Tag Archives: dear teddy

Alley Kid Part Four

by

10

The days crawl by; each breath I take feels laboured. Each minute is unbearable. The thought of another twenty four hours like this one, has me chomping at the bit in desperation to make it go faster. I’m not sure how I’m going to last. I take a breath and let it out slow; something to calm me, but it does little except to give me something to do for a couple of seconds.

There isn’t any food in the house.  My stomach growls. Even that cannot wait until the next day. But that’s just a false promise. Food will not be the first thing I reach for.

Cigarettes are about all I have and those are on a limited supply; each one like a check point for another hour passing, signalling that it’s time to smoke my next one.

I’m thankful I don’t have Will. A slight lie to his mother and grandmother that he wanted to stay over and well, we just didn’t have time to make any breakfast, he wanted to get there so fast. At least he can have food and more warmth than I can offer him here; my failings, once more, as his father.  Course, he’s so easy to agree to those things. I know how his little mind works. It’s simple and limited. Special, I tell him.  Some days, I hate that he has special needs. I curse myself for my part in the fact that he isn’t like other children his age. Other times, his mind is so unique, I love him just the way he is.

I wonder what that says about me as a person. Wishing that my son was normal. Shouldn’t I be happy that he’s alive and that I have him? I wonder if all parents of children with special needs think this way. Maybe it’s one of those things that are unsaid.

Colin, on the other hand, doesn’t have a choice. There isn’t anyone I can fob him off to and get his belly filled. He hasn’t complained yet, but it doesn’t stop me feeling bad about it.

I have no money to turn on the gas meter, nothing to fill the fridge. My last meal was a bowl of frozen peas that I couldn’t afford to cook on the stove. I used boiled water from the kettle. All I had was pepper to flavour them. The boys had eaten of course. Some fish fingers and oven chips I had used up on them with the last of the bread we had. At least they had gone to bed with somewhat full stomach.

It feels like a never ending cycle.

I envy people who can feed their kids and take them out and give them treats. They have no idea how lucky they are.

Neither Colin nor I have eaten since last night. My stomach growls its aggravation at the situation. Colin is sat on the chair watching cartoons. I try not to feel guilty. I tell myself he isn’t my responsibility, but I can’t help it.

Joanne comes home. I’m not sure where she has been and I don’t ask. I don’t care so much. A friend of mine is with her. Maz and her son Mikey. More like a sister than a friend; Maria is her real name, but a long affair with Temazepam earned her the nickname.

She sits next to me and puts her arm around me. Joanne never bothers when we do this. I often wonder if she cares as little as I do. Sometimes it feels like Maz is the only one who understands. She doesn’t have to say a thing. It’s unspoken in a way. I lie here and feel calm.

I playfully poke her rounded belly and tell the baby to move up because it’s in the way and I need to lie down. Maz laughs and jabs me in the arm.

She knows I’m kidding.

Mikey sits with Colin and they get out my old games console. Mikey isn’t much older than Colin, perhaps just a few months. They sit and chat like they have known each other forever and Colin resembles the child he’s supposed to be. Mikey turns and smiles up at me.

“We’re going to the cinema later,” he tells me, and I can hear the unasked question in his voice.

Its Maz’s day to visit with Mikey. Four days a month she gets him. He’s in the system. His foster parents are great and she has that to be thankful for. They seem to care about Mikey and his mother reuniting eventually. Of course, she has to give up the heroin for that to happen. She’s trying, but it’s a cycle that’s hard to break. Tomorrow will be the usual. The sorrow in her eyes as she leaves him  with a family that’s better for him. People that can offer more than she ever can. Just as I know with Will, she knows with Mikey There are people far better equipped to take care of our children than us.

Maybe I’m selfish that I don’t let him go but, his mother can’t take him fulltime. She can’t cope with how he is. She wants him to be normal as much as I do, but for her, a cheap bottle of cider seems easier to deal with than a son with Aspergers.

Maz has already decided that she’s going to have the baby at home. As soon as it comes into the world the authorities will have it, then what does she have to live for?

“Do you want to come with us?” Maz asks me and Colin’s eyes light up for a fraction of a second with hope until reality sets in.

I don’t have to say anything. He gives a sigh and, like me, knows that we can’t.

I shake my head at Max. “I don’t have the money.”

“You’ve necked it all?” She asks me.

“I haven’t had any phet for days.”

. She sits up and forces me to sit up myself. She’s mad at me. I can feel her mood change like the snapping of a band.

“Have you eaten today?”

I don’t answer her and Joanne doesn’t say anything.

“God  damnit James,” she says and gets off the sofa. “You’ve got no food, no money. What about Will and Colin?”

“Will is at his mothers,” I tell her, but I can hear how pathetic I sound.

Someone bangs on the front door and I jump at it. So many visitors and each one  makes me anxious.

“It’ll be Froggy,” Maz says.

Her boyfriend. His real name’s Pete. Tall and lanky with long black hair. I’m not sure why we call him Froggy, but we do.

“It might be the police,” I say. “They’ve been here three times this week looking for Mark.”

“What are you doing James? You’re going to wind up losing these boys.”

 

Back Alley Kid Three

by

5

The two policemen search my flat, room by room. Not really looking, but more of an ‘I can’t be bothered’ glance into each.  Sometimes, it helps to be classed as some kind of scum to them; they don’t really care about anything as long as it doesn’t cause them too much trouble. I wonder if I come under that label too.

I feel my chest tighten as they reach my lounge and then my bedroom. The stairs are next, shielded at the moment by a door  a door that   feels like it is waving  and flagging  them down to say,  look in here.

I hold Colin’s hand, not for his comfort, but for mine; something to do with my hands and a reason not to pull my own hair out with despair as I watch. It’s like slow motion. I hold my breath on instinct, waiting for the bang in the situation; the sound of my life exploding.

My front door opens again and I turn to see from my position in the hallway. My anxiety spikes with the chaotic invasion of so many people all at once. My head feels like it wants to implode; the fragments of my skull crushing my brain and making my thoughts swim.

I fight the urge to follow the police. The nervousness inside threatens to make me shake on the outside, too.  I am stuck between wanting to get the police out and wanting to go to Joanne, my girlfriend, as she enters the flat.

“What’s going on?” she asks and I tell her they are looking for Mark.

“Have you seen him?” I shake my head.

Phil comes in behind Joanne. I don’t notice him at first; not really a friend, but an enemy I keep close and one  that I let use me on occasion when  I can  benefit . A strange friendship with a mutual lack of trust. He isn’t so bad, but I know that if the need came up, he’d bail on his friends and save himself. His girlfriend, Becci, is with him. I nod hello to them and turn myself back to the police, remembering my anxiety.

“What’s up here?” One of them asks as he opens the door to the attic stairs.

“Just junk,” I say with a shrug.

He flicks the light switch; the bulb hums, blinks twice, and comes on.

Colin moves forward as the officer climbs the stairs. He doesn’t go all the way up but just enough to see into the attic.

I let my breath out as the officer comes back down and turns the light off, but my anxious mind wonders why Mark wasn’t seen. In my head, I see the layout of the room; the piles of boxes still unpacked and dumped in complete disarray where they were out of sight.

The police are leaving but before they make their descent of the steps that lead into the alley way, one turns.

He asks me to contact them if I see Mark. I nod my head, take their card and give my fake promise.

Back inside, I lock the door.

It’s a moment before anyone moves. Even the police take what feels like hours to start their engine and drive away, but they take my apprehension with them and I go to the attic myself and make my way up the stairs.

Colin comes with me and we stand side by side scanning the room. I can’t see Mark, either.

A panel in the wall moves and Mark crawls out and dusts himself off. It is like something out of an old English horror film and all that’s missing are the books and candlelight.

“How did you find that?” I ask.

“I pushed it and it moved,” he said, as if it was enough explanation.

“You’ve got to go back to the farm,” I tell him. “I can’t risk you being here.”

I am only a tick away from going down myself, as I walk the tightrope of the law, and.. I don’t want to tip it and fall off. I think about Will, my son. I know the limits I can push.

“I’ll take him,” says Phil, nodding toward Mark.

“I’ve got a job for you,” he tells me, and my mind clicks to wondering why he is offering a good deed. Never would he do something through kindness.

“Sure,” I say.

Mark says goodbye and I feel Colin’s despair; deeper each time Mark leaves.  So young to be left in the world by himself and in those moments, I wish I could make it better for him. I know what it’s like to be alone at his age. He is a child lost in an adult world, too small to matter, too quiet to be heard, and too young for anyone to care.

Will comes home not long after and I tell him and Colin that its bath and bed time. Colin protests, of course. Sometimes, he forgets his age, but he’s in bed and asleep before Phil gets back.

My head is getting tired. I can feel it is too heavy and I really just can’t be bothered. Some days, I wish it was possible for me to close my eyes and not open them again. There isn’t much joy in my world other than my son, and more often than not, I am sure that he would be better without me in his life. Only fear that my father would get his hands on Will, keeps me alive.

My body wants to rest. The artificial energy is going fast, and I just want a few more hours of that feeling. The high is where my life feels good. Just a little while longer. It isn’t much to ask. I can sleep tomorrow when the sun comes up, and face my demons in the light.

Phil has come back, but I need to clear my mind. The sadness is building in my chest like an unwelcome visitor; so thick, I can reach inside and touch it.

I tell Joanne, Phil, and Becci that I’m going to get a shower. I won’t be long, I don’t feel good. It isn’t a lie, but I don’t tell them what’s in my pocket.

My envelope of clean needles is stuffed behind the water tank. I light a cigarette and pull them out. Joanne knows they are there but I don’t want Will or Colin getting hold of them.

Mixing my phet is easy enough. I could probably do it with my eyes closed. I finish making my hit and smoking my cigarette at the same time.

The raised bump in the crook of my arm calls out like a hungry bird. I’ve used it so many times that I don’t have to force the vein into place.

The others are chatting away in the lounge. I don’t fit in with them. Their words annoy me. I developed a clever act over time to pretend to be like a normal person, but sometimes, I wonder why I try at all.

I let out a tired sigh as I push the needle in my arm and inject the solution. I close my eyes for a few seconds and when I open them again, I someone else. A whole new person with life inside. A resurrection of who I was meant to be.

I get into the shower and stand, letting the water beat down on my back. The adrenaline from my hit runs up my spine like bubbles with spider legs that carry everything I need to feel great. I breathe fast with it, letting it ride over me and inside as it clears away all the darkness. My mind awakens and every part of my body becomes alive, again.

I wash, dress, clear away my things, and light another cigarette. I am a new person. I scoff at who I was just moments before. Pathetic and broken. A loser.

“Better?” Joanne asks when I enter the lounge.

She’s sat on the floor, with Phil on the sofa and Becci on the floor between his legs. I tell her yes and throw her the foil with what’s left of my phet.

“Excellent,” she grins, and unwraps the foil. She doesn’t take it the same as me. Instead, she wraps it in a cigarette paper and swallows it like a pill.

“That’s the last of it,” I tell her.

“Maybe not,” says Phil. “I’ve got something I need you to do. A thousand pounds,” he says. “We can split it fifty-fifty.”

A thousand pounds. My mind clicks. It’s a huge amount. I have never had that much before. I weigh up how much phet I can buy verses the food I could put in the cupboard. I could feed the boys.

“What do I have to do?” I ask.

“There is a new television,” Phil explains to me. “Two grand, it’s worth.”

My heart sinks at his words.

“I can’t break in somewhere. I can’t risk getting caught.”

“You don’t have to; they’ll give it to you.”

I frown.

“You said no more,” says Becci to Phil, and before she has a chance to say anything else, Phil kicks his foot out and catches her jaw.

“Not here,” he tells her, like a disobedient child.

She doesn’t hide her tears as she clutches her mouth, but neither Joanne nor myself do anything about it. I feel a pang of guilt at the edge of my mind as I do nothing.

“Broke her jaw the last time I did that,” Phil laughs. “Didn’t I love?”

Becci nods but doesn’t say anything. She’s fine and we carry on.

“A television,” he continues. “I’ll give you the paperwork and all you have to do is pretend to be someone else, and play the part. Take it out on credit.”

“That’s it?”

Phil nods.

”Simple, right? They don’t even check this shit. Just go in and ask for a television, and they help you out to the car with it. Easy. My uncle wants it; he’s giving me the paperwork. He’ll give us a grand for it.”

“When?”

“Sunday.”

Five days. Five days with no phet and no food. A lifetime away, but what else do I have?

I tell Phil, yes.

 

 

 

 

Back Alley Kid Two

by

10

Two weeks he’s been with me and I wonder if his mother even cares. She knows where he is, I’ve seen her once before today. I can’t say it was the most pleasant of experiences; the dank alcohol smelling house with her rotting in the stench of her own urine and sweat.

Colin and I brave her house one more time. He needs clothes and I am not financially equipped to provide them for him. She’s laid on the sofa smoking a badly rolled cigarette and cursing each time as it goes out when she tries to take a drag from it. I hand her one of mine, not out of kindness, but out of the sheer need for her to stop talking with her voice grating against my nerves until she reaches the last one.

“What are you doing here?” She asks.

“Getting Colin some clothes,” I tell her.

She starts swearing some more; the obligatory list of insults for her son that are so reminiscent of the ones my own mother used for me. I shut off. The peeling green wallpaper in the corner holds my interest better than anything she has to say. Her cruel words mean nothing to me and I don’t wish to listen to them. I wonder if she and my mother were to have met, what a great conversation they would have had. Of course they can’t, my mother is dead. Colin is not that lucky.

I cast my thoughts away from both of them, not wishing to pull down the high I feel riding my spine from the amphetamines I took just a couple of hours before. Neither she nor the memory of my mother will bring me down.

Her slurred words are almost incomprehensible aside from the odd vicious word in her ever so polite way to tell Colin and I to get out of her f*****g house and not come back.

I don’t waste any time when I hear Colin bounding down the stairs with some clothes thrown in bags in a haphazard way. I take them from him and tell him we should go. He glances at his mother and I at him. It’s somewhat similar to watching history before my eyes. I feel the tug in my chest as I see him trying not to show me the tears in his eyes. I see the familiar sadness on his face and I know there is nothing I can do to fix it for him.

We walk down the road. “Want to get some food and play pinball?” I ask him.

He grins and nods his head before running off towards one of the local small stores. Of course, I have no money; the last of it is in my pocket wrapped up in tin foil disguised as my next hit.

Colin knows where we shop in this manner. We don’t use the same store all the time. We wouldn’t want to arouse suspicions. We work them all in turn.

Some part of me wants to feel bad for what I am doing, but my drug induced brain congratulates me for my accomplishments. No one can catch me. I can feel that inside. I can do anything.

I’m only feeding Colin, so we don’t need much. I haven’t eaten in two days, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll eat tomorrow when the drugs wear off and my body realises it’s been running awake with no fuel for three days.

We don’t take anything that can really be described as food. I shove a bottle of cola in my jacket and Colin lifts a selection of crisps and sweets before we make our exit and run. We run so fast towards my flat that I feel like I could run forever. If I was by myself, perhaps I would. To where, I have no idea. Anywhere. Away from life itself, if it was possible.

My whole body feels great and warm inside. There is nothing I can’t do. Nothing hurts and my normal bogged down mind feels weightless and free from the usual chaos. I feel like I could fly. It’s almost euphoric.

We get home and Colin plants himself on the lounge floor with his acquired picnic and I hand him the bottle of cola from inside my jacket. He sets up the Nintendo and someone knocks on the door.

I assume it’s either Joanne, my girlfriend, having forgotten her keys again, or my son being dropped off back home. He’s been with his mother for the weekend. His arrival signals the end to my recreational activities.

It isn’t my son though; it’s Mark, Colin’s older brother. He looks over his shoulder and walks into my flat without waiting for an invite.

“You did it again?” I ask him and he nods.

I wonder what the point is in the open detention centre for minors. The Farms, as it’s known, with open doors and no gates. Only the kid’s moral responsibility to their sentence is supposed to be enough to make them stay and come back. What farce of an agency thought that one up?

Colin hears Mark from the lounge and bounds along my hall to the kitchen. He launches himself at his brother and in a moment, looks childlike. The veneer of an adult has slipped from his face as he grins with a flash of his seven year-old smile, complete with missing teeth. Mark lifts his brother up in such an effortless manner. I look away and try not to intrude on their moment.

Another loud rap at the door startles the three of us and I look at Mark. Our words are unspoken as he sees my displeasure at the police at my door.

“The busies,” Mark whispers and I nod.

Mark puts Colin down runs through my house; I hear the door that leads to the attic open. He’s hidden himself before I even have chance to work out in my mind what I’m going to do. They knock on the door again.

I open it and two policemen stand there.

“We’re looking for Mark Richardson,” one says. “Have you seen him?”

I shake my head. “No, I haven’t,” I lie.

“Do you mind if we come in and take a look?”

My head screams no at me. The thought of Mark hiding upstairs feels like a beacon that will call them and then I’ve had it. Another mark against my name and surely this time would see me inside a cell somewhere myself.

My logical mind argues with me. If I don’t let them in, they will know he is here, and they’ll either watch the flat or get a warrant. Either way, I’m trapped.

I step back and let them in. Colin stares at me. I know what he thinks. I’m giving his brother up.

I have no other choice but to let them in and hope they are blind.

To be continued…..

Roller coaster week

by

8

What an odd week I have had.

So many things have gone on that my head feels like it’s on some odd kind of rollercoaster ride and I can’t quite get off

I lost a friend this week, a friend that acted in a cruel manner and I broke my making it to 1st October with the self-harm issue because I’m not equipped for such conflict. My count is back to zero. It had built up so much inside that I just had to let it out. It even made me ill enough that I got sent home from University. While I feel a lot of guilt that I gave into my own self-destructive behaviour, it was such a relief. It was like being able to breathe.

Of course, it hasn’t fixed the situation, I think it is probably for the best in many ways. I have days of wanting to be silent and days of talking. It’s too much to expect someone who doesn’t understand to handle I wonder if I should blame my parents for stealing my present too or if I should somehow tell myself to just deal with this and make myself get on with life.

I wrote today. It’s a part that has taken me a long time to do. It’s probably one of the hardest parts for me to write. It brings about so many feelings and so much anger that I don’t really know what to do with them. It feels like I can’t scream loud enough or I can’t get my words out. Nothing I will say will take away what I feel inside.

I think some part of me gets mad at the place I got sent; that it even exists at all. We read in the papers or see on the television often about how some person got arrested and had hundreds of indecent pictures of children on their computers. This is how the law cracks down on child pornography.

While I understand this part of the action, I don’t recall ever seeing news that the police closed down such a place where these images are made.

What about the poor children who are in these pictures? What about the adults that are also with them and doing many disturbing things? When will the law crack down on child pornography that way?

My father was a great one for that. He would rant and rave about these kinds of people that had these images. I would stand there and think really? It almost feels like I lived a different life to the morals he seems to spout to the world.

I remember coming back from such a place as this and my father asking me if I had had a good weekend. I was seven. What was I supposed to say to him? Yes? Should I spit out the horrors that I had just endured?

In my mind, I thought he didn’t know where I was or what I had been doing. He never spoke about it. I just got collected and delivered like goods. The things my parents said in normal life were the opposite of their actions on the other side.

I don’t think I know how to put it all together and tell my mind that my parents knew exactly where they had sent me; that it was their choice so, when my father asked, I had no choice but to nod in silence and tell him that I had.

Inside, I had died; even more so when I listened to the tales from my brother about everything that I had missed whilst I was gone. The things he had done with the family. A trip out to the funfair, a drive up to the country, new toys, new games, clothes, sweets, books. Everything that I didn’t have. I could never work out what I was doing wrong.

I wish there was a way I could get this all out in words. That I could take it out and put it here and leave it. But I don’t know how. I don’t know what to say to make it go away.

I guess this is kind of a ramble of things.

On a plus note, I got some replies from volunteering. Perhaps, at least, I can help someone else along the way.

Blog Flash Day 2 – Furry Friends

by

1

Fluffy friends, seems I’ve had a few of those in the past, but even the very essence of my books could be called a fluffy friend. Ted was fluffy once, his fur hugged away over many years, he guarded me, saved me, listened to me and while he was never anything more than my battered teddy bear, he was my fluffy friend.

Telling Teddy

by

4

Coming Soon

It’s been a few days since I last self-harmed.

That’s not bad for me right now. It had been an almost daily thing that I couldn’t fight and I found that I wasn’t writing. Not really.

I got myself into a schedule and set about the re-writes for Dear Teddy 2. Once I got into it, the self-harm stopped. So far.  In a way, maybe writing helps me dig out what I am trying to reach with knives.

I still don’t have a voice except when I am writing. Perhaps that is the only voice I have right now. It seems an effort to talk. Of course, I have managed to talk to people but I have had to make myself. In these last few days, it has been harder. Today, aside from one person, I have not talked at all.

I put that down partly to a bad night; partly to myself. Perhaps, finishing my book has made me silent today. I have no words. Fifty-two thousand words; two drafts. It has been through edits and proof reading and now to be beta read.

Dear Teddy 2 is done;  to be called Telling Teddy.

I feel the loss of not writing it. That is normal from any writing, I know, but the empty hole I try to fill feels bigger today.

Writing Tell Teddy has certainly been an interesting journey. I think, in ways, I am somewhat numb to it. Aside front the odd chapter the last one, on its own, took more to write than the entire book.

A friend of mine reads it as I go along. Her reactions to what she has read differ. Sometimes, I wonder why she can’t see things my way or why things she read are so black and white. It is because I forget she is looking in through the eyes of a boy. She is not the boy.

She read a chapter a few days ago; one where an official questioned me and then clearly walked away. She said that I got failed a lot and she was sorry for that. I think maybe this is a part that gets misunderstood.

I am glad that I got failed. I’m not sorry they did. To those reading, I could have been saved from a pair of monsters. To me, I would have been taken from my mum and dad; the only family I had.

And while I wished they didn’t do the things they did, they were ‘my’ mum and dad.

Dear Teddy.

by

5

        Sneak Peak. Doing rewrites of the next book in the Dear Teddy series and for some reason this one seems to be coming out in a different tense. Not that it is a bad thing, but clearly I don’t want to mess with something so much that it loses its readability.

I’m posting this here mainly for opinions of anyone who has read Dear Teddy already. If the change is bothersome. It’s a little triggering and a little graphic at the end, so please as always read with caution.

Thank you for your time.

***

I love my Mr. Ted. He is all mine and he is magic. He keeps me safe from the bad man. I hug him all tight. We sit on the floor by the fire. I don’t be allowed to sit on the chairs. I am too evil.

Me and Mr. Ted like to write stories. He tells me what to write. Then I draw the pictures about it and we make it all nice. I put it in my scrap book. My Nan bought me the scrap book. It is big and has lots of pages. It has a car on the front and my name.

I write about all my stories inside it. I don’t write about the bad man though. I don’t tell anyone about the bad man. He can hear me. He reads minds. Mr. Ted keeps him away.

My mum says she doesn’t want to hear about it. But the bad man makes me scared in my tummy. Mr. Ted says don’t tell anyone. If I do then the bad man will come and get me. My mum says he’s a demon. He is from the devil like me. But I’m not a demon. I’m just evil. But my mum is going to make me all better. She gives me medicine.

The medicine doesn’t get to work yet. That’s why the bad man comes at night. Then he does the hurt thing. It makes me scared. Mr. Ted says it’s a secret. The bad man bites me and scratches me. Then I don’t get away. My mum doesn’t hear me shout. The bad man makes me go to sleep.

Me and Mr. Ted write a story about a penguin and a mouse. I make all the pictures. They live together in the mouse house.  They are very happy. They go to the fair and have candy floss. The mouse is very kind. He shares all his things with the penguin.  He shares his candy floss. The penguin thinks it is very yummy.

Me and my Nan are going to the fair. It is my birthday and I get to be six. My mum and dad don’t come. They have lots of things to do at home.

I get candy floss. But I don’t get to give Mr. Ted any of it. My Nan says it will make his fur all sticky. Then my mum will be mad and he will have to go in the rubbish bin. He is my Mr. Ted. I didn’t want him to go away in the rubbish bin.

No candy floss for Mr. Ted. I tell him no. He doesn’t be sad about it. He is a good Mr. Ted.

I am allowed to go on the rides. They make it all tickle inside. My Nan goes on them too. She likes the rides. I hold onto my Nan’s hand. We get on rides that are like tea cups. We sit in the cup and it spins around in circles. It makes me all dizzy in my head. My Nan says I am being silly because it makes my tongue fall out of my mouth and my eyes go across.

There are big rides too. They go very fast and I want to go on them. I ask my Nan but she says I am too small.

I am big.

I am six.

My Nan says, “Not big enough.”

I pull a sulky face and make my arms fold up. But she says I was still too small. One day I will be big. Then I will go on them. There is a board with a line on it. I get to stand on my tip toes. My Nan says I am cheating.

We finish on all the rides and we get to ride on a tram. It is time to go home again. My Nan takes me to my house. My mum and dad are there. They don’t remember it is my birthday. But I am allowed them anyway until I don’t be evil anymore. My mum says when I am better I can have one like my brother does. I try my best to get better.  I take all my medicine.

I sit by the fire with Mr. Ted after my Nan goes home. We draw a picture about the candy floss and the tea cup rides.  My mum is in the kitchen. She is cooking dinner. It is roast chicken. My dad sits at the table and drinks his beer in the can. He asks me what I am doing. I tell him I am drawing a picture about the fair.

“Can I look at it?”

I show him my book. He gets the pictures in his big hands. He asks me if I drew them myself. I make my head all nod. Yes I did. They are mine.

My dad does the stare thing. “It’s bad to tell lies.”

But I don’t be lying. I did them myself. I didn’t trace them. Me and Mr. Ted made them. I get my paper and my pencil. I show my dad how to draw the rides and the penguin. He picks it up. He says it is very good.

My dad asks if he can look at my story. I show him the one about the fair. My dad sits on the floor with me and then he looks at my book. He reads it out loud. He makes a silly voices with it. It makes me laugh. He makes the voices sound all funny.

He gets my hand. He puts it inside his pants. I wish I got to hug Mr. Ted. My dad gets to the end of the page. He tells me to turn it to the next one. He says my stories were very good.  He wants to read some more. He keeps my hand in his pants until it get all wet. He tells me to go and wash my hands. It is nearly dinner time.

My Nemesis, the Badman.

by

8

My Nemesis, the Badman.

        It is not just bruises that child abuse leaves behind,  bruises are the things that heal the fastest.

He is there, when I turn off the light, when I close my eyes. When I lay down after a normal day. He is upstairs when my foot touches the bottom step and I stare, daring myself to go up. He is behind me. He is waiting. He is the shadow I cannot run from.

Every night he haunts my sleep. Yet he is no longer real. He is not physical, not just those years as a child he stole, but all the ones that followed.

In the darkness I lay down. I close my eyes and sigh and let the day go like everyone else. Seconds later my eyes open, I stare into the dark. I try and make the shadows nothing. I know he is not real any more, but I am waiting. I do not move. Do not blink. My breath is caught. I am 35, not 5 he cannot beat me anymore, but he does.

I am afraid to sleep. What if tonight he becomes real once more?

I see his face. Like a flash before my eyes. He is grinning. Smiling, yet I still don’t know his name.

Just the shadow of a bad man from long ago.

Read Dear Teddy.