By Michael Curry
It's not my fault. I was holding my right forearm because I burned it on the interior of the oven. I was making frozen French fries... Well, I was baking them. I didn't want to use the vegetable oil because only God would know what my mom would have done if there was no vegetable oil. The sting of the burn raced through every nerve in my body. It hurt really bad. I decided to grab an ice cube and wrap it in a napkin and hold it against my wound. The ice only heightened the pain. I hoped it wouldn't scar. I had enough past marks and didn't need anymore.
After I gathered myself and started to heal my burn, I turned my focus to the soggy French fries I had just removed from the well heated oven. They did not look one bit satisfying but there was nothing else in the kitchen, or house for that matter, to eat- period. It was Friday night; my mother was out somewhere and my step-father was passed out in his room with the The Righteous Brothers' "Unchain Melody" playing on repeat and what seemed on the maximum volume. I grabbed one of the soggy French fries and it was scalding hot. I dropped it on the floor. That was twice in one night I was burned.
I looked at the smallest, most cooked French fry and began to exhale on it to cool it off so that it wouldn't burn me. My breaths were short and tired. This week was worst than last week; busier, lifeless, and tiring. It was only the third week of school and it felt as if I had been going to school for three months. I resented school but it was my only sanctuary. I could escape by listening to pathetic class discussions and reading endless pages of thoughtless literature. When it came down to it, I'd rather be in school than at home. The gauntlet of summer reiterated that feeling.
My French fry victim wasn't as bad as my tongue had guessed. It was rather tasty and I fooled myself into thinking it was an actual deep fat fried French fry from McDonald's. It was quiet for a moment and then the muffled song started back up again. I hated my step-father Sergio. I hated him with a passion. Hate is a strong word as so many people are fond of saying but I honestly could say that I could end his life and not being emotionally shaken up or feel guilty. He was a rotten man. How could God let somebody like him exists?
With a question like that, people automatically blame their deity and call it a day. Not me. God put Sergio here to help me become stronger than what I would be without him in my life. The things he had done to me were inexcusable. He was inexcusable. Why did I my mother marry him? That question kept me up so many nights that the time spent pondering on that question could equal a year or more.
I stood there with my damaged arm and my vacant being. I was hungry for something filling. I grabbed several more fries and thought of them as McDonald's French fries. Unlike the first fry, these ones were soggy, cold and burnt. After a glass of water to remove the greasy and dry taste of the fries, I decided to try and retire the night by heading to the basement, where my room was.
The cement floor was ice cold. I scrambled to get to my bed in order to get warmth. I jumped towards my bed when I was three feet away from it. My burned forearm glided along the rough blankets and it burned quite badly. I got tears in my eyes. When would my life get normal? I could never ask when will my life go back to normal because it was never normal from the day I was conceived in my mother's womb. I stared at the bricks in one the wall. They looked so rigid and uncomfortable.
Our house was a two-story home with 3 rooms and an unfinished basement. It had two and a half bathrooms and a two car garage. It sounded fine on paper but in reality the house was junk. The carpet was tainted with juice, soda and alcohol stains and other articles. The floors creek without warning, there was foul smell that I assumed was coming from one of the dead animals that must have died within the walls of my home. It was terrible but it was a home one would say if they were an optimist. Yeah, it was a home I guess you could say; a hellish home.
My home was hellish, not because of the current stature of the home but of its occupants. A malicious man, a vacant woman, and a pessimistic child. Yes, a hellish home.
He molested me when I was about four years old. It around Christmas time because I remember green Christmas lights illuminating off the floor. I was playing in my room and I heard a noise coming from my mother and step-fathers room. I followed the noise into their room where I was introduced to a pornographic movie on the television. I looked up at the bed and saw Sergio hold his penis and stroking it up and down. He was sitting up and completely naked. He looked at me and patted an area near the bed next to him. I climbed on top of the bed and sat on the area where he pointed.
"You want to learn how to pee right?"
I didn't answer. I remember it so vividly. The feelings I was feeling and the thoughts I was thinking. "What kind of question is this?" I asked myself.
"Good. Pull down your pants."
So I did.
"Take out your pee-pee."
So I did.
"Good, now hold it like this. Here let me show."
So I did.
"Now, rub it like this."
"Uh... oh... good. Yes. Yes... Like that. Oh, yes, good boy."
He sat up on his knees and stroked his penis and mine. Then, after a minute or so, he sat back down on the bed and continued to watch the movie. I was left there with my penis in my hand and the weird feeling. I felt scared and bad. Like I did something wrong. My mother came home and hour or so later. She was wearing light gray capris pants, a black t-shirt and dirty white sneakers. I ran up to her and hugged her knees and thighs. The green Christmas lights illuminated off her light colored pants and shoes and off my hands. I turned and faced our Christmas tree and the boxes of presents wrapped in deep red, gold, green, blue, copper and Christmas themed wrapping paper. I felt a wet spot on my mother's capris and I pulled my head back from her legs and saw that I was crying. I don't know how long I stayed attached her to legs but all I felt was eternity of safety and love from them. I don't remember a single thing leftover from that night.
I grew up the first 16 years of my life forgetting that night until a dream resurrected the horrific event. I didn't tell my mother. Under our current circumstances, my mother would have said I was making false accusations out of hatred and my contempt for my step-father. Having to hear her say she didn't believe me would hurt more than reliving that night in my dreams night after night. And I did not dare tell her that I was a homosexual.
I woke up the next morning and found myself entirely hungry since the only real food I had eaten was yesterday's lunch at school. There was literally nothing to eat besides ancient alcohol, baking soda and flour. I stumbled upstairs and went to the front window. I saw my mother's car parked crookedly. I looked closer at my mom's car and saw a shadowed figure hunched forward on the steering wheel of my mom's car. I immediately yanked the front door open and raced over to the vehicle. There my mother was. She was sleeping on the steering wheel. She was alive because I could see the little strands of hair move up and then slowly down and move up and then slowly down. She was breathing. She was alive.
I took a deep breath and started back for the front door. Once I got inside my house, I went to the pantry and opened the medicine box. I pulled out the bottle of liquid sleeping pills. I opened the container and removed four pills. I replaced the bottle in the box and went to the kitchen cabinets and removed a glass and filled it up with cold water. I put all four pills in my mouth and gulped down the tap water with one drink. I made a pathetic belch and set the glass down on the counter. I looked over to the soggy French fries from the previous night. I picked up the cooking sheet they were on and walked out the back door. I stepped out onto the deck and looked at the six trees in my backyard.
A sudden urge pulsed through me. I was angry. Very angry. I took the cooking sheet and began to whack the railing of the deck as hard as I could. I finally tossed the bent cookie sheet like a Frisbee into the yard and fell on the deck floor. I began to cry. I cried with every emotion I had ever felt. I turned on my back and looked up to the sky. The early morning sky's cloud's swirled and complimented the darkness of the west. The anger surged through my body again and I began pounding on the deck floor hoping for it to break. Nothing.
I loosely stood up. The pills had already dissolved in my body and were having their drowsiness effect on me. I staggered into the kitchen and pulled out a butcher's knife. The reflection of light on the knife amused me. I swung around me with the knife completely out in the open. I saw flowers that were hours away from dieing and I began stabbing them to shreds. I then began stabbing the floor. It was fun. I went to the food pantry and took out the unopened flour bag and began stabbing it. Flour poured and floated in the air. Every time I stabbed the bag I grunted and growled. I felt a killer instinct within me. I wanted to turn upstairs and finish off Sergio like I should have ages ago.
I looked on top of the refrigerator and saw the old alcohol. I began to smile maliciously. I could feel an entity of evil within me. Looking at the Jesus calendar in the front porch area, I flipped the knife upside down and held on to its tip. I violently threw the knife at the calendar and it stabbed a lamb’s carcass that lay beneath Jesus' feet. I looked back at the alcohol and grabbed the glass bottle and threw it at the window of the kitchen. It shattered the glass and flew out the window. I grabbed another old alcoholic beverage and bashed it on the faulty kitchen table. I was out of control. Nothing could stop me. Nothing.
Grabbing another bottle, I started to get even drowsier and tossed the bottle into the sink where it landed with a crash. I grabbed the last bottle on the refrigerator and made my way to the front door. As I passed the Jesus calendar, I reclaimed my knife and opened the front door. Waiting no more than two seconds from opening the door, I threw the bottle at my mother's windshield as hard as I could. Nothing. She didn't even wake up. "Stupid whore" I thought.
Carelessly, I walked up to the passenger tire and stabbed it. I wedged the knife out and walked to the rear passenger tire; I stabbed that one, too. I didn't wedge this one out, though. I just stood up, turned around and faced the house and loosely walked to the front door. I goofily made my way down to the basement. I began laughing when the cold floor was recognized by my brain. At the foot of my bed, I turned around and jumped backward. I landed perfectly in my bed. I turned and looked at my digital clock; 7:03AM it read.
"Goodnight day," I happily slurred from my mouth.
I woke up at 8:01PM. A lot earlier than I was hoping to. I got up and sleepily made my way upstairs to the main floor. To my complete surprise, everything was left where I trashed it. I stepped to the living room where I found Sergio. Sleeping with the television on. "Fucking bastard," I thought. I weakly made my way to the front window. There my mom still slept. Butcher's knife still in the rear tire. "Fucking losers," I continued to think.
I slowly whirled around and saw Sergio with a cup of water in his hand and he was wearing slippers. I gave them to him for Christmas. He never wore them because he said slippers are for pussies. I felt happy that he wore them, even though the price and brand tag were still present. Then looked at the sole of the slippers and saw tiny pieces of glass embedded into the bottom of slippers. "Fucking asshole," I said aloud. He didn't wake up. The fucking bastard saw the mess, went back upstairs, put on the slippers I bought for him, walked back into the kitchen, stepped on the mess, got himself a cup of water and passed out on the couched.
I immediately went to the pantry and got out two more sleeping pills. A cloud of worry filled my stomach. I wondered if I was going to O.D. on sleeping pills and all the odds pointed toward my death because these shit-for-brains would still be sleeping in their own vomit. I was so pumped, I took the pills anyway. I didn't drink any water and went back down to the icy dungeon to kill the rest of the night with a dream.
The funny part was that I did have a dream. I dreamt that I was in a laundry room somewhere in a tiny house, making out with an old man who had a flabby ass. We kissed very romantically and passionately. He was missing one of his front teeth but he was still seductive looking. He lifted me up on this old washing machine where began removing every article of clothing I had on. He got me completely naked and began kissing my chest. He didn't focus on my nipples but my rib cage. I ran my hands through his brown hair and started moan. He then pulled down his faded lime-green shorts and inserted himself into me. He began humping me very hard and then he pulled back, almost until his erected penis was almost out and he rammed himself into me. The minute he did that, I woke up with the biggest erection ever from any dream- period.
It was 4:58AM. I was still alive and still in the state of being psychotic. I felt a little better because of the dream but it was only a dream. A fantasy I needed. It served its purpose and was done. Too bad it wasn’t real. I managed to rise from bed and hurdle to the main floor. It seemed as if I had been doing that a lot lately. Once I made it up to the main level, what I saw surprised even me. Everything was clean: the glass was picked up, the counters were cleaned, the dishes were cleaned, and even the coffee maker was on! I peeked out in the backyard and saw that the bent cooking sheet was retrieved; the atrocious French fries were swept onto the grass though.
In disbelief, I opened the food pantry and it was stocked full of food! All kinds of food: canned fruits and vegetables, boxes of macaroni and cheese, hamburger helper, minute rice, and popcorn, canned raviolis, bagged potatoes, fruit snacks and more. I raced to the refrigerator and yanked both the freezer and ‘fridge doors and to my surprise again, they were both full! Ice cream, fish sticks, chicken nuggets, popsicles, apples, milk, juice, soda, lettuce heads, baby carrots, pre-made cookie mix, and so much more. My heart was lit up at 5AM in the morning.
My mother emerged from the half bathroom. To my complete surprise, she was clean; she was dressed as if she were ready to go somewhere. She was wearing her conservative black dress, shiny black high heels, gold jewelry and dark panty hoes on. She interrupted my thoughts as she said, “Hello, . Shouldn’t you be in bed getting your rest? We go to church in three hours.”
So far, the entire story, itself, is built on this young boy who is gay and deals with his parents. That is until he is paid by a man to fornicate with him. The man becomes obsessed with the young boy and eventually starts killing everyone the boy contacts. The story comes to an end when the boy falls in love with a man who is not the sexual predator. The sexual predator then brutally kills the "new love" and the young boy ends up killing himself.
This story carries the same September concept used by my last story, September Nights; where a girl meets a man off of an internet chat room, he uses her for the "dirty," she becomes psycho and- VOILA! She kills him and that story is built on her telling it.
So what do you think?