Sonic's Story

The Rescue

He's late. He's got to finish the dishes on time, otherwise no breakfast; and since he didn’t have dinner last night, he has to make sure he gets something to eat. Mother’s running around yelling at his brother and sister. He can hear her stomping down the hallway towards the kitchen. The hoglet dips his hands back into the scalding rinse water. It’s too late. She catches him with his hands out of the water.

SMACK!

Mother hits the ten year old child in the face, and he topples to the floor. He knows better than to stand there and take the hit. He learned the hard way that she takes that as an act of defiance, which means more hits, or worst of all, no food. He regains his posture and dodges her looks, as she screams into his ears.

He acts timid, ears and quills pressed against his head, nodding to her threats. 

“Please,” He says to himself, “just let me eat. Hit me again, but I have to have food.” Another blow pushed his head against the tile countertop. 

He let the tears of mock defeat stream down his face as she storms out of the kitchen, seemingly satisfied with herself. After counting her steps, making sure she’s gone, the child breathes a sigh of relief. The act worked. Mother can beat him all she wants, but he hasn’t let her take away his will to somehow survive.

He finishes the dishes, then his other chores. For his reward he receives breakfast – leftovers from one of his siblings’ cereal bowls. Today it’s Lucky Charms. There are only a few bits of cereal left in a half of a bowl of milk, but as quickly as he can, he swallows it before Mother changes her mind. She has done that before. Mother enjoys using food as her weapon. She knows better than to throw leftovers in the garbage can. She knows the young hoglet will dig it out later. Mother knows most of his tricks.

Minutes later he’s in the old family station wagon. Because he's so late with his chores, he has to be driven to school. Usually he runs to school, arriving just as class begins, with no time to steal any food from other kids’ lunch boxes.

Mother drops his sister off, but keeps him for a lecture about her plans for him tomorrow. She is going to take him to her brother’s house. She says Uncle Chuck will “take care of him.” She makes it a threat. The child gives her a frightened look as if he is truly afraid. But he knows that even though his uncle is a hard-nosed man, he surely won’t treat him like Mother does.

Before the station wagon comes to a complete stop, he dashes out of the car. Mother yells for him to return. He has forgotten his crumpled lunch bag, which has always had the same menu for the last three years – two peanut butter sandwiches and a few carrot sticks.

Before he bolts out of the car again, she says, “Tell ’em … Tell ’em you ran into the door.” Then in a voice she rarely uses with him, she states, “Have a nice day.” 

The child looks into her swollen red eyes. She still has a hangover from last night’s stupor. Her once beautiful, shiny purple quills are now frazzled clumps. As usual, she wears no makeup. She is overweight, and she knows it. In all, this has become Mother’s typical look.

Because he is so late, he has to report to the administrative office. The gray-haired secretary greets him with a smile. Moments later, the school nurse comes out and leads him into her office, where they go through the normal routine. First, she examines his face and arms. 

“What’s that above your eye?” she asks.

He nods sheepishly, “Oh, I ran into the hall door … by accident.”

Again she smiles and takes a clipboard from the top of a cabinet. She flips through a page or two, then bends down to show the child. “Here,” she points to the paper, “You said that last Monday. Remember?”