Jack at 10 and 3
August 12, 1954
No matter what position he tried, Jack's back hurt. The angry welts on his skin, raised by his father's belt, burned and now he regretted not letting his mother rub her homemade salve into them. He gave up trying to fall asleep and sat up, shoved aside the quilt and swung his legs over the side of his bed. Moonlight slanted in through the window and lit up his wooden desk. Not for the first time he wished he had a brother to share the burden of his father's expectations, and maybe even live up to them.
He closed his eyes and tried to summon up the remnants of a once vivid dream he'd had when he was little: him with an older brother in a cheery bedroom, together punching their daddy in the head. He could almost feel this dream brother beside him, heat radiating from his body. To his right, a small sound of snot being sucked in made him open his eyes. Sitting next to him was a very small naked boy, blue eyes red from crying, who stank of piss. The boy looked up at him and Jack stared back, knowing he had a few seconds to say something that might change his life. He opened his mouth to tell him a lie but the bed was empty again.