The Grass Is Always Greener

Chapter 6

The Grass Is Always Greener

My father took a new job working as a custodian in the only LDS church in Santaquin, Utah; it was just five blocks from Mecums Trailer Park. The town itself boasted a population under 2,000 and known as a farming community. The farmers raised corn, wheat, hay, and fruit-bearing trees such as apples and cherries. Payson Jr. High and High School were twelve miles south, and the home of the Payson Longhorns.

Springville, Utah, is where my Grandmother resided, was more than fifty miles away. Santaquin, like most towns, had it’s own middle and elementary school; K"3 and K"7; they would bus the older kids to either the junior high or high school in from the surrounding areas of Genola, Goshen and to as far away as Mona; the town was so small that if you blinked, you missed it.

My parents had purchased a single wide trailer and it had something called a tipout; meaning the living room was larger than the rest of the trailer due to the overhang. It was small, cramped and boasted two small bedrooms and a master bedroom that included a bathroom which excluded the tub and a shower pointed north. The other two bedrooms pointed south. The bathroom was between and shared space with a washer and dryer.

It was built in the late sixties and came with ugly brown shag carpets and diamond laminated tile painted a nasty yellow and orange. It went from the kitchen, that held matching olive green refrigerator and stove, and down into the bathroom. Each room was encased in dark mahogany wood-paneling, so that didn’t help. This was a bargain eyesore if I ever seen one and I only saw it as my new prison.

Our parents had flipped a coin to decide who got the bigger room; as if I didn’t know it was a double-sided coin. The girls won as usual and squealed with delight. Personally, I thought Aaron and I got the better bargain in the end, but don’t tell them that. We didn’t have much, to begin with. I had even less considering my father took it upon himself to give everything that was left behind to Goodwill including my bike. So everything I owned was in my small suitcase. We shared a bunk bed I took the top and he had the bottom.

The room was basically bare except for a few toys he had in a cardboard box, and a dresser that we shared; my sister’s room was completely covered with pictures and posters and stuffed toys and dolls of every size. With a closet chocked full of nice dresses and clothes plus two dressers stuffed with even more. While ours held almost nothing but five to six shirts or less that didn’t even fill one side of the closet. 

It wasn’t long before Susan had barged into our room while I unpacked what little I had to inform me that my “pet rodent” was killed personally by her and the kitchen broom. Quote. ‘The glass cage fell off the dresser and broke into a million pieces. I was so scared that I screamed, fearing for my life. That rodent was going to eat me so I killed it,’ skipping merrily out the door.

Buttercup was gentle as they come and loved to sleep in my shirt pocket while I watched TV, not once has she ever bitten anyone. There was no way the cage could have fallen from the dresser as heavy as it was. But there was nothing I could do about it, even though I would have loved to have shoved that broom right down her throat. But throwing my shoes hard against the wall seemed to help; ending up with a fat lip from my father and another whipping. What a great welcome home present.

I would like to say things were great, but that would be a lie. It was bad enough that school had already started and having to change schools in the middle of the school year once again plus having no friends. Just to say I was depressed would be an understatement. My friend Jeff had been shadowing me ever since I had left the Steeds residence. He was coming to be the only familiar face I knew.

I have been pushed around so much I stop caring altogether. My grades were nonexistent while the homework piled up and became long overdue. I walked to class barely registering any signs of life. I would enter into the classroom and find my assigned seat. I would put my head down on my desk and cover my head with the back of my jacket. I was invisible to all that saw me. “A nobody,” going nowhere… I wouldn’t talk and only answer with a slight shrug of my shoulders. Teachers would pass out assignments and I would quickly crumble them up into a ball and toss them into the garbage can. 

The principal’s office was my second home and with a counselor’s office a close second. They would threaten to call my parents again and again. I would shrug like I didn’t care or answer. “Go ahead, they could care less if I lived or died. Just kill me and put me out my misery.” Threats didn’t scare me; it didn’t matter anymore. All I was, was a disappointment. They would beat me regardless.

To say I hated my life would certainly be true. People say that God never gives us more than we can handle. I laugh. Wondering if he even exists at all and if he does then, then what in the hell did I do to deserve this personal hell I live in? To make matters worse they say we had chosen our earthly parents knowing full well the life we would have. I always thought even now that this was a load of crap. And somehow when they had this war in heaven some went to hell and the others left behind got to come down to this paradise. Well, somehow my so-called parents and my sisters must have been hiding and cowering in some corner when it was all said and done. Or their souls escaped from the very bowels of hell itself.

Since my return from Arizona, I learned the new definition of the word; “bonding.” The word “bond” is used to bond or tie an object to something or a person bonded to a contract. “Bonding” is referred to someone owning said object. Words like. ‘To make a man out of you,’ and. ‘Let’s see what your worthless a*s is made of,’ is used with the same definitions as “bond and bonding.”

When dealing with my father I had learned early on not to call my father…Father or Dad but Sir. “No Sir, Yes Sir.” After a beating when I came home from school suspended for a week after causing a classroom disturbance, by throwing my books and shoes against the wall when asked to follow along with the class and punching a student in the nose for calling me a name “retard” and other names. Yes, I know I deserved it, but I was so low and deep in depression I didn’t care anymore. I would let bullies beat on me just to feel anything. Hoping they’d kill me and find my worthless a*s buried next to a dumpster, like the trash I was.

To say life had no meaning after being beaten at school or beat at home seemed moot. I hated my life and the world that I was in. The church was something to skip not to attend as it became a reminder of the things of the past and the present. Jeff presence became my only salvation; I wished for death, I carved it as the dark thoughts intruded my mind and my very soul.

Every day I was awakened at the crack of dawn sometimes earlier. Not for school but hard labor once again. My father being a custodian for the church was to be my worst nightmare. He had me scrubbing toilets and floors over and over with a toothbrush. If they weren’t done right to his specification, I would do them, again and again, tell it was. If I so much as growled underneath my breath or complained no matter how small he would deck me until I was beginning to see stars. By daylight, I would be mowing the church grounds. Back then they had a lot of grass and shrubbery unlike know it is sparse. By noon and the heat of the day; I would weed and prune every bush, my only meal was an apple or sometimes an orange and a small bottle of water. During the hours five and six, I would be vacuuming and washing chairs.

This became my life and didn’t end. I had more chores at home that would keep me busy until ten at night. If that wasn’t enough, to gain more money my parents took the job of maintaining the trailer park. I’d be sent out mowing and weeding the trailer park we lived in; going from the church and back the same day or after school and working every weekend when I wasn’t in school. I had no time for friends, no time for homework or anything except work. While Susan and Becky played with their new dolls and had nice clothes and dresses. I had nothing but the rags that I wore so threadbare they rip just by putting them on each day. Aaron didn’t escape it either when he became considered old enough at the age of 9; he would be working beside me. No, I hated my life and had runaway enough times trying to escape it.

It was even worse once my mother decided that I needed a haircut after she’d finished shaving Aaron’s head, stub short again. Normally I’d pay for it myself, but having no money and wasn’t given an allowance or even a chance to earn any, I was screwed. I reversed my direction and head for the front door. But as luck would have it my father was waiting for me and growled. “Boy! I told you I will not take any of your lip! Now sit in that damn chair and do what your mother tells you!”

I said. “No, sir! You can go straight to hell. I refuse to be touched by her or you. If I need a haircut… fine! But there is no way in hell or come high water will I allow you to touch me.” I knew I was about to die, but I stopped caring a long time ago. I had no friends and this so-called God had abandoned me since the day I was born. The only consolation prize I had was I took the clippers off the table and threw them against the wall as they broke into several pieces.

His face was red with anger as he growled. “How dare you, you murdering good for nothing brat talk back to me; after we have giving you a home and put food in your mouth and clothes on your back. How dare you disrespect me and your mother?” With each word, he punctuated as the spit drooled down his chin like a mad dog. Yes Sir. I was making history and had reached my breaking point.

He charged me first and I fought back with kick hard enough to make him take a step back. Which gained me the room I needed as I swiped his legs from underneath him and waited for him to come back up doing a little footwork circling my prey…A move my, friend Rocko taught me and little boxing starting with my left hand with a quick jab right below his left eye and with a right jab to the stomach. Then a left jab to the nose I finished it with a good right hook to the jaw.

If it wasn’t for my father I wouldn’t have had the strength, but working in the cotton fields and moving freight plus all his hard labor. I was a lot stronger than I used to be and become street smart when came down to nothing but fists. I could hold my own as long as it was one on one and my opponent was the same size or weight, either way, I wasn’t completely defenseless. Rocko would have been proud, but my father was tougher than any bully on the playground. And was lethal when came to his belt.

He was madder than a wilder beast as he wiped the blood with the back of the long-sleeved shirt. My mother and sisters were shocked and Aaron began to cry. Running down the hall to his room to hide in the closet, fearing the punishment that was about to take place. He knew from experience if I got beat he was going to get beat as well. The closet was only placed dark enough to hide in or under the bed until the end of the broom found you.

My father growled with content as his belt came off in one fluid motion. His cold eyes narrowed on me, he charged me like a mad bull. A belt in one hand a fist in the other. The belt hit first, I screamed taking the flesh with it when buckle dug deep as the belt buckle made contact across my chest. My shirt was ruined and tore in long strips. I made the mistake of looking down seeing the long gash watching the warm blood trickle down my bare chest. It caught me off guard long enough for my father to come back with an uppercut of his right hand of his own he knocked me out cold as ice.

When I came to I was strapped to a metal folding chair with a dog chain wrapped tight around me. He must have borrowed it from my mother's dog named Frosty, only wearing my boxers so they could embarrass me and again to make feel like an immoral freak, but living in the desert those past few months only made it feel uncomfortable nothing more.

My brother Aaron was doing dishes and doing his best to avoid my mother wooden spoon against his bare bottom he to was be chastised for being immoral more so in front of his sisters. While my sisters seemed content playing with their dolls. At least that’s what I could see through my swollen eye. Apparently, my father must have kicked me in my ribs several times adding to the bruises that were already there and literally beat the living hell out of me. Despite I was out cold with no way to defend my self didn’t stop the beatings in any way shape or form.

All he said was. “You should have known better to pick a fight with me. Boy! If that was the best you could do.” The smart mouth that I was, growled. “Go to hell.” Earning me another punch in the mouth as the blood trickled down. And a slap across the face from my Mother when she charged over with a wooden spoon, bad enough to send my already painful body to outer space. The chain broke and I quickly went out the front door, back into the cold cruel world.

Reviews

[M Garcia]

I keep saying this. Even when I read the fictional version of this. I think your father is a louse and an a*****e. Your mother was no better, neither was your sister (I use this term loosely in regards to her); and I know how things go from here on out.
Your writing is very good. I am reading on.

[Shep]

thanks again for the review

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

Omg this is so confronting that they let the girls sit and play dolls whilst you were beaten to shreds I’m so sorry
It’s a wonder you didn’t die
I hope you are getting counseling and healing from this
Where was God when you needed him
I have faith christian but I have so many questions re child abuse why it continues etc and you obviously prayed for it to stop ✋

[Shep]

it only gets worse not better for a very long time.

[Julie McCarthy (juliespenhere)]

Yes I can imagine !
Look I’m no good at reviews but I am reading it
I hope you sought counseling and help after all this