A Man Named Dave

can hear the gurgling sound of the toilet flushing from above. I quicken my pace. I extend my arm toward the rail. I smile inside. I’m going to beat her. A split second later my heart skips a beat as my hand misses the rail and grabs air. My body begins to wobble. The rail! Grab the stupid rail! As hard as I fight to concentrate, my fingers refuse to obey. My world turns black.
     
    A blinding glare pierces my eyes. My head seems as if it is stuck in a fog. I can make out a figure standing above me in front of a bright white light. “… aht ime is it?”
    I try to shake my head clear. For a moment I thought I was staring at an angel sent to take me to heaven.
    But Mother’s sickening cough soon erases my fantasy. I said, “What time is it?” The sound of her voice nearly makes me pee my pants. Mother uses a soft, evil tone so not to wake up her precious babies. “Let’s see how fast … you can move that sorry little behind of yours up here … now!” Mother demands with a snap of her fingers. My body shudders as I place the broom against the base of the stairs.
    “Oh, no!” Mother beams. “Bring your friend with you.” I’m not sure what she means. I spin around, then look back up at Mother. “The broom, you moron. Bring it with you.”
    With every step I take, my mind begins to plot a defense for whatever Game Mother has in store for the crime of not completing my chores on time. I warn myself to stay focused. I know she plans on using the broom as a weapon, either against my chest or face. Sometimes when we’re alone, Mother likes to smash the end of the broom directly behind my knees. If she has me follow her into the kitchen, I’m dead. I won’t be able to walk to school, let alone run. But if Mother keeps me on the stairs, I know she’ll only hit me in my upper body.
    Upon reaching the top of the stairs, I automatically assume “the position of address”: my body stands perfectly straight, with my head bent down and my hands glued to my sides. I am not allowed to move a muscle, blink, look at her or even breathe without Mother’s direct permission.
    “Tell me, tell me I’m stupid ,” Mother whispers as she leans over. I cringe as I imagine her taking a bite from my ear. It’s part of the Game. She’s testing me to see if I’ll flinch. I dare not look up or back away. My heels hang over the edge of the stair. I pray Mother doesn’t push me … today.
    “Go ahead, tell me. Please,” Mother begs. The tone of her voice changes. Mother’s voice seems calm, nonthreatening. My mind spins. I don’t understand. Did Mother just give me permission to speak? I have no idea what she expects of me. Either way, I’m trapped. I focus my energy on the front of my shoes. The more I stare, the more my body begins to sway.
    Without warning Mother thrusts a finger under my chin, lifting my face to hers. Her rancid breath makes my stomach coil. I fight not to pass out from her stench. Even though she does not allow me to wear my glasses at home, I glance at Mother’s puffy, reddened face. Her once gleaming hair is now oily and matted against the sides of her face. “Just how stupid do you think I am? Tell me, exactly: How stupid am I?”
    I sheepishly look up and reply, “Ma’am?”
    A raging fire stings the side of my face. “Just who in the hell gave you permission to speak, let alone look!” Mother hisses.
    I snap my head back down as I quickly bury the pain inside. My God, I say to myself, I didn’t see it coming. What’s happening to me? I’m always able to see her arm swing back before she strikes me. I cannot figure out why I am so slow. Dammit, David, stay focused! Think!
    “When is It going to begin Its chores?” Mother bellows. “What is it with you? I bet you think I’m stupid! You think you can get away with whatever you damn well please! Don’t you?” Mother shakes her head. “I’m not the one hurting you. You are. You choose your actions. You know who – what – you are and what your purpose is in this household.
    “If It wants to be fed, then it’s simple: It does exactly as It’s told. If It doesn’t want to be punished, then It stays out of trouble. It knows the rules. I don’t treat you any different from anybody else. It simply refuses to obey.” Mother stops to take a deep breath. Her chest begins to wheeze. It’s time for her fix. I know what’s coming next. I wish she’d go ahead and hit me. “And what about me?” Her voice rises. “I should be asleep, but no, I have to be here with It. You pathetic piece of filth!