arm Jeff." she said. "You'll need to have a plaster on it for the next six or so weeks while it mends" she added.

My father walked into the ward again as the doctor left. He stomped straight up to me and demanded to know what happened. I told him that I fractured my left arm. He swore. An old lady who was walking past gave him a filthy look and continued walking past us. "And how did you do this?' he asked. It was a challenge. Did I tell them the truth or a lie? "I fell out of the tree out the front" I replied. He nodded as if it was a suitable answer. The lady doctor came back with some bandages and a clay like substance. She wrapped my arm with the bandages then coated it in the liquid plaster. I wasn't allowed to move my arm until it set. You know when adults tell you not do something, you just have to do it. Either that or when someone says don't move, you immediately start to move. That happened to me. I couldn't stop moving my arm. It was so damn itchy.

The hot guy came back around to check on me again. With my dad around, I couldn't show any interest in him like I did before. When he asked me "So how are you feeling at the moment?" I just looked at him like it was a stupid question. I think he got the message that I couldn't speak like how I was before when my father wasn't there. After another half an hour, I was finally allowed to go home. The morphine still hadn't worn off completely so I couldn't walk properly, so a nurse gave me a wheelchair to go to the car. I heaved myself into the car with the nurse's help. My father just pushed the wheelchair out of the way and got into the driver's seat and started the engine. He drove us back home. When we got home there was a message on the answering machine. I pressed play as I leaned against phone table. Instantly music started playing in the background of the message. "You dirty fucking cunt! How dare you hurt our son! You're a low son of a bitch!" The message ended and my father took it upon himself and picked up the answering machine and threw it at a wall. I made it to my room staggering and leaning upon the wall. I fell on my bed. I hit my plastered arm on the floor. Pain shot through my arm again. I was about to cry out when I held my breath. My father was just outside my door. I closed my eyes and let out the breath. He stood there observing me. After a few minutes he left my doorway and I heard him turn on the TV in the lounge room. Soon after I fell asleep.