My Name is Braxton
I walked home, slowing my footsteps every second. It was a hot and humid day in Alabama, and I was tired after a long day at school. When I got home, I was immediately scared. The three bottles of whiskey smashed on the sidewalk were not good signs. I carefully peeked through the door, then briskly ran upstairs. Dad had been here. He had gone through all of my stuff. Clothes were thrown on the floor, race medals snapped in half, almost everything was torn up, except for the picture of me and mom. Dad must have been real drunk, 'that explains the whiskey bottles outside,' I thought to myself.
-Three years ago-
Mom left us when I was in kindergarten. I had a great teacher, and some good friends too. Mom would always take me to kindergarten, wave goodbye and exchange a blow-kiss, it was my favorite part of the day. But on a gloomy morning, when it looked like rain, I woke up and mom wasn’t there. I didn’t want to go to kindergarten, not without mom, but dad had not been drunk the last night. His face was a red as a parrot’s as he socked me in the shoulder, then swung again, this time at my face. He took all his anger out on me, which resulted in a bloody nose, and a dislocated shoulder. The whole day thoughts were swimming in my head, “Why did she leave me!” and, “What did I do wrong?” I couldn’t think of them long because I had to focus on getting air into my lungs in between my sobs.
But then I knew why mom ran away. She ran because dad was a monster.
I never liked school again.
It rained that day, and it seemed very fitting that the mood of the world reflected mine. My pain and misery did not result in a sunny day, but a cloudy one, one with rain. I did not feel my pain alone, others had missed a sunny day.
I got out of the car to trudge my way to the building, “Braxton,” My father hissed, “don’t you tell a soul about the incident this morning. Or you know what awaits you.” There was no wave, no blow kiss.
At school that day I was too scared to say anything anyway. I burst into tears a few times, not because it hurt, but because I wanted mom back. I wanted her back, even though it had only been a few hours.
-Present day-
The next day I carefully slipped on my clothes. I didn’t know where dad had been last night, so no beating, but no peace either. I was worried all night he would come home and find reason to blame me for whatever had happened that night. I wore loose t-shirts so it didn’t hurt too bad. I grabbed the last banana from the fridge and headed out the door. Walking to school had become a habit of mine, got me more time away from dad.
School was the same as always, but I dreaded going back home. I had to take the bus, or I knew dad would beat me real good if I walked again, ever since mom left, he gets worried I’ll leave too, and he’ll have no one to take out his anger on. I really tried my luck last night, but if dad hadn’t come home last night that means real bad news. I got on the bus, and almost instantly I was home. I walked upstairs to my room, and laid on my stomach on my bed, and got the picture of my mom and I out. Just then I heard the front door open and slam shut. Just as quickly as this had happened, my dad was at my bedroom door barging in with such force he almost took the door off it’s hinges.
“Get up.” he said, fuming. “O-okay,” I stuttered, my voice breaking. I almost started crying just thinking of what was coming for me. He took me to the basement, locked the doors and made sure all the windows were closed. This was to make sure all the neighbors didn’t hear, but they wouldn’t care if they did. Beating your kids is the “social norm.” 4/7 of the other black kids in this area received whoppings for their misbehavings. They still didn’t know what I was going through, my dad knew just how to make it cut right into your back, make it sting like the dickens. “Take your clothes off,” he yelled gruffly. Then he added, “Quick!”. I took them off, tears welling in my eyes. He slowly, as if to torture me, took his belt off, one. loop. at. a. time. “You know what to do, why aren’t ya doing it?” He yelled, it was obvious he was still very drunk. But he was right, I did know what to do. I was to kneel in a praying position while he whipped me.
I heard the belt swing back, I cringed anticipating the pain. SNAP! “AAHhhh,” I quietly cried out in pain, he had struck me right across the middle of my back. And again, SNAP! this time across my thin boxers he let me leave on. I knew better than to cover by behind, last time I tried this I ended up with gashes across my hands. SNAP! This time in between my shoulders.
It went on like this for what seemed like hours.
- - -
As any 8 year old would, I love taking warm showers but whenever I do, it makes all the pain return. I have a towel that is blood stained. Though it is washed frequently it still has pink stains all over it. I laid on this towel for 15 minutes, trying to soothe the pain, then stepped into the cold shower. It soothed my pain ever so slightly, enabling me to think. I couldn’t take the whippings anymore.
In the shower I devised my plan.
My dad has to frequently clean his belt and leave it out on the clothesline to dry. He left it in the basement until after dinner though, which consisted of stale bread, and cheese. He went down to get his belt, soaked it up and left it outside. But it was dark and my dad knew it wouldn’t dry just in the night alone, he would have to leave it out til tomorrow.
I went upstairs, switched my lights off, and got in bed. My back hurt immensly, and all it would allow was a thin blanket to keep me warm. My mind was swimming with visions of how I would take his belt, and never be beat again. I let myself drift off to sleep.
The next morning I got up right before school. I carefully slid on an extra loose shirt, skipped breakfast and went out back. My dad has wrestling training early in the morning so he is gone for quite some time when I leave to school. I quickly took the belt off the line threw it in my backpack, and left for school. I got to school early and went around back to the dumpsters right before the garbage man got there, I threw the belt into the trash. I felt so free, so alive, but not without a sharp pain from my back.
I guess I didn’t think of the consequences.
- - -
I even skipped to the bus that day on my way home from school. “Finally! No more belt!” I said to myself. When I got home though, it was a whole new story. I walked in the door to see dad’s bright red face waiting for me in the kitchen. I saw the open can of beer on the counter and prayed he wouldn’t realize the belt was missing. “Braxton,” he said calmly, as if to frighten me more, “We need to talk.” “Uh oh,” I thought to myself, “no dad, no…” Dad continued, “My belt has gone missing. Do you know where it might have gone?” I was cornered; I couldn’t lie and say no, or he’d see right through me, but I couldn’t say yes either or I’d be slapped on the spot, no telling what would happen after. So I remained silent, which was also a mistake because dad saw right through that too. “Go downstairs,” he said, his voice rising with every word, “and wait for me while I find a replacement for the belt.” I had no choice, I went downstairs and got undressed so as not to aggravate him. I sat silently and waited for dad to come down with his new weapon.
I heard the faint sound of a chainsaw outside but thought nothing of it, until about 10 minutes later dad came down with one of the scariest things I’ve ever seen. It was a thin branch, though just thick enough for pain, and it was long. Almost 4 feet. Dad had taken all of the leaves off, and left a few twigs still attached. This was his new weapon. Dad had made a switch.
- - -
That night I couldn’t sleep. Dad had gotten so furious, he had me stay standing as he whipped me all across my back down to my legs. Even after I had collapsed in pain he continued to beat me. Afterwards he had me stand up and face him, as he whipped my stomach and face. I didn’t come back upstairs til dark. There was no comfort in sleep, if I did fall asleep I had night terrors, replays of previous events. But mostly I was kept awake in pain, for there was no position that was comfortable.
I couldn’t even go to school the next day, dad wouldn’t allow it. I wouldn’t have gone anyway, the pain was too unbearable. I knew this couldn’t continue, there was only was option. I had to run away.
My plan was to sneak away the next day during dad’s training, but when dad decided to sleep in, a problem presented itself. I had my backpack ready to go. I had another pair of basketball shorts and a loose shirt, along with a change of socks. When dad sleeps in, he sleeps in. I figured dad would sleep until 11 or so, which gave me a bit of time to say goodbye to my stuff. I slipped the picture of me and mom into my backpack and tiptoed down the stairs. I was careful as possible but still, in our old house, the stairs creaked and croaked just slightly, though just enough to wake a sleeping monster.
I grabbed the last apple from the fridge, it squished a little when I picked it up. It was probably 2 months old. I grabbed what little food remained and silently closed the fridge. I creeped to the door and quietly turned the knob. It squeaked, I pulled but it was locked, and I knew I had made too much noise. I quickly unlocked the door and ran outside.
The door shut abruptly, and the thought briefly crossed my mind that it was not a silent escape. I didn’t give it a second thought, because I was out of the house! I ran with my backpack in hand as to not hurt my back and shoulders, and ran with everything within me. I sprinted, got down the street and turned the corner. I kept running, and though it stung, I felt so free. With every step I felt more pain, but with the pain came the freedom. My heart pounded as I rounded the bend as I screamed with horror. I tried to turn and run the other way, but dad was too quick. Dad snatched me up, and with his firm grip flung me on his shoulder. I sobbed. I sobbed and sobbed. My heart gave up, time slowed down as I realized what just happened.
There would be no escape, there would be no happiness.
I had lost, and there would be no winning.
