by Drew Sera
He sat down beside me and took the pill vial from my grip. He opened it and poured the contents in his hand, counted them and returned them to the plastic bottle. A look of relief passed over his face. Didn’t he trust me? Did he think I was going to down a bottle of pills?
“Anthony, what’s wrong?”
“Everything! I don’t want to see them again! You’re making me see those people!”
“Calm down.”
“I’m trying!”
“What were you doing with these?”
He shook the pill bottle and set it back down beside him.
“I woke up from another nightmare, and my heart is beating really fast again. I thought maybe I could take another pill to calm me down, but the label said just one a day. I took one when I got home from school. So, I’m trapped until tomorrow after school.”
My dad stared at me and rubbed his forehead as he glanced at the pill bottle again. He looked at me for a few moments before getting up and going over to the sink. He turned the water on and emptied the pill vial down the drain.
“What are you doing? That’s helping me!” I protested and ran over to see if I could save one at least.
My dad flipped the switch to the garbage disposal and pulled me into his arms and away from the sink.
“Why did you do that? It was making me better!”
“No, it wasn’t, Anthony. It was numbing you. You’re not seeing what it’s doing to you. We’re going to find another way. I’m not drugging you. We’re not going to do this.”
“How do you even know what it’s doing to me? What are you comparing it to?”
“Son, you’re having difficulty concentrating. You’re tired and restless. The writing is on the wall and right under my nose, Anthony. These are making you worse.”
I couldn’t believe what he was saying. All of that couldn’t be from the pills.
“Now I’m going to probably die of a heart attack! I should have just gone home that day and bled to death.”
“Dammit, Anthony, you don’t mean that. Son, they can’t hurt you anymore. I need to file these lawsuits.”
Anger spilled over, and I moved out away from his arms and glared at him. I couldn’t understand why he was so set on doing this to me.
“Anthony, you might not even have to say anything in court.”
“Yeah, but I might! And now you’ve tossed out medicine that was going to help me get through it.”
I was pacing around the kitchen table as he watched me. My anger multiplied when I noticed that he was looking at my wet pajama pants.
“Tell me about your nightmare.”
I shrugged while my finger slid along the top of the table as I paced.
“Anthony, please talk to me, son.”
“Why? It was a stupid dream. I dreamt about being burned by cigarettes…and almost drowning.”
I kept my focus on my feet as I paced and I didn’t look up, even when I heard him say my name.
“Where did they burn you?”
Shrugging was suddenly the only thing I could do to communicate. It was easier for me to show him, so I lifted my shirt and pointed to the marks left behind near my belly button. My dad gently touched the faded marks, and I noticed my stomach was moving or quaking on its own. I roughly slapped my hands down over my stomach and frowned.
"Why is my stomach doing this?" I growled out, angry at myself.
"Anthony, you can't help it, son. Your body is under stress and is just reacting to things. You have to give it time."
"How much more time?" I yelled. "I hate how I feel! Stupid body is doing stupid stuff. Stuff that makes no sense! I'm seventeen and doing crap that babies do!" I ranted. “What stress could it be under? I’m not with mom and Bruce anymore, so why is this happening?”
"I know this isn't easy to make sense of, but your body is protecting you. When it feels under attack and too much stress is going on, it goes into a protection mode. The shaking, quivering, the chills...your body is under stress, and it takes over to concentrate on the basics."
"What? That's the dumbest thing! It makes me look like an infant!”
“Anthony—”
“Wait, let me guess, this is ‘normal,’ right?”
“For what you’ve been through, yes. This is very normal and expected.”
I was so angry and I felt so fucking trapped. I curled my hands up into fists and could feel myself breathing harder while my stomach continued to do whatever the fuck it was doing. I uncurled my hands and slapped my stomach again.
“Anthony, don’t hit your stomach. This isn’t something you can control.”
I tried to walk back to my room, but my dad stopped me from moving out of the kitchen. I didn’t try hard to resist, but I wouldn’t look at him either. I quickly wiped away my tears on my shirt right before he pulled me into a hug.
“Anthony, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. And I hate when you say you’re sorry!”
I let my dad hold onto me in the kitchen because I noticed my heart beat started to settle down. He remained quiet and let me relax. When I was ready to go back to bed, he helped me change my sheets, and he stayed the rest of the night on the chair in my room. I was worried about what I’d do without the pills. I was almost certain I’d end up with a heart attack.
My dad has been meeting with attorneys in the evenings at the house. Why were there so many of them? Can’t one handle this? I sat on the stairs as I listened to them in the kitchen while they poured over the police and medical files.
“Richard, they’ll most likely have Anthony answer some questions during the hearing,” one of the attorneys warned.
“I don’t want him to have to do that unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“He’s never been in trouble with the law in Vegas, right?”
“No!”
“Understand, Richard, that even though the evidence is in a repulsive high amount, Connor’s attorney is going to paint Anthony as a trouble maker.”
I jumped at the sound of my dad’s hand hitting the table.
“That son of a bitch can try all he wants. You have no idea how much damage that man caused! You don’t live with the effects of Connor’s actions. My son cries out in the night, scared. He won’t let me touch him hardly. I can barely hug my kid. That man held Anthony down while his stepfather put a six-inch laceration on his body. He purposely moved schools so he’d be able to keep things quiet with Anthony. Teachers had brought concerns about Anthony to him, and conveniently none of those concerns were ever looked into or reported. I’ve had Anthony with me for two months, and I can tell you that what they’ve done to him, no amount of money would ever come close to make this easier to swallow.”
I’m a disgrace.
An embarrassment.
Why is he even doing this lawsuit if he so disgusted by me and what happened?
I was so angry and hated listening to everything going on downstairs. My heart was ready to pound out of my chest, and I had to get it under control. I held my hand over my chest hoping that it would settle down.
I crept to my room and shut my door quietly. I took a few deep breaths because my dad has told me that would help. It wasn’t helping though. I sat on the floor of my room in the corner. Sitting on the bed made me feel too exposed. But the corner felt good. I pulled my knees closer to my chest and lodged my football between my knees and chest. I closed my eyes for a minute and lowered my head to rest on the football.
“Anthony,” my dad was gently shaking my shoulder. “Why are you on the floor?”
I think I dozed off.
“My heart was pounding. I was trying to calm down.”
My dad took hold of my wrist and looked at his watch and then he looked up at me.
“Are you feeling okay, aside from feeling like you’ve been running?”
I nodded.
“Good, come on. Stand up.”
My dad pulled my sneakers out of the c
loset and set them next to the bed. He moved to my dresser and found an undershirt and some shorts and tossed them on the bed.
“Change and meet me in the car.”
I did as I was told and when I walked into the garage, my dad had changed into some athletic wear too. I got in the car and asked him where we were going.
“We’re going to the gym. It’ll be a great outlet for you. This will be something that you can pour your energy into and focus on your health. We’ll go together in the evenings.”
I was kind of excited but then started worrying about my heart.
“Is my heart ok to work out.”
“Yes, son. This will be good stress management for you.”
We both got signed up for our gym memberships and took a tour of the gym. I was really excited and looking forward to this. My dad even arranged for an athletic trainer to work with me a few nights a week. When we left, I felt really good about the gym being a positive thing for me. Hopefully, it’ll help me manage any anxiety that creeps up on me.
Chapter Eight
March 1991
Another nightmare filled night made me give up hope for sleeping anymore. I got dressed, brushed my teeth and headed downstairs. My dad was rummaging around in the pantry and talking to himself under his breath. Without saying anything, I took a glass from the cabinet and poured myself some juice and cereal.
“Hey, you're up early.” My dad commented and sat down at the table with me and his coffee. I nodded but could feel his eyes on me. “Couldn't sleep?” he asked.
“No, not really.”
I focused on my cereal rather than my dad. I knew he was looking at me.
“It’ll get better, Anthony.”
Though I heard him, I made no movement or gesture confirming that I had. I am hoping it will get better. I'm at least not afraid of being beaten if I wake up terrified from a nightmare, so I suppose that is progress.
My dad got up from the table, and when he returned he held out a blue envelope. I looked the envelope with my name handwritten on it. I frowned and looked up at him, afraid of what was in it.
“What is it?” I asked nervously and set my spoon down.
His forehead was crinkled now, and a look of confusion covered his face.
“Happy birthday, Anthony.”
A cold chill slid down my spine. My birthday. I swallowed hard, and my heart began to pound, and I reached for my chest. I wouldn't take hold of the card.
“Anthony.”
“Sorry, thank you. I didn't realize today was my birthday.”
“How could you forget? You're eighteen today!”
My dad was so excited, but I could feel his eyes on me and figured that he was getting worried so I took the card and opened it. The outside of the card had a football on it, and in blue writing, it read, “Happy Birthday, Son.” On the inside, he wrote that he was happy I was here and that we’d get to spend my birthday together.
He was happy I was here.
The handwritten words hit me hard, and I felt fucking tears fill my eyelids. What the fuck? I shouldn't be crying over a fucking card; I'm eighteen now. I nodded and set the card next to me.
“Anthony, what’s wrong?”
He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. My heart was still pounding, and I tried to busy myself with shoveling food in my mouth.
“Did I say something wrong?”
I shook my head and reached for my juice. The feeling of him squeezing my shoulder was calming me down. I needed to say something for my weird behavior. I picked up the card again and held it in my hands.
“I never celebrated my birthday. They didn't want me to. On our calendar that hung in the kitchen, every March 10th had an ‘X’ on it, or the day was blacked out. Sometimes it said things.”
“What did it say?”
I shrugged and looked back down at my soggy cereal.
“Dumb stuff.” I managed to swallow another spoonful of cereal. “Things about me being a mistake or an accident.”
“Anthony—”
I shook my head and got up from the table, inhaling the rest of my cereal on the way to the dishwasher with the bowl.
“It's ok. I got over it pretty fast. I'm just not used to getting cards and stuff.”
I leaned against the counter and looked at the floor, hoping my heart would stop pounding.
“Did your mother ever give you a present or a cake?”
My mind flew back to when I turned seven.
I heard my name being called and stopped coloring to listen for it again. Whenever my name was yelled, fear overwhelmed me. I was sitting in my room coloring a picture of He-Man and Battlecat when Bruce called my name.
My mom was at work, and I had only been home from school for a little while. Since today was my birthday, I got to pick something from the birthday box at school. I had been eyeing the He-Man Masters of the Universe coloring book all year and hoped no one picked it. Today it was mine.
With my name being called from the kitchen, the excitement of my coloring book seemed to disappear. When my name was called again, I quickly closed the coloring book and put it in my backpack.
As I walked down the hall, I tucked in my t-shirt. I always tried to remember to do that when Bruce called me because it was better for me if he didn't have easy access to my bare skin.
He sat at the kitchen table with a calm look on his face as I cautiously approached.
“I called your name twice. Are you deaf?”
I shook my head.
“What were you doing?”
“My homework.”
“It's all done?”
“Yes, Bruce.”
A smile spread across his face, and he gestured me closer. I didn't want to go any closer. I lost possible places to run if I went into the kitchen.
“Anthony, come here. I wanted to make sure your homework was done before I gave you your birthday present.”
A present? My first birthday present!
I eagerly walked forward, noticing the small package wrapped in the colored print of the Sunday Funnies from the newspaper sitting on the table. He patted his lap, and I froze. I didn't want to sit on his lap. Bad things happened when I got trapped that way.
“Anthony, I got you a present, and you don't want it, you little fuck?”
“I do.”
I slowly walked closer and saw that on the wrapping was my name written in marker. It really was for me! I stood next to Bruce and touched the present as he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me against him, untucking my shirt. As much as I wanted to get away, I stayed still. I'd be stupid to move, there was a present on the table for me.
“Do you want to open it?” I nodded as his hand gripped the back of my neck, rubbing his thumb over my hairline. “Go on, open it.”
I pulled the gift closer to me and carefully pulled the tape away from the paper. I really had no idea what it could be, but it was my first present, and I was so excited! Inside the paper was a belt rolled up. I was confused. I didn't like belts, and this one looked way too big for me. I pulled my hands away and Bruce surrounded me with his arms as he reached out to take hold of the belt. Since he had untucked my shirt while I was playing with the package, I tugged my shirt down and watched his hands on the belt.
“I picked this one out just for you. See how nice and big the buckle is? It's going to make you cry. Here, take this marker.” Bruce forced the marker into my hand and then unrolled the belt. “Write your name on the leather. We’ll hang it up on the hook over there. Then everyone will know that's for you.”
I held the marker tight in my hand, scared to move. He grabbed me by my hair and pushed my head down to the table. The scent of leather filled my nose.
“Write your fucking useless name!”
I pulled the cap off and wrote my name then set the marker down. Bruce picked it up and forced it back in my hand.
“No, you're not done,” he said and spelled out what letters he wanted me to add.
I
t read, “I am a mistake and no one likes me.”
“Shall we test it out?” he asked.
He pressed my head against the table again, pulled my pants down and beat me with my new present. I wanted to disappear forever. No one would even come looking for me. My tears fell, but I made no noise, and when he let go of my head, I slid to the floor.
Bruce hung the belt up on the hook by the large buckle and stared at me.
“Why don't you give your mother and I some peace and quiet tonight. Here, take this. It's your dinner. Don’t make your mom have to see the mistake she accidentally made. I don't want to see you out of your fucking room. Understand?”
I turned my head when he threw a handful of crackers at my face, and a dinner roll bounced off my chest. I gathered the tiny crackers and roll and stood up. My body was on fire. I held my shirt out, making a basket out of it for my dinner, and pulled my pants up.
“Happy birthday, you fucking accident.”
I hurried to my room, closed the door and sat on the floor against it, crying. I sat there as long as I could until the pain from the belt forced me off the floor. As I ate my food, tears ran down the side of my face. I could taste the salt from them, mixed with my roll. I colored in my He-Man coloring book and wondered if I would be successful at running away.
My dad’s gently squeezing hand on my shoulder brought me back to the present. I tried to focus but kept getting pulled back.
“It’s okay, Anthony.”
I told him about the belt from Bruce when I turned seven. He didn’t say anything, but he pulled me into a hug. At first, I tried resisting the hug because I didn’t think that I wanted to be touched. Once he had his arms around me though, I liked it. I could feel my dad taking a deep breath, and he exhaled it loudly.
“Well, you haven’t had a fun birthday, and I never got to be around you for your birthday. So today will be a first for both of us. What would you like to do?”
What would I like to do? I had no idea. I shrugged my shoulders.
“Well, what is something you always wanted to do?”
What was something that I always wanted to do? I always wanted away from my mother, Bruce, and Connor. I had that now and was happy.