The following is a fictional story, although it is based on a real event in my childhood. It is the story of a boy whose reality was so bad he lived in a dream world to protect himself. He used that dream world to help him understand and explain the world around him.
WARNING: Although no profanity is used, the story is graphic and may contain triggers for abuse victims/survivors. Please do not read this story if you are feeling vulnerable, depressed or alone. Please exercise caution and make sure you are in a safe place before reading this.
A Life in a Day
The sun, blood-red, was setting behind the Hertz building. The shadows were lengthening until all of downtown was covered. All was dark. Night reigned supreme again. It would be a night much like any other night in the city. Hot, loud and humid. Music mixed with the sounds of car horns, laughter and the occasional scream. Pushers waved to the hookers who laughed at the drunks lying in the gutter. These were the creatures of the night, and like roaches seeking food, the street scum scurried out from their nests to reclaim the city.
The woman hurried along the sidewalk. She did not like to be in this part of town after dark. If it hadn’t been for the Sanders deposition, she wouldn’t have had to come into the office at all. She swore under her breath. Now if she could just find that bus stop. It was amazing how different the city looked at night. She was afraid she was lost, but finally she located the battered bench she sat on every day, and waited impatiently for her bus.
“Hey lady, got a light?”
She turned and saw a disheveled man with a t-shirt that proclaimed Texas was the Friendly State, an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. “Uh, no. I don’t smoke.” she said.
“That’s good, you’ll live longer,” he sneered, “and you’ll live even longer if you give me your purse.”
She saw the flash of a knife blade. The woman was frightened. Something bad was going to happen. She felt vulnerable. Exposed. Her fear was quickly building into blind terror when she looked up and saw a flash of blue and red. The mugger in front of her was knocked to the ground unconscious. She stared dumbfounded at her savior. It had to be Him.
“Superman!” she exclaimed. “How can I ever thank you?! You’re everything I’ve wanted in … ”
“ SCOTT! ”
The little boy wearing the red cape turned and stared blankly at his mother.
“What in the world are you doing on the picnic table?” she asked irritably. “I’ve been calling you for five minutes now! Get down off that table this instant. Don’t you know you could fall off and break your arm?”
The boy heaved a heavy sigh and got down slowly.
“Honestly, if I didn’t know better I would think you’re deaf the way you ignore me. Now get inside and get dressed, we’re late. We should have been at your grandparents’ house for lunch five minutes ago. And look at what you’ve done to your pants,” she said pointing at his knees, “look at that hole. I just bought those jeans last week. You’ve got to learn to be more careful with your clothes. Money doesn’t grow on trees you know. What were doing, digging your way to China?”
The engineer looked at his clothes. “Damn.” he thought, “This is no way to meet the President. After all, how many men successfully build a tunnel all the way to China?” He trudged inside to change into his tuxedo and made a mental note to take better care of his clothes.
“ Scott! ” his mother bellowed. “Hurry up or I’m leaving without you.”
She made The Face and shook her head slowly. “I don’t know where his mind is half the time.”
Her thoughts were interrupted by the boy, now well scrubbed and properly attired, running out of the house and into the car with his impatient mother. He slammed the car door shut and snuggled up to his stuffed monkey.
“It would help if you shut the front door.” she sighed.
“Huh?, said the boy innocently, “Oh.”
The bank robbery had gone flawlessly. Baby Face had done it again, this time taking out a cool million. He dashed out to the getaway car and got in.
“Step on it.” he said.
He eyed the driver. She was a pushy dame, but she could be trusted. Then he peered in the back at Mugsy counting the money.
“Typical.” he thought to himself.
Mugsy never trusted anyone, but to count the money in the car was low class. Baby Face turned around and smiled. Mugsy had no idea that cement overshoes were waiting for him back at the hideout. Besides he never trusted Mugsy anyway, he could act like a real monkey sometimes.
“Scott, get out of the car and give your Nanny a kiss.”
Startled, the little boy clambered out of the car and bounced over to his grandmother and dutifully pecked the soft, wrinkled cheek offered to him. He liked his grandmother. She was soft and smelled good.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve already set everything out on the table.” Nanny said. “Everyone go inside and have a seat.”
The little boy bounced inside the small frame house and into the kitchen. He found his seat and stood up on his knees to get a good look at what was spread before him. His eyes danced as he saw fried pork chops, mashed potatoes, cream gravy, and corn on the cob.
The great walrus lay gorged to capacity on the beach. Like other members of his species, he ate everything in sight, not aware that even his enormous stomach had its limits. Surrounded by curious penguins, he broke into an monstrous gap-toothed yawn. As usual, the bloated walrus wanted nothing more than sleep after such a large meal.
“Ooof!”
“Well what did you expect when you ate everything in sight?” sighed his mother.
A yawn struggled out of the tiny mouth as his mother droned on, a familiar monotone punctuated at intervals by his grandmother’s incessant critiques. It had been a wonderful meal topped by homemade biscuits and honey. The voices grew more distant until sleep finally closed in.
The woman carried the limp body of her son into the darkened bedroom, where her father was still asleep after a hard night’s work at the railyards.
“Hi Daddy. Can Scott sleep with in bed with you?” she quietly asked.
“Sure,” he mumbled. He motioned next to him. “Just put him down there.”
She started to pull the blanket over her son, when her father said quietly, “No, I’ll take care of him.”
The woman quietly tiptoed to the door and was about to shut it when he spoke up again.
“Just leave it open Daughter.”
She was gone. All was quiet.
The little boy awoke with a start. He was naked from the waist down. Granddaddy was touching him … there. The private spot.
“Don’t’ move and don’t say anything,” said his grandfather, “or I’ll kill you.”
He stopped the fondling abruptly and lifted the small body up over him so that the boy was facing the old man’s feet. The boy was frightened. Something bad was going to happen. He felt vulnerable. Exposed. His fear was quickly building into blind terror when he looked up and saw his mother standing in the open bedroom doorway. For a brief instant his spirits soared. She would save him. She would stop this.
But why was she just standing there?
He called out, “Mommy!” She didn’t move.
Again, louder and more urgently, he cried out, “ Mommy!! ”
Her eyes, doll-like, didn’t blink.
“Mommy help me!”
She doesn’t see me. Again he screamed, holding his fat little hands out. If he could just reach her. The fear, growing bigger and bigger, consumed him.
He started kicking, mindless like a cornered animal he struggled. He felt himself being lifted up again. “ Please Mommy! ”
The boy’s eyes were still on his mother when his backside exploded with pain. The boy shut his imploring eyes and screamed as he felt a pain he was never meant to experience. As the twisted appendage rejoiced in what it was wrecking, the boy opened his eyes to plead again with his mother, but she wasn’t there. Now all hope was gone. The frail little boy was alone with only the sounds of urgent ardor for company.
Waste. Miles and miles, as far as the eye could see the desert stretched. There were no gentle sand dunes, only dry and scorched dirt mixed with rocks. The young Arab snorted disgustedly.
“Nothing could grow here,” he thought.
He looked up at the merciless sun. Why had Allah forsaken this land? He sighed and looked down at his camel. He was glad she was here for surely he would die on foot. His father had once said that, with only a little water, this land would blossom like a rose and be a garden paradise. All it needed was a little attention by a loving God to heal and grow.
The little boy stared unblinkingly at shadows on the wall. He grew tired of using a pillow to wrap himself and numbly let it drop. Bloody semen slowly oozed down his leg. It tickled, but he made no move to stop it. He could hear the heavy breathing of the old man sleeping the blissful sleep of one who is sexually relieved. The boy felt numb, so numb that he did not feel the persistent and throbbing pain. Detached, as if he were watching another, he did not move as his mother quickly entered and silently dressed him. As if floating, he watched from the ceiling as his mother picked up his small body and carried him outside to the waiting car.
“You be sure to give him a thorough bath,” said the boy’s grandmother. “There’s no need to see a doctor. Just use cotton balls and keep him on his stomach for a few days.”
“Are you sure?”
“You just trust me. I know how to handle these sorts of problems.”
The young mother started the car. “He’s not going to grow up, you know, ‘funny’ will he?”
“Now don’t you worry about that honey. Why in a few days he’ll be laughing and running around like nothing happened. Nothing dries faster than a child’s tears. And when he’s grown, it’ll be as though nothing ever happened. He won’t remember. He can’t,” she said confidently, “He’s too little.”
We were supposed to make the world safe for democracy. The young soldier swore softly. He had seen and experienced things no human should.
“Damn trench warfare. Will this madness never end?”
As he lay on his stomach, grimacing from the pain of his wound, his thoughts turned toward home. He thought of the vine covered cottage with the white picket fence. He thought of his new wife.
“By the time this heals, I should be discharged.”
Yes. Discharged and free from the horrors of this hideous war, he could return home. He could start a new life, the life of his dreams. The life of his fantasies. And he could forget.
Forget it all.