Chapter-The First

My father was fairly okay at first and our punishments were normal. Still, Danny had a hard time dealing with them. He would cry before he was even hit, because he remembered how much it had hurt the last time. Sometimes he would hit himself because he thought my father would let him alone as long as someone did the hitting. He never did let him alone. I remember that the only time we ever found happiness was when our father went to work and left us by ourselves. He worked as a secretary for some company. I didn't really care to ask which one. He dressed up all nice in his snazzy suits. He looked like a real nice guy when he was all dressed up, but we knew better. He was only nice when he was drugged or when certain people were around.

There wasn't much to do in the house, but we always entertained ourselves. We had board games and even though Danny had once attempted to eat them, they were still usable. We had every game you can think up. That was because our mother encouraged me to learn through play as a toddler and I encouraged Danny. I don't think I learned very much from board games, just that there was a whole body of land devoted to candy. I wanted to find it someday. Our dad never gave us candy, even on Easter. He took all our candy away after Halloween and shared it with his buddies on poker nights. His poker buddies were disgusting, potbellied lowlifes that were about just as good at coming up with mean remarks as he was. He never let us choose what to be for Halloween, or for any part of our life really. Danny wanted to be a butterfly one year. He was so excited about it when I sewed him a colorful little pair of wings, but my dad took them away. I saved up money I collected from sidewalks and behind vending machines to buy the material I needed. It took about a year's worth of collecting to afford what I needed. If you're looking for something to do with about 10 hours of your time, sewing butterfly wings is the thing for you. I felt accomplished afterwards and I never felt bad about doing it. He should have, but dad never felt bad about what he did. I'm not sure where he put them, but at the time I was thankful that I didn't know.

I remember the look on Danny's face when I surprised him with the wings. His eyes lit up like the fourth of July and every dimple on his face appeared simultaneously. I remember how that look was slapped off his face when my father ripped them from his hands. It didn't matter how much happiness I gave Danny. Father always took it away. I remember how angry I was that I did all that work for nothing but Danny's disappointment.

We also had one tiny television with a couple working channels. Danny would turn on Dora the Explorer. That was his favorite. He always interacted with it and got me involved too. At first I told him I thought it was a waste of my energy, but he grabbed both my arms and yelled at me to do something useful and help Dora out. It wasn't easy to say no to him. Plus, I was good at helping, so I did. Every time that show came on, we helped Dora get away from Swiper the fox. The no good thief that hid terribly and was really easy to spot. For some reason Dora couldn't seem to figure out where he was without our help. That's the funny thing about children's shows; they have goofy little characters that can't do anything by themselves. Even the easiest tasks like spotting a bright orange fox on a lime green background. I guess Danny could kind of relate to Dora. They both needed other people to do anything. The only difference was Dora was living it up as an explorer. Danny only had time and energy to survive. There was nothing in our quiet neighborhood to explore anyhow.

Jerry Springer wasn't really appropriate for us, especially Danny, but we liked it anyway. Danny would reenact what he saw on there and take on the role of some fat slut cheating on her skinny boyfriend. It was funny until he did it in front of other people. Patterns in white trash relationships quickly became clear to even Danny. The men were always scrawny and the women were hippos. I never understood it. I never understood people in general and I didn't have many sources to gather information from. I needed something to base my conclusion off of.

We didn't get to see what was happening in the world a lot so we really had no clue. My view of mankind was formed from my bipolar father, his drunken work buddies, his insane family, Danny, my malicious classmates, and the people on Jerry Springer. You can see why I had such little faith in the human race.

I was trapped in that house all day every day. I couldn't seem to blame it on anyone but myself. The truth is that man traps himself. The walls that suffocate him and the bars that strangle his freedom were forged with his own two hands. What can he blame when only he has hands accompanied by the heart to create? It doesn't matter who you are or what you want to do with your life, when you're born into chains, constructed by your brethren, you're born to suffer, nothing more.

It didn't matter who I was as an individual. The world was something entirely different and it chose my fate. I saw its evil and I thought I could escape it. I thought I could decide to not be a part of it, but everywhere I turned was the world, and there was nowhere to run to. I always felt victimized like a helpless baby or something. I didn't know what mishaps to blame on myself and what to blame onto others. Accusation is a useful tool for evading reality. Unfortunately I was very critical of myself. I was raised to believe that everything bad that happened was because of me. It never made sense how I connected to things that happened all around the world when I was stuck in my house. That didn't matter though, because I never had a solid personality. I didn't want to know who I really was. I could have been a serial killer for all I knew or maybe even the next messiah. Messiahs don't entertain suicidal thoughts now that I think about it, so I must not have been one. I would have checked, but I couldn't see myself. We didn't have a single mirror in our house (dad said that Danny would look in them and break them), so to me I hardly existed. I sometimes forgot I did. Just a spectator in a sinner's game, observing life more than actually living it.

I watched the way Danny behaved, his wide range of facial expressions, the way he reacted to sadness, humor, and the fear in his eyes when he awoke every morning, probably from some splendid dream, realizing where he actually was. It's cruel how your own mind teases you like that. It puts you in the right place and then takes you away from it and doesn't even leave a map for you to find your way back. It causes fear in people. So much fear that water drips down their cheeks and their eyes open up wide, instead of closing like they should for protection. They freeze in the moment. Danny was different. His eyebrows squinted when he was afraid, but his eyes didn't open and he fell down into a ball instead of freezing in place. He saw it work on animal planet.

Days were always interesting with Danny. He made sure of it. I couldn't always be at home with him though. I was supposed to be in school. It wasn't somewhere I wanted to be, but it was somewhere I could make something of myself and experience the presence of other people. There were all kinds of people at Caldwell Middle School. Some of them were pretty and some were ugly, some were dumb and some were smart, some were obese and some were anorexic. They flocked together accordingly. I didn't waste my time with trying to get their approval. I'd spent most of my life without any at all, so it didn't bother me one fucking bit. My classes were filled with ignorant people. The most ignorant ones had the highest status at the school. One of the "cool" kids, Henry Schitlevski, was always bugging me about my personal life.

"You got a retard for a brother, don't you? I sure feel bad for you. Why if I had a retard for a brother I'd a shot him a long damn time ago and got it over with. Do you ever want to? Don't you worry that he's gonna give you a disease or something? I seen some of them up at the store the other day, and they was shit ugly. If I woke up in the night and somethin' like that was anywhere near me, I'd soil myself."

It was the middle of class and I tried to let it go. Our social studies teacher, Mrs. Lewin, was (in the nicest word I can find) a bitch. I let it slide day after day, clenched fist after clenched fist. I would miss weeks at a time on occasion and when I came back, there Henry would be to ask me why I was gone. He made up stories about how he heard that Danny killed our mother with his retard strength.

"Mr. Collins down the street said he heard a story bout your brother killin' your mama. He mows his lawn a lot half naked. You seen him? Well anyway, you know what I think? There's no use with a life like that. I think she went and killed herself." He grinned maliciously.

When he brought my mother into it, he'd gone too far. I stood up, right out of my chair and I yelled angrily down at his disgusting, sun burnt face.

"You watch what you say bout all that. If you ain't careful my mom might not be the only one that Danny kills." It took a minute for what I said to sink in.

When it did I was sorry I'd said it. Never sorrier for anything in my life. Not even the time I wore dad's work suit and ripped a hole in it. My dad nearly ripped a whole in me! I would have given anything to be back in that moment though. Anything was better than being in that classroom, after what had just come out of my mouth.

Mrs. Lewin's face turned bright red and her eyes bulged out of her wrinkly old face. She sucked her lips in to look like a fish. The kind of fish that lurks in the pitch black depths of the ocean. That was her angry face and it was never good when she made it at a student. It meant she was being her usual super anal self. I bet it was also her sex face. It's hard to think about your teacher having sex, but when it comes down to it, you know it happens. That just gets you thinking about what it looks like. It places an uncomfortable smile below your nose while you're thinking about it. You don't even know you're smiling. You don't even realize it's funny.

Apparently she didn't think anything about the situation was funny, because when I started giggling to myself, her lips squeezed even tighter. I was in for hell. The devil was unfortunately on vacation and I had Mrs. Lewin to deal with. I was completely stuck anyway I looked at it. I had just threatened another student's life, admitted openly that my brother was a murderer, and worst of all disrupted her lecture on Gandhi.

I don't see what the big deal with Gandhi is anyway. We obviously don't listen to any of his damn ideas. He fought his whole life for what was right, and we've only moved farther from that over the years. If we have anyone we idolize and should admit to worshipping, it's Adolph fucking Hitler. I see more racists and killers around me than I see selfless heroes. If you don't believe me, then go home and look in a mirror. Are you a selfless hero? Or are you just some frightened attention seeker wandering through your pathetic life? Would you rescue a boy from a fire just to make it in the paper? Or would you refuse to be interviewed on the subject? I wouldn't have been surprised if my little statement made it in the paper the next morning. They sure weren't about to let it go.

The principles office was a scary place to be. There was no smiling there. They might as well have had a sign on the door that said that. The kids in the seats next to me were shaking so much that I could feel the vibrations. They weren't thinking about what kind of signs to hang. They were probably thinking about what their parents were going to do when they found out. When they called my father and told him what I'd done, he'd surely rough me up as soon as look at me. I wasn't so worried about that though. I was worried that he'd displace his anger on Danny and it would be my fault. I would hear him screaming from upstairs and never forgive myself for it. His cries alone felt like leather whipping against my skin. Leather that left marks, even hard to look at. They would heal eventually, but the pain they caused in my mind would remain forever. It wasn't the beatings themselves that hurt me; it was the hatred behind them. I guess that's the kind of pain that hurts the most. The kind of pain that no amount of love can erase.

We sat there for at least an hour. We got more done in that hour than the secretaries did. Everybody in an office moves so flippin' slow. Just think about it. Have you ever gone to the doctor's office and wondered what was taking them so long? They didn't seem like they were doing much, did they? It's because they weren't. Those buggers. They're just used to moving at their own pace and expecting the same from others, because they're the one with the MD, not you. One day I was going to get an MD and then everyone would have to move at my pace. I'd live the good moments of my life in slow motion and fast forward through the bad ones. Wouldn't that be grand?

The vice-principal staggered out of his office in slow motion and scratched away at his balls just as slowly. I guess that was a good moment of his life. It definitely wasn't a pleasant one for me. His clothes were always far too tight and his voice was always far too high (For a man anyway). I watched the bright red fabric of his pants drag his goods from side to side as he strolled toward me. If only someone had the guts to tell him how ridiculous he looked, like an aerobics instructor.

"(name of girl)?"

I raised my hand hesitantly.

"Right here sir."

"Please follow me to my office." He glanced at the other kids and raised one eyebrow as if to warn them that they were next.

I followed him past the large desks and into the wooden door of his own personal playground. I sat in the uncomfortable culprit's chair and he lowered gracefully onto his cushioned leather throne. It took him a moment to say anything at all. He was probably trying to allow for some dramatic effect, but it was just awkward. Sitting in a room alone with any adult is always awkward. He looked down onto his papers. They were scattered across his desk like a hurricane had just come through. He grabbed one from the mess and looked down at it, then up at me, then down at the paper, and up at me once more. I played with the yellow play dough in my pocket that I'd jacked from science class.

"So you came from Mrs. Lewin's."

"Yes sir."

"Don't speak."

"Sorry sir." I sank into my chair.

"That's quite alright. Your behavior in class today, however, wasn't. You know Henry's parents could press charges against you. I called them, and luckily for you, they don't intend to. Instead the school will be taking measures to punish this disgraceful act. I have called your father.."

My stomach jumped up into my heart.

"He apologized and agreed that harsh punishment should be arranged. You will be staying after school every day for the next two weeks in detention. If you can do that successfully, you will be forgiven. If anything goes wrong during this time, the severity will be great and you can plan on taking summer school. Do you understand?"

"I understand sir and I'm really sorry for everything. Will you tell Henry's parents that if you talk to them again?" I wasn't sorry though. Not a bit. Henry's parents were probably huge assholes just like him.

"Sure I will."