Listening to screams of terror breaks some part inside you. Struggling to keep silent, I lost control. The old house was broken along with the people inside. With no door knob to stop me I pushed the door open and in a sudden moment I lost all words.
They weren't pleased that I had 'interrupted' their 'discipline'. The lines of irritation cracked their faces, invigorating my furry and then I found my words. I yelled with out realizing I had that much anger to spit my words with such force.
"This isn't right and you know it" . With my new found courage the rest of my words spilled out long and rushed. She was wrong and there was no refuting it.
The crack of a belt on human flesh is a sickening sound and only made worse by the shrieks of pain that follow. A boy, just a boy. Certainly 13 couldn't be considered more than that? Cries of help had pulled at me. I had to do something, who would I be to let this happen? I couldn't hold back.
I knew the words I said were cruel but I couldn't let it continue even if the thorn of regret would later tickle my heart. Insult after insult hurdled from my mouth at her and my father. If I was cruel then what was she?
"Three is not enough I WANT three more" she had demanded of the belt in my fathers hands. "Twenty drops! One for each time he said he hated me" she had called shoving the peppermint oil into my dads hand. His reluctance and hesitation showed that he knew and understood the wrong of the actions and yet he continued to do as she commanded. "Its just vitamins" he tried to rationalize. (If peppermint oil is taken in extreme doses it can cause extreme damage because it dilates your lungs)
After a calm had settled my dad had told me it was normal. That what happened was an average occurrence in the family dynamic.
But was it really? Was it normal for a mother to tell her son he was not a true son of God? That he would die when Christ came to bathe the earth again - now in fire.
But in the end I am as much a coward as my father is. I couldn't call. I had the number dialed on my phone and couldn't make the call. "You'll tear the family apart. Do you want them to take you and Jacob away and send Mom to jail?" The words were compelling yet invalid. And still they pulled at heartstrings I couldn't control.
Before the night's end I lay out on the concrete, accepting the cold as if it were a warm blanket. My head pounded as I cried out to God asking him with a knowing intent that she was wrong.....no one could say his love was not for my brother. No one could say he was no longer a son of God. She was wrong. I begged him to let me not be her. Let me be a sacrificing and loving mom as a pioneer mother, as patient as a stripling warriors mom. I don't want to be her I want to be me.
YOU ARE READING
Memiors From Beneath
Historical FictionThese are little bits of my life I chose to write like a story. They are some pieces from the darkest and lightest highlights of my experiences. Some may seem trivial to others or possibly beautiful. If you don't like them, sounds like a you problem.
