Corrective Punishment

My lip was pulsing, I had a tooth loose, and I had a faint metal taste floating around in my mouth. Tears were running down my face not because I was crying, but from the impact. My left eye was still blurry when my mother walked into my bedroom with an ice pack.

           “Here put this on your eye so it doesn’t swell too badly,” she said not even looking upset.

           I shook my head, “Why do you care if it swells?  You didn’t care when he beat me.”

           “He wasn’t beating you,” she said. “He calls it corrective punishment.”

           I laughed through my fat lip, “Corrective punishment is a belt to butt, not a fist to a twelve year olds face.”

           She laid the ice pack down on the bed next to my leg. “He’s just trying to teach you responsibility.”

           I had to restrain myself to keep from crying, I didn’t want him to have that satisfaction. “I forgot to check the mailbox on my way in from school. How is that worthy of this beating?”

           She wouldn’t look me in the eyes, “He has rules, just follow them, and things will be fine.”

           “And what rule did I break last weekend,” I asked.

           “You called him Jim,” she said looking at the carpet.

           “That’s his name,” I replied.

           She looked back at my ice pack, “You’re supposed to call him dad.”

           I pushed the ice pack back towards her, “He’s not my dad. He’s the guy you started dating and moved in here, you’re not even married.”

           She got up, “Be that as it may, he’s the man of the house so you need to show your respect.”

           She walked out and left me sitting there bleeding. I cut the light out and rolled over. I wondered how many kids at my school were going through a similar situation. What I would give to be able to change into a full grown version of myself at will. Next time he went to throw me a beating I could change into an equal age version of myself, and then I’d teach him a lesson.

           I closed my eyes and wished my real dad would come find me, and take me away from this nightmare. I’ve never met him, but he had to be better than what I had now. I probably had a bunch of family out there that I would fit right in with. Cousins that I could play with, maybe even a brother.

           If I knew where they lived I would just run away. I’ve considered running away anyway, but I don’t know where to go. I don’t have any money so I’d only have what I could carry. It probably wouldn’t take long before someone pointed a cop in my direction, and then I’d be in for a crippling beat down when I got home. Maybe I could hop a train at night. If I was lucky it wouldn’t stop for a couple states. If I laid low long enough I might get put into a foster system and avoid the missing child alert, if I got reported in the first place.

           The next morning I went to the bathroom to clean up for school and assess the damage. My eye was only half swollen shut but my lip was four times the size it should be with dried blood half down my chin. I carefully wiped at it with a wet wash cloth until my mother called.  I was going to be late for the bus. I missed the bus once, it was a Friday. Luckily for me I had the weekend to heal up.

           I walked downstairs with my backpack on to see Jim sitting at the kitchen table. He was staring at me over his coffee mug. “Trust you won’t forget the mail again.”

           I turned and made it to the front door when my mother grabbed me. “You should’ve used the ice pack. If your teacher asked you what happened tell them you were playing football with your friends.”

           “What friends’ mom,” I asked. 

           “Foster homes can be a lot worse,” she said trying to convince me.

           I saw the bus rounding the corner, “I think I’m willing to roll the dice on that mom.”

           As I cleared the threshold I heard Jim yell, “You’ll live to regret that!”

           The bus driver motioned me to the first seat. I just wanted to go to the back and avoid everyone’s gaze, but wasn’t that lucky. He asked me if I was alright, and of course being the scared child I am said yes. I tried to tell him I got it playing football, but he didn’t buy it.

           “I used to play football,” he said driving. “Those aren’t the marks from football.”

           The pit of my stomach was starting to hurt, I felt sick. I didn’t know what kind of trouble I was going to get into for lying to him, but I knew what was going to happen if I told the truth. Some more kids got on and went to the back.

           “I’m not going to ask you what happened,” he said as we neared the school. “I pretty much know what happened, and I know you were probably told not to say the truth. But I’ll tell you this, you’re not powerless. A bully uses fear to try and keep you down mentally so you don’t realize you can fight back. They might be bigger than you but you have your wits to fight back with.”

           When he opened the door I squeezed in between a group of kids to avoid any more awkward conversation. I went the whole day, and not one teacher asked me about my injuries. They’d seen me with similar ones so I guess they were numb to the view. None of the kids inquired either. I don’t know if I was upset or relieved they didn’t.

           For the ride home I got a substitute bus driver. I avoided her gaze and made my way to the back. My day was nearly over. The plan was to get everything done as quickly as possible and go straight to bed. I had less than two thousand days until I could legally move out on my own and the faster I could get through them the better. But all of that seemed to fade away when we turned the corner and I saw the cop car in my driveway.

           Normal kids would probably be worried something happened to their mom or dad, but not me. I knew why they were there and it wasn’t going to end well for me. I didn’t want to get off the bus. My body was already hurting from the coming beating. I was fighting back the tears.  I didn’t want the remaining kids to see me sobbing on my way off.

           The bus driver didn’t hesitate, as soon as both feet hit the asphalt she was pulling away. I half expected her to ask me questions or something. Foolish of me to think someone would look out for my well-being. I stood there on the edge of the sidewalk looking at my house. Now would be a good time to run away, but I didn’t have any supplies.

           The cop opened the door; I guess he saw the bus. “If you don’t mind I’d like to talk to him alone for a moment.”

           He walked out and met me in the grass. “Hey buddy,” he said looking my face over. “I’m Officer Owens. Someone made a call that you were being mistreated at home. If that’s true now’s the time to tell me, and I can help.”

           This was what I had been waiting on for a long time now, someone who would believe me and help. But I looked over his shoulder and saw Jim staring at me out the window and lost all my nerve. I looked down at his feet and shook my head, “I was playing with some friends and fell.”

           I heard him sigh, “Are you sure that’s what happened?”

           I nodded and he lowered his voice, “I can get you somewhere safe. Somewhere you don’t have to be scared or hurt all the time.”

           I looked up to his eyes, “Can you guarantee I’ll never have to come back?”

           I saw the sadness fill his face, “No I can’t.”

           “Then that’s what happened,” I said walking past him to the mailbox.

           After he finished talking with the adults he sat in his car for a while. I thought if I continued to get my chores done and got into bed maybe things would smooth over, but fantasies are for books and cartoons. As soon as the cop car’s headlights left the window Jim was standing in my doorway.

           “You think it was cute to tell you teacher you’re being beaten,” he asked holding a boot sock and a bar of soap.

           I shook my head, “I didn’t tell anyone anything, though it probably wasn’t hard to figure out by my face.”

           He pushed the soap down to the bottom of the sock and I realized what it was for. “You sure do have a smart mouth, but I know how to fix that.”

           My mom walked up behind him and seen what was about to happen. “What are you doing,” she asked.

           “Corrective punishment,” he said. “Go back downstairs and finish dinner.”

           Silly me, I thought she was going to protect me. She did hesitate for minute, but eventually turned and did what she was told. He pulled on the sock to stretch it out and closed the door.

           He motioned his head towards the door, “See how well she listens. Don’t worry, you will too. If you scream out it’ll get worse.”

           I did what any scared kid would do, I curled up on my bed trying block most the hits. At some point I took one to the side of my head and everything went black. I didn’t have any dreams. I really could’ve used a nice dream to get me away from reality for a while.

           I woke in the early hours of morning, but it was still dark out. My ears were ringing and my body felt like I’d be ran over by a car. Laying there in the dark I just wanted to die. I started going through all the ways I could do it, and none of them would work. There weren’t any guns in the house, Jim was probably afraid I’d shoot him. All the trees on the block were small decorative ones that couldn’t support my weight.

           I guess I could do it from the banister but if it broke then I’d get another soap beating. I could cut myself but I’m not sure I could go through with it once I started. Even if I did I’ve heard it takes a long time and my mom would see before I was gone. I could try the pill route, but I don’t know how many it would take. Being my luck I’d just get sick. If only I had one good solid option.

I painfully and quietly made my way to the bathroom. I tried to keep some up pressure on the door so it wouldn’t squeak as it closed. The toilet water had a red tint to it when I was done. I stared at it for a moment realizing I wasn’t going to survive those days I was counting down.

           I pulled off my shirt and looked at the mirror. My body looked like a Dalmatian. I opened the medicine cabinet to get something for my headache. I wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep with the pounding between my ears. Then I saw the bottle next to the aspirin and a plan popped into my head like someone standing behind me whispered it into my ear.

           It was Saturday morning, soon my mom would get up and go to the grocery store and Jim would sit at the table drinking coffee and reading the paper. It was perfect. I grabbed the bottle of generic Benadryl and opened it. Jim would take two when he couldn’t sleep and pass out within the hour.  I poured out ten into my hand and put them in my pocket. My headache disappeared and my pain eased with the thought of my new plan.

           I went downstairs and carefully broke open the capsules into the coffee pot. I was going to put them in the bottom of the filter but it didn’t seem fool proof. I put a couple extra scoops of grounds in the filter with hopes it would be stronger to block the taste. I sat at the table waiting for my moment to start.

           Not long after the sun rose I heard them stirring around upstairs. Jim likes to keep to a schedule and for once I was happy for it. I turned on the coffee maker waiting for it to start dropping hot liquid. Once it did I started swirling the pot to dissolve the powder. I set it from four cups to two just as a precaution.

           I went out and got the paper and put it in front of Jims chair at the table and pulled out his favorite mug. I had it full and next to the paper when he came down the stairs. He looked at the pot, me, and then the table. I got nervous he might be catching on to my plan.

           “You only made half a pot,” he said sternly as my mom walked down next to him.

           I shook my head, “You always say the last cup is cold, I figured I can make the other half when you’re ready and I’ll all be steaming hot like you want.”

           He smiled and looked back at my mom, “See, he’s already getting better.”

           She kissed my forehead, “Alright I’m going to the store. You two behave.”

           I grabbed a school book and sat at the table pretending to study but waiting for his cup to get low for a refill. At the bottom of the first cup I saw his eyes getting heavy so I eagerly got up and grabbed the pot. I’ve never been so happy to fill his mug, but I fought back the smile I wanted to use.

           “You’re going to have to make another pot the caffeine doesn’t seem to be working,” he said with a sleepy tone.

           “No problem,” I said walking back to the sink. I rinsed out the pot real good before I put it back on the maker and flipped it back on. I went back to my book as he finished his cup. A few minutes later he was having trouble keeping his head up.

           He got up, “Scratch the coffee I’m going to lay back down. Get your chores done before I get up.”

           He stumbled up the stairs. I was surprised he was able to make it to his bed. I peeked in the doorway to see him. He was lying on his back spread out like he was trying to make a snow angel. I didn’t know if he was out or just dozing so I clapped my hands loudly and he didn’t budge. With a smile I ran to the garage and back like a flash.

           Thankfully he keeps the heavy duty plastic cable ties for work. Cops use them in the movies so I figure they have to work. I strapped his feet together and then to the bed frame. I did the same to his hands and the headboard. I poured his third mug slowly over his torso waking him up. 

           He started hollering but I got his attention really quick when he saw me waving a claw hammer. “I’m going to give you the same benefit you gave me alright.”

           “Yeah,” he said fighting his restraints. “And what’s that you spoiled pathetic little…”

           I cut him off, “If you scream it’s going to get a whole lot worse.”

           “When I get loose the beating I’m going to throw you…”

           I start pounding him in the gut and he started wailing. I hit his legs, knees, and chest until I was winded. He was sobbing, cussing and threatening me. I dropped the hammer on the ground and wiped my forehead on my sleeve.

           “This isn’t a beating Jim,” I said smiling. “This is corrective punishment.”

           “When your mother gets home I’m going to kill you,” he said between sobs.

           “You must’ve forgotten what I said in the beginning,” I said going to the end of the bed. “You’re going to wish you listened more carefully. You screamed out Jim. Remember that one time when I was seven and I screamed out, you broke my arm during the second round. I was seven, what do you think the punishment for a grown man screaming out should be?”

           He shook his head, “You’re dead when I get up.”

           “Wrong answer,” I said holding up the small gas can for the push mower. I uncapped it and poured it down his body. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a box of matches holding out a single one.

           “You don’t have the sack for it,” he said. “And this isn’t enough gas to kill me.”

           I nodded, “Probably not, but once that mattress starts going… well you know.”

           I could see the panic in his eyes, “You’d sit in prison for the rest of your life over me?”

           I shook my head, “I’m twelve and covered in bruises, I like my chances.”

           I ran the stick down the side of the box and held it up. The fire was beautiful. The light was so pure, like it was taking away all my pain. It was drowning out all of his screaming…so much power in one little stick. Then I let go.