Chapter 3
Down Hill From Here
I learned that things can always get worse
after that. But things can always get better when you have someone who actually
cared about your well being. I was proud of my accomplishments as small as they
were. Dad had gotten me interested in woodworking and building models from
fancy rustic cars to model airplanes. Not the snap together kind; but the kind
that had lots of detail and pieces, having to paint and glue each individual
piece. And the puzzles that would take me months to put together, things were
looking better and better.
Because of my hard work, I had won several trophies in Box Car Derby races in
my region; first, second and third. I also placed second place for my speech
titled To Be An American. My Grandmother and foster parents were quite proud.
Of course, my parents could careless; didn’t bother showing up and refused the
invitation in the first place.
It was easier to make friends at school since I didn’t have to leave abruptly
so often; even in church and scouting. Before I knew it I was ordained a deacon
and graduated from the primary. It was a very happy moment when my Dad, not my
father, confirmed me to become a Deacon. (Look it up at http://www.LDS.org )
Mom was so proud and threw a party in my honor. Even my Grandmother came; my
parents weren’t invited this time.
I had learned to play the piano, which earned my music badge, while my Mom
prepared a special solo concert with my friends and Grandmother in attendance.
Refreshments were served afterward, including my favorite, double chocolate
chip cookies. An extra plate had been set aside just for me.
It was the only time I ever saw Jeff growl as if I had done something wrong.
Like I said, he was in out so much, it seemed like I was the only child. He
barely said two words to me some days. He was never cruel towards me. He would
always come down to visit me when I had done something wrong or I was grounded
as they chained me to the bed in my room. Because of my habit of running away
when things were bad. I had only runaway five times and it was mostly when I
had just started to live there. We would talk for hours as he tried to make me
feel better and we became close, very close.
For the first time, I could remember my birthday was a big deal and was celebrated
like everyone else's. Instead of being given extra chores and dishes for a month
and cursed for being born as my presents put it; I received actual gifts. There was
even a party with balloons, streamers, and a cake with my name on it. That was
a new experience for me. My grandparents were the only ones that had ever given
me presents until now.
Mom gave me a hamster and I named her Buttercup; she had
this problem of escaping her cage like me in a way. The funny thing was we
always found her as my Mom kissed her on the head and placed her back into her
cage. Dad gave me a kitten; he wasn’t allowed in the house when they were not
at home. For some reason, Buttercup didn’t like him.
Things were good. Even things at home, according to the state, were improving
and the home visits were reinstated. Scouting was a big thing in my life at the
time. I was always trying to make them proud. I had earned twenty-one merit
badges and my Arrow of Light. I needed twelve more to make me an Eagle, but it
wasn’t in the cards. The wind shifted, trouble was coming.
I will never forget that day. Dad and Mom went out of town on a business trip
leaving Jeff to watch over me while they were gone. They have learned to trust
me and take care of myself and get up and go to school on my own. As long as I
did my chores and my homework was done. I could play with my friends when they
came over, but they weren’t allowed in the house when they weren’t home.
When Jeff went to work I was to check in with the neighbors next door and they
would randomly check on me making sure I was alright. Dad trusted me, but I
still had to promise I wouldn’t run away while they were gone. I was told that
if anything happened he would know and I would be severely disciplined. I knew
he meant it and if I was good we would do something special the next weekend.
Just me and him and Jeff if he could get work off, if not it would be just us
two.
I always looked forward to those special weekends as we went camping and
fishing even though I hated fish, I was learning not to be scared of them as
they wiggled on the line. We always caught more than our share. I hated gutting
them the most and the thought of killing them always gave me nightmares, but
Dad had a saying. ‘God made the world and fish were placed in this world for us
to eat, like the meat on our table.’ He would also remind me that Jesus was a
fisherman and he too likes to fish with his father and friends.
It still seemed to bother me, but I loved meat as much as the next kid. Mom was
an excellent cook and so was Dad; compared to my parents who could not hold a
candle to them. Swimming was also great as we raced back and forth in the pond,
very few times I would beat Jeff or my Dad as we raced. And I was learning not
to be embarrassed to take my shirt off to swim or when I was out in public
riding my bike or working in the yard on hot summer days; since the bruises on
my chest and back had healed considerably, and I was actually becoming tan from
working and playing in the sun.
In some ways, I had come along ways from the Eskimo suit I used to wear, but I
still had a hard time with my boyish modesty. That Mom and Dad would make me
take off my shirt and run around in shorts, on nice and very hot days. I was
getting better at it the longer I did it but had a very hard problem reverting
back when it came back from home visits. As time went on the battle wasn’t
nearly as bad once I realized why my parents did, which was to cover up for the
bruises they would give me. Mom and Dad always knew when I covered up again that
I was hiding them, and once more would fight me to let them see. It took a long
time to trust them, but when I learned that they loved me and didn’t find my
body a freak of nature. My parents were starting to lose a foothold when it
came to putting me back into my Eskimo suit and be a normal happy boy.
Yes, sir, I had planned to be as good as gold, to earn that special time with
him. I was true to my word after they left and did all my chores and made sure
my homework was done. I went the whole day and into the next without any signs
of Jeff and was getting worried. He didn’t even bother to say goodbye as they
had left the driveway.
I remember the wind blowing as I played in the leaves that I had just raked
into a huge pile to jump into. Before I heard the front door slam shut.
Thinking it was the neighbors checking in on me I gave it no thought and
continued on with my leaves. After a few minutes and no sign of my neighbors or
Jeff, I had a strange feeling that something was wrong and went into the house
to check on things. The only noise I heard was coming from Jeff’s room down the
hall. I sighed with relief because I hated being alone in an empty house,
sometimes it creeps me out. The strange noises sometimes made me feel that
someone was watching me, but when I turned around nobody was there.
I made my way to Jeff’s room and had barely opened the door when the shotgun
had fired and his body fell to the floor. I watched as the blood seeped around
him. I couldn’t move my eyes as they seemed transfixed on his cold dead eyes
and the gun on the floor. I had no idea how long I stood there trying to scream
before my neighbor rushed into the house and carried me away. I stood shocked
and shook with fear trembling in my neighbor's arms as we waited for the authorities
to arrive. I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t cry as I remembered standing there
shocked to my very core.
I spent that night in my neighbor’s house while my Dad and my Mom hurried home.
I remember them being so angry with me as if it was my fault. Maybe it was? I
was never allowed back into the house ever again not even to apologize. I felt
abandoned, not knowing what I did wrong, as they refused me. I saw the hate in
their eyes and the disappointment. It was the first time I cried begging them
for their forgiveness as they yelled hateful words saying. “Why didn’t you stop
him? We trusted you, and this how you pay us back.” It was soon after my
caseworker came to get me and take me away from the only family that I thought
that loved me. I would cry over and over that nobody wanted me. I was nothing
but trash and deserved not to be loved.
Knowing going home was not a possibility just the mere thought of me going home
back to my parent’s house and living there.
Jeff death was just one more thing my parents would hang over my head.
The words echoed in my mind. “You murdered him. It was all your fault. You are
nothing; you are trash. Why would somebody love you? You will always be a
disappointment.” It put such fear in me having those words flung at me over and
over. I would rather die than go home where my father could beat me over and
over again and my mother wasn’t any better.
I remember clearly the cold nights when I was younger being placed into a cage
that my father built on the porch just so they didn’t have to look at me. With
barely a blanket and my small clothes to keep me warm as I shivered in the
cold. My cries muffled as they dropped a large tarp over the cage, and poked me
with a sharp stick to keep me quiet.
Sometimes they would
leave me in some abandoned field to fend for myself or until some stranger took
pity on me. Thinking I was homeless due to my worn out rags as they hung
loosely around me; barefoot and dirty from head to toe. Or leave me in a store
as I played with the toys, or forget me altogether in the hands of the daycare
personnel. No, to say I was a wanted child would not come close. I was a
nobody, a disappointment to everyone, and now a murderer. How could anyone love
me after that?
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