Every bone in my body has been broken multiple times and I have felt every single break, so some of what I say isn’t exactly the whole truth and nothing but.
Because I was trying to sleep away as much of the day as I could my mother had a hard time waking me every morning for school. She would call up from downstairs and say, Start to stir. I almost never stirred when she commanded me to do so. I almost never obeyed the woman even though everyone else in the family was scared to death of her and rightly so. My mother was known to beat her children with rolling pins whenever they were disobedient. She would be downstairs beating my brothers and sisters and I would hear the crying and wailing from my bedroom. I would sometimes barricade myself in there, pushing a dresser in front of the door so Mother couldn’t get in. Sometimes she would rap against the door and call me chickenshit names for not having the balls to face her. I would tell her that my balls had nothing to do with it, that the sun was to blame. I’d tell her I was tired. I’d tell her I was allergic to the sun and she said, This is no way to go through life. She said I was probably anemic and chickenshit. I didn’t know what anemia was back then, but I don’t think I had it. Even still my mother tried to feed me steak cooked rare because of the anemia. She said it would help, that it fed the blood, that I was an embarrassment. She would plate a flank steak and tell everyone it was for her anemic chickenshit son and when I didn’t eat it she would beat all of my brothers and sisters right in front of me. She would say, See what you make me do, as she beat them. This is why my brothers and sisters used to beat me, too, because I never ate the bloody flank steak and they had the scars to prove it. I never blamed them, nor did I ever try to fight back. I always took the beatings lying down. Meaning I would lay myself down and wait for them to finish. I figured they would get tired or bored beating someone with anemia who took it lying down.
I don’t think I’ve ever actually had anemia, though listlessness is a symptom. I have always been listless. Regardless, my anemia isn’t what makes me tired these days. It is probably because I am dying. I think this is the only explanation as to why I am even more tired than usual. But I am also hungry and I would think if one were dying one wouldn’t have an appetite at the same time.
I should probably have a good last meal before I hang myself. I believe it’s customary. I almost never prepare a meal for myself as I am not worth the bother most of the time. Usually I eat soup from a can or dry toast and cereal. The last proper meal I had was about three months ago at a neighbor’s. Sometimes the neighbors see me crawling home after I’ve been beaten and they invite me into their home and tend to me. The neighbors here are good people and some of the very few who haven’t taken liberties with me. Apparently, one of them is a nurse, so she had all kinds of ointments and bandages to apply and fasten. I sat in the kitchen as she did this. I remember her asking me what happened, so I told her sometimes people like to beat me. She asked me why and I told her I had no idea but it’s always been the case. She asked me if she should call the police and I told her not to. All they would do is ask me questions and then get in a few licks of their own. After she mended my wounds she prepared an extravagant meal and insisted I stay for it. There were meat and potatoes and vegetables and gravy and bread, along with wine and water. They had me sit at the head of the table and made a point of calling me their guest. I ate all the food put in front of me. I didn’t want any of it, as I am rarely hungry after a beating. Still, I did my best to choke down my portions, though I declined a second helping. I didn’t know what was expected. I didn’t know if I was free to participate in the family conversation. It seems they were discussing the tribulations of the eldest son. He was having trouble in school and in danger of expulsion. He was probably guilty of beating his classmates, if I had to guess. He looked like a delinquent, with a thick neck that supported a cinder block of a head and big rough hands that seemed to have been in a fistfight recently. His arms and chest were especially well developed. He looked like the sort that could deliver a serious thrashing on someone. I cannot say I recognized him. Sometimes the neighborhood thugs have their way with me, but I do not think he is one of those. Not that I would necessarily know this one way or another. I don’t always look people in the eye when they are beating me. I learned this from my mother, as she didn’t like it when I looked her in the eye during a beating. As dinner went on, the nurse or her sons would sometimes look in my direction between forkfuls. They were trying not to, as they had excellent manners, but I could tell they were curious. I must’ve been a sight. I don’t believe I was still bleeding during dinner, but I was in a great deal of pain. I think I may’ve even groaned once or twice. The nurse asked if I was okay and I told her I was fine. I told her this was nothing, that I’d had worse. I told them all about the time my mother took us shopping and caught me handling the peaches. I was trying to fend for myself, like she’d taught me, but apparently this wasn’t the appropriate moment to do this. I thought she was down some other aisle as I approached the produce section and found a basket of peaches. After opening one of the plastic bags hanging from the hooks, I started examining them. The next thing I knew my mother was grabbing me by the collar and dragging me outside. She said, Who told you to touch the peaches? She said, Do you think people want to eat peaches after you’ve contaminated them with your filthy hands? Just as we got to the corner, I managed to break free and sprint down the street. I could hear my mother screaming for my brothers and sisters to chase after me. She said I was fast but had no endurance. She said, Stay on him, kids, he’ll wear down. She told them to wait for her before they did anything. I think I made it four or five blocks before I started cramping up. Everything hurts whenever I run for too long, my sides, my chest, even my head. I looked around for a place to hide, but there wasn’t any, so I waited for my brothers and sisters to catch up and, when they eventually did, said, What took you so long? They surrounded me and waited for our mother, who found her way over in a few short minutes. My mother was in better shape than she looked and was surprisingly agile. I think all of us in the family are good athletes. At any rate, she pulled some twine from her purse and instructed my brothers and sisters to tie me to a post. After my brothers and sisters complied, my mother said, You may commence. Ordinarily I prefer lying down during a beating, but there is no way to do this when you are strung up. I’ve only been strung up for a beating a few times and I can’t say I like it at all. It puts too much pressure on your wrists, arms, and shoulders. I don’t remember what happened afterward, as I probably lost consciousness. Sometimes this happens to me if the beating is particularly sound. I imagine they cut me down and took me home, where I probably slept straight through for a week. I told the nurse and her sons that the beating I took today was nothing compared to what happened that day after the peaches. I told them not to worry. I told them I always bounce back, that I’m tougher than I look. No one said much after my story, though I think I remember the nurse saying, You poor thing. I smiled at her and winked. I think she liked that. I don’t always remember to wink at people, but it’s a solid maneuver. I’ve even done it to one or two of those who’ve beaten me. I declined dessert but I sat at the table and sipped some tea. I watched them eat their pie, which apparently was homemade. It smelled good, but I couldn’t. The nurse said I should take a slice home and saved one for me. By this time it was clear everyone was getting tired. I needed to lie down. Eventually dessert was over and I was free to go. I waited for them to clear the table and then thanked everyone for the fine meal and hospitality.