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Chapter 7 - Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Lost in the woods

Sometimes the darkness will lead you into the light, for the light may hide the darkness where the truth stays within its shadows. This is one of my favorite quotes that I have written.

At least it was warm, as summer was fast approaching. I had run away once more with only my boxers. Not that the clothes I had on earlier would have been any more protection against the elements; being mostly threadbare rags. Not even a hobo would wear or use them to wipe the snot from his nose. Not having any friends to turn to, I sought solitude in an abandoned barn for the night or until I could come up with a plan. I hated myself for leaving my brother Aaron to face my parents' rage on his own.

But I had nothing to offer him. No home, no one that would take pity on us and take us into their arms and protect us from this hard, cruel world. No God, no friends, and no parents that would provide love and nurture, nothing. If I went to my Grandmothers, she might believe me, but my parents were good at lying and they would deny anything happened. So, I had my doubts she would believe me, or I thought she would just deliver me back into my abuser's hands, or worse stick me in another bad foster home. How could I believe or trust anyone at this point? Even the Grandmother who loved me so much?

There was one other person, but I didn't know where he lived, Mr. Stringham who owed Stringham Goods and Hardware on Main Street, sad but true right now his store was closed, nor did I have his home number, and a payphone was out of my reach without a cent to my name didn't help either. I didn't trust the neighbors, considering they had never helped in the past, so why would they help me now? No, I found myself in a helpless situation with no one around to help me.

Like I have said before; the LDS church may frown upon the abuse of any kind, but they do nothing to stop it or prevent it. They harp on. 'Children should honor and obey their parents.' Saying that we, as the victim, should forgive them every time they abuse us; sexually or physically.' Yet they do not interfere with your parents' choices except to say they will be held accountable when they are brought before the judgment seat. Does that mean I must suffer until they die, or they kill me by going too far?

I have spent many a day in the bishop's office either alone or with my parents in the same room. Only for them to deny that they had never laid a hand on me. Only to receive another beating as soon as we got home for bringing it to someone with authorities' attention. There is always a price to pay or in my case a pound of flesh. Again, God was silent as I wept for his help.

The LDS church and other religions do not teach the victim on how you are supposed to live with the abuse; beyond calling the authorities. Which they may or may not place the child into another home only to be returned to repeat the process; depending on whether they felt the parents have broken any laws. And I know for certain other churches and religion preach the same.

Many a night I have puzzled over this complex problem and have found no solution about God's divine love and have yet to see it. It is true with no doubt I am truly alone. I may have been thirteen at this particular time, but I have studied the complex problem long enough to know what's it's like to be "a nobody." Shivering in the dark; alone with my knees against my chest as the nightmares once more became my waking dreams.

To say I hated the world I lived in would be an understatement and suffered enough under its yoke to know. If there was a God that listened to a child's prayer, then why had he abandoned me in this cruel and unforgiving world? I also knew that sitting here in the dark wasn't doing anything to help my brother Aaron. I may not have anything physical like a home or caring for parents. The only thing I could give him was my love. Thing was, I needed was something more than my boxers if I was planning to go anywhere.

It was too dark, and I was more than tired after surviving another fight with my father and running two miles. A good night's sleep would go a long way and it would give my parents, and me, time to cool off. To the point, the barn I was in had become my home during those winter months. I made a bed of straw behind the large stacks of hay and old boards piled along the edges. I was in a safe and secure enough place, away from prying eyes. I doubted anyone would find me; besides my constant companion Jeff, as he sat in the corner watching over me. As I said before, he doesn't interfere in any way, but he is a good listener.

God may be silent, but Jeff never is. It was the one thing I thanked God for regardless of if he sent him or not. When I mention him to other people like my bishop. They don't believe me; saying he is a delusion. Shrinks calls him a psychotic break that has manifested in my mind, trying to process all the abuses. Either way, I prefer having him near me. After sleeping like the dead through the night and part of the next. I considered it the best night's sleep I have had in an extraordinarily long time. I was ready to set my plan in motion, starting with my brother Aaron. My plan was simple. As I looked outside stood a cornfield with fresh corn right off the patch, and even better a scarecrow wearing the clothing I needed.

My wounds were superficial as I scraped the dry blood and straw away from my skin. Even though moving hurt, I could see the dark bruises where my ribs were and maybe one or two appeared to be cracked. I was, by no means, a doctor, but I had enough medical knowledge to know I would live, considering I have been through worse. My left eye had swollen shut and my jaw caused me to wince from the pain, and my legs didn't look any better. However, as I mentioned, I had a simple plan.

The first thing I intended to do was rescue my brother and head south; instead of the north where they would expect me to go. Perhaps I could gather enough supplies while my parents were asleep and hitchhike to Las Vegas. I had always wanted to see the lights and it would be far enough away where they couldn't find us, nor would they be able to touch us ever again. I could even get a job that would support us. My brother and I could see the world. But first I need those clothes more than that scarecrow.

Like most scarecrows, it was standard. This one wore a red and black checkered flannel shirt with long sleeves. Better to hold the straw and give the definition of arms. And a pair of overalls that had seen better days, plus let's not forget the cowboy hat. I would guess to keep the sun out of his eyes or to swing at crows stealing his corn. Either way, his clothing was just what I needed, and that was that, after a fine meal of corn and a couple of apples from the nearby harvested field. I waited for it to get dark. I went over my simple plan in my head.

When I was younger, I used to be afraid of the dark, and like most kids having some sort of Mickey Mouse or Pluto nightlight; hoping that it would keep the monsters away. I soon learned not to be afraid of the dark, but to embrace it. I had more to fear in the light than in the shadows of darkness. There have been times that a cemetery of dead people and their ghosts would have frightened me, but my father scared me more than a few ghosts. Besides, I had one right at my side.

As I made the long trek back, I would take long breaks now and again as my injuries made me falter and gasp for air. I realized with every movement that my ribs had cracked, not just bruised. I was having a hard time breathing as I lay on the ground, holding my sides as if they were going to burst. And dying from the heat because of the clothing I wore, I unbuttoned my shirt; letting the cool breeze dry the sweat off my exposed chest while I re-rolled my pant legs to keep me from tripping over my bare feet.

It wasn't long before I had backtracked through the cemetery and back down the road where my home sat among the other trailers. The moon had this way of making things eerie as it illuminated the white metal paneling; making it glow whiter than it normally did in the sun. It had taken me longer to get back because of my injuries; not to mention having to stop and roll up my pant legs. Yet I wasn't all that concerned about the time; the later it was the more likely they would be sound asleep. Giving me the chance to get the supplies and be on our way before they woke the following morning.

I softly padded my way towards my bedroom window; only to be stopped to see the living room light on and hear muffled voices. I crept slowly like a ninja, well more like an injured animal, huffing and puffing and gritting my teeth because of the pain. For the first time, I was thankful to have a cherry tree with lower limbs to hide me well enough from prying eyes. Taking a seat near the tree so it would support my back, I eavesdrop on my parents' conversation.

"That boy! That dreadful boy! I thought you said he would never try running off like that," his mother said, in semi-angered voice.

"Never mind what I said god damn it; what are folks going to say when they see him like that?" My father said, trying to resolve the issue without getting into another argument. "You know how they are about sticking their fucking noses into other people's business," my father said in a heated growl.

"I know, dear. They said he would come back when he gets hungry; it's been almost two days. Besides, where is he going to go only dressed in his boxers? they're not even his best pair? People have begun to talk." My mother said.

"About what dear?" he asked in a non caring voice almost bored.

"They are starting to ask more questions about all the fights he gets into, the bruises on his arms, legs, and face. Why he's never here? He is always gone for months or years at a time. I know one thing. If we don't do something soon; his brother is going to be just like him. If only he would keep his mouth shut; just look at the girls. They're angels and barely cause a fuss anymore."

I gasped, and the anger ignited as I gritted my teeth. "Angels? RIGHT! More like devils."

"Well…all I have to say is it's got to be bad genes." That's what my mother had said. I remember thinking: Bad genes? I don't have any bad genes, according to my Grandmother. She had said that I could be stubborn like my grandfather. This was, however, a typical argument. I'd heard it a lot whenever they were fighting about my so-called 'behavioral problems' and my Grandmother had always stepped in to protect my brother and myself.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Your mother," his mother said.

"My mother? What's she got to do with it?"

"She's never liked me, and you know it." His mother replied without pause and it was another excuse my mother would use against my grandmother stepping in and dealing with her raw anger and stopping the beatings from happening and bringing my parents to task.

After hearing the conversation, I had a lot to think about. For some reason. They did not fear my Grandmother any more than a fly, fearing being trapped under a fly swatter. Or I think they mostly they kept her at bay with all the lies and the secrets they have been keeping from her. Somehow, I needed to contact her. Perhaps once Aaron and I were far enough away and out of harm's way I would contact her, but what does it say about me? keeping these secrets from her? It was a long time before I shook myself awake; finding that I'd fallen asleep instead of keeping watch; it only angered me more. I cussed myself out and knowing the danger if I had done this while protecting my little brother from harm; dreadful things could have happened, and I didn't want to contemplate them.

Slowly I made my way back to where mine and my brother's bedroom window were. I had taken the ladder that sat along the side of the house where my father had left it. I climbed up and opened the window. I padded carefully over to my brother's bed across the room. I somehow had managed to roll out of bed and fall flat on my back, which nearly killed me. It wasn't for the pillow that had fallen first. I would have cracked my skull wide open; no doubt making my parents thrilled, but how would they have hidden or handled my sudden disappearance or my death? It brought a smile to my face at the mere thought of the trouble they would be in finding me dead. I soon regretted it as I grimaced because it hurt too much to even do that with a split lip.

However, because of that, they had no choice but to move mine and Aaron's beds to the bigger room down at the end of the hall. Plus, the fact the bunk beds we had were too small and falling apart. Instead of buying new ones they placed our worn-out secondhand mattresses on the floor. Making it impossible for Aaron to crawl under the bed. We hadn't been in that small, tiny room for more than a week when I came home from Arizona. Not that was a consolation prize. We still had little to nothing.

My brother was sound asleep and all I could do was stand there and look at his face. It seemed so peaceful, so peaceful. I didn't want to wake him. However, I knew that if I didn't wake him up, we wouldn't be able to escape in time before someone realized he was gone. So, I began with gathering the supplies as I tiptoed throughout the home. With my pillowcase in hand, placing can goods and a can opener and loaf of bread into my sack; I had searched everywhere in my room for my clothes and my shoes, and it caused my brother to wake, wiping the sleep from his eyes and quickly shushed him placing my two fingers over my mouth and setting my sack of goodies near his bed.