How can I recall this with such detail…feel what I felt that day so long ago…
I can still see him standing there, disheveled and smirking out of shear terror, holding out his hands and pulling them back just as she brought the strap down, the unexpected follow through, catching her in what we imagined might be legs, (we think nuns had legs) under her voluminous black skirt. The “whap” made us all gasp. He had dared to do the one thing that would set her off. Angrily, she told him every time he did that, there would be three more blows added on to the ten she had in reserve. I will never be able to describe how I felt in that moment as I watched him take the first blow, grinding his teeth as he tried to fight off the embarrassment of tears. That made her angrier. WHACK…WHACK…She hit him harder and harder until, the tears came.
I wanted to die. He pressed his hands on his thighs and cried for her to stop. She didn’t. My stomach was sick and I cried as I watched my “revenge” being carried out. There seemed to be no one in the room but me, Andre and Sister. Finally, he cried out so loud, it caught her off guard and it ended. Andre, snot and tears running down his face, went back to his seat, put his head on his desk and bawled, hands swollen with angry red welts, extended before him. I ran out of the class with Sister shouting after me, and I didn’t stop until I was home. I don’t remember what I told my mother, but the horror of this humiliation and pain was burned into my memory forever.
Last time I was home, I saw his photo in the obituaries of our newspaper and instantly recognized him before I saw his name. Even though he was older, his mischievous eyes were the same and he still had that damn smirk. And now he’d died of cancer. All I could think of was that day long ago and that awful feeling came flooding back. All I could do was cringe and hope he had forgiven me…
I let the tears come as I relive Andre and wonder why the hell I would think of this now. I suddenly realize this was the first incident where I was consciously aware of someone deliberately trying to hurt me for whatever reason. Someone had set this pattern, and others had improved upon it. Does it say “abuse me” somewhere on me? Is it the way I talk, don’t talk, walk, do things, think, breathe? What? And now I sit here watching the miserable rain from the window in my lonely world. What did I do wrong? I don’t understand what it is about me that makes others need to hurt me and control me. It’s then I notice that my body is so rigid, my hands clenched so tight that I have a hard time opening them…
When I can move, I close the heavy drapes, put my chair back and hear the sound of running feet. Nap time is over and hungry babies need to be fed. There is no pain here. No angry faces or words. I hug them and spin them around and they shriek for more. How will I get out of here? For their sakes how will I get out of here…
Next -> The New Game
Tags: blows, forgiveness, grinding his teeth, thighs