Waffles and Betrayals - ENG

Chapter 7

Warning! This chapter contains descriptions of physical violence against a minor. It also includes various offensive and homophobic language. Alcohol use and inappropriate behaviors are mentioned. If this might upset you, I recommend not reading it.

***

In Scotland, in a small fishing village located on the coast of the North Sea, a five-year-old boy began to experience loneliness.

On his birthday, his home had been decorated for the occasion. The little party was supposed to start at four in the afternoon. After five, the living room was still completely empty, except for his mother.

Sitting on the couch, in front of the homemade cake prepared by his mom, the boy kept his eyes fixed on his feet, which swung nervously a few inches above the floor.

Silence reigned in the room, occasionally broken by his sighs or his mother's unnecessarily encouraging words.

Outside, the howling wind made the windows tremble and slammed the courtyard gate, misleading him into thinking someone was arriving.

The boy wondered what he had done wrong. He was quite sure he had left an invitation on every desk in his class, without forgetting anyone.

It was his first year of primary school. His mother had told him that from then on, he would meet many children and make many new friends.

So why had he been forgotten in this way?

It would be nice to say that the birthdays to come went better, but that was not the case. Every year the anguish repeated itself, and the boy learned, at his own expense, to understand what his mistake had been.

He was born into a fishing family, a family of people who barely made ends meet. He was fat and odd, too shy to face the jungle of hierarchies among the school desks.

The boy stopped leaving invitations for his shitty classmates. He stopped going to the park hoping that someone would want to play soccer with him. He stopped talking about his wishes and dreams, asking his parents for things they could not give him. He stopped breathing too heavily, hoping his father would not get angry with him every time he saw him cry like a "sissy."

He learned to adapt, doing the bare minimum to make his parents proud. But this did not make it any easier.

Every year he put on a ridiculous party hat and swallowed a slice of Black Bun to please his mother.

"Happy birthday, little Johnny," she always said to him with pride and tears in her eyes, frightened at the mere thought of her precious child growing up year after year.

His father, on the other hand, merely nodded at him, gulping down from the beer bottle. There was no pride in the man's eyes, only blame towards that son who did not reflect the ideal model he had in mind.

***

Five years after his fifth birthday, things had changed slightly. There was always a new guest at his party: Lenora.

She had plopped into that neighborhood two years earlier, like an unexpected surprise at the end of summer. Her parents bought the house across the street, an immense fortune for Johnny, as she quickly became his only friend.

Her presence was a breath of fresh air, which over time faded, becoming routine.

Johnny cared for Lenora, but it was not enough to fill that void. He wanted more. He wanted to be able to attend soccer practice like the other kids, but he was forbidden, as paying for lessons and equipment was too expensive.

He wanted to have a living room full of guests, people cheering for him. He wanted to go to school, or to the park to play with others, or to the beach without being ashamed of being called fat, without being beaten up. He wanted to have many friends.