Rage and Love: The Story of My Life

Chapter 1: Bottles and Bullies

1974

Billie woke up at 2am every night. His mom was used to this. Every night, the troublesome 2 year old would wake up, pull himself up to standing position and rattle the bars of his cot, babbling 'da da' over and over again. But he never cried, perfectly content the way he was.

Nonetheless, Ollie couldn't stand to leave her son alone when he was awake, so either her or her husband Andy would tend to Billie. This particular night, Billie was delighted to find his dad was on baby shift. "Da!" He reached for him, clapping his hands.

Andy smiled despite the early morning, picking his son up and holding him. You hungry?"

Billie nodded and Andy trudged to the kitchen, made him a bottle and then trudged back upstairs, placing Billie back into his cot and handing him the bottle, and then tucking him in. "I'll see you in the morning, squirt."

Billie lay and drank his bottle, completely happy with the current situation. Once his dad had left, he fell asleep and didn't wake up again until his mom came into his room.

"Ma." Billie stuck his hands out, wanting to be picked up. His want was fulfilled as he was carried downstairs to the kitchen and placed on the floor with a bottle.

"Where are you going?" His mom asked, attentions turned to one of Billie's siblings, Hollie.

"Outside to play. It's sunny." Ollie looked at her and folded her arms.

"Okay. Take Billie Joe with you."

Hollie groaned and grabbed Billie's tiny hand, pulling him up and stomping outside with him. Billie followed her as fast as he could, still unsteady on his little feet. She plonked down on the grass and glared at Billie, pulling all of the toys towards her. "Mine." She announced, nodding once to confirm.

"Drum mine." Billie protested, pointing at the little toy drum. "Billie's."

Hollie smirked and picked it up, hitting it hard.

"Billie's!" He whined and grabbed for it before starting to cry.

Ollie stuck her head out the door. "Is someone cranky?"

Billie was outraged. Could his mother not see the awful crime happening? His protests were ignored as he was whisked inside and up to bed, tucked in with another bottle.

As he fell asleep, he decided he might have been cranky after all.