It was a rainy
evening in early November when her parents and younger sisters took her
to the bus station. She waved to her folks from the window of the
Continental Trailways bus. She settled back in her seat to read. The
bus wasn't crowed and no one was sitting in the seat next to her. She
wedged her small handbag next to her in the seat. She sat her other
reading material in the pullout, cloth compartment in front of her. She
turned on the overhead light and began to read her magazine. She
started an article in Mc Calls about how a woman could make herself
more attractive for her husband.
'Her husband,— '
she thought. Would the young man who asked her to marry him when he
returned from the war, survive? She hoped with all her heart he would.
She vowed to pray each night for his safe return. Her young man, her
high school sweet heart, came home on leave from boot camp in his
uniform and looked more wonderful than she remembered him. He always
stood proud and strong but there was something about his uniform, all
squared away, that made her want him all the more. She found herself
getting more moist than usual and had to pad herself more. He was so
attractive to her she couldn't drink enough of him in. She didn't want
to wait. She wanted to get married and have him that night if she
could. She was ashamed of herself for letting her animal thoughts rule
her senses.
He was different
than most men. He reasoned things out a bit more. What if they got
married, she got pregnant on their wedding night and he didn't make it
back? She'd be left to raise his child alone. She'd have a Hell of a
time finding another man. He couldn't do that to her. He loved her too
much. She was young. If he didn't return there would be plenty of time
to find a man she could love and find happiness with. How selfish would
he be to hold her to a bond with a dead man?
She knew he
wasn't trying to get out of marring her; he genuinely loved her and
wanted the best for her, with or without him. He was so sincere about
his feelings he asked her father to sit down with him and discuss their
situation. He was respectful and caring enough he asked her dad if he
might have his blessing to ask her hand in marriage? Her parents
thought the world of him and never worried about her when she dated
him. His dad was convinced he was the man for his daughter. He told her
so, too, wiping tears from his eyes.
"I sure hope
that boy makes it back, Darlin,' for all our sakes. Your ma and I love
him almost as much as you do. It'ud break our hearts if something
happens to him. He's a fine young man, Sweetheart. They don't make'um
no better'n that boy. We've come to think of him as our son."
He made a lot of
sense about having to raise a child on her own but she wouldn't have
minded raising his progeny by herself. Just to see the smile on the
child's face, his and her love made, would have been enough for her.
She'd never loved anyone like she loved him. She gave herself to him
the night before he left to be shipped overseas. It wasn't his idea. He
wanted to wait; he promised her dad. Her dad understood his wishes and
backed him up. She begged him. He thought that was as bad as them
getting married.
"If we're gonna'
do it we may as well get married. It's certainly not 'cause I don't
want to, Darlin,' it's just that there's a right way and a wrong way a'
doing things." He was right again as usual. She even felt more
frustrated. If he would just be a bit more spontaneous; throw caution
to the winds. When he was convinced he was right he couldn't be easily
swayed. She knew he was right; he always was the strong, level
headed one between them. They complimented each other that way. She was
bubbly and free spirited while he was strong willed and staid; slow to
anger but strong in love. She pleaded with him. He could wear
protection, she didn't mind. (He wasn't about to tell her, her
own dad slipped him a couple of Trojans for his wallet, just in case,
then smiled and winked at him.)
He was so good
all through high school not to push. He never tried to take advantage
of her. He told her there would be a time for love and when the time
came they would be together but not until then. He wasn't overly
religious; although, he had a strong, basic faith. It had nothing to do
with organized religion; it was his own personal belief system and it
was systematic and orderly. He told her if they waited, it would make
that day all the more sweet for them. When they were dating, he never
tried to feel her up when they were parked and kissing a little. She
had to laugh at herself, she wished he had many times. They'd go out,
park and neck and then he'd take her home at a decent hour. If he told
her parents he'd have her home by ten-thirty, she was walking in the
front door at ten-thirty. His dad never looked at the clock when she
was out with him.
Her parents knew
him and his folks well and approved of him dating her. They knew she
was safe with him. They thought as much of the young man as she did.
They were looking forward to having him as a son-in-law in their
family. He came from a fine family and was one of the most well thought
of young men in their town. She was hopelessly attracted to him.
She had fantasies of raping him. One in particular she loved was tying
him up after removing his clothes.
She would have
him on his back with his hands tied to his sides and his ankles bound
tightly together. She would stand back admiring her handy work as
he came to from a light sedative she slipped into his cherry-phosphate;
her, a soda fountain Mata-hari. He would awake to see her with a
questioning look but he couldn't say anything because she had his mouth
taped shut. He would look to see he was bound and struggle to get free.
She would hold up one finger and shake it back and forth to tell him
'no-no.' When she had his attention she would take off her clothes one
piece at a time doing a strip tease for him.
"You like that
don'cha, Stud? Is the circus coming to town 'cause I see you raised the
pole for the center ring?"
She would finish
her strip tease, then begin to lick his huge masculine body from one
end to the other settling last for the little area under his balls, his
balls and then his tent pole. She would drive him crazy licking and
kissing and getting her mouth juices all over his large shaft, to ready
him for riding. Finally, she'd lower herself onto him, moan and
groan how good he felt and tell him she was going to ride him like a
cowgirl with a new set of spurs. That would certainly get his
attention, she smiled to herself.
All the men wore
boots and levis to high school and somehow they would get their jeans
as tight as possible. When he sat next to a girl, it's all she could
look at. He was so good looking, not only the boys talked about him but
the girls would giggle and ask each other just how big it was. More
than one girl damn near flunked a course from not paying attention.
Even a couple of the questionable male teachers would make sure he sat
on the front row. He was so comfortable with who he was it never
bothered him to have people stare at his crotch. He'd catch another guy
checking him out, catch his eye and wink at him. They would blush
crimson because he caught them. He would smile at them as if to say,
'Hey, buddy! It's all right, thanks for checking me out.' To her he was
the most handsome young man in their school; their town; their
state;--- no,--- the world. She put it to him.
"Have you ever,—
?" she asked blushing, expecting him to tell of his many conquests.
"I never have. I
want you to be the first. If I'm to be your first shouldn't you expect
that of me? I love you that much." She cried at his pledge to her but
they couldn't see the future.
"What if,— and
you've never known a woman?
"Then, I'll die
true to you, Sweetheart."
"No! No! I won't
let that happen. These are difficult times we're living in and we can't
plan for the future so plans and ideals have to be reconsidered.
Please! Please! To lose you and never have the memory of even one night
with you is not acceptable. I can't do that."
She sat back in
her seat and pushed the button to recline. She turned the reading light
off and put her magazine away. She closed her eyes and remembered
seeing his body naked for the first time. He was not the least shy
about her seeing him and for some strange reason she wasn't nervous for
him to see her. His assuredness and thoughtfulness comforted her. She
knew he would take charge and guide them through their first time.
"You are the
most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Dear. I'll make love to you, only
because you begged me, but promise me you'll wait for me."
"I promise,
Love, I promise."
"And, not a word
of this to your folks. I love them too much to have to explain. They'd
never believe you talked me into it. You know as well as I do it's
always the guy's fault. I'm not trying to put a damper on our time
together but I love your folks."
"Can you forgive
me for not knowing too much about how this goes?" she asked him,
"My mother tried as best she could to describe it but she wasn't
comfortable talking with me, so we stopped. I'm afraid I don't know a
lot. One thing I do know, is I love you and I need you."
"That's why I
wanted our first time to be the first time for both of us because we'll
learn and grow together. I've never made love to a woman before but I
know how it's suppose to go. My dad's told me all about it. Let me lay
you back and see if I can take us where we want to go. I'll try
my best to please you, Sweetheart. I promise I'll be gentle and won't
hurt you. I know I'm probably a little larger than the average man so I
want to be certain you're not uncomfortable at any time. If you have
any difficulty let me know. I may be a bit clumsy at first but I'm sure
God and nature meant for us to be together." His voice was gentle and
she trusted the young man without question.
She lay back
expecting to be mounted immediately and was surprised to find his big
body laying next to hers. He began kissing her gently while rubbing his
hand over her. He was so gentle and seemed in no hurry. He pulled her
on her side facing him and their bodies touched as he held her tightly.
He felt so good, strong and clean. His body had a faint smell of
Lilacs. He made her feel safe and wanted in his arms. He began to use
his mouth all over her. She never experience such ecstacy before. Her
mother told her a little but she never told her it could be this good.
Her mother gave her the impression you lay back and grit your teeth
until they're through. Don't ever expect him to help you get yours. He
won't. All men climax, get off, roll over and go to sleep. Somehow, she
didn't think this man saw sex the way other men did. He was gently
kissing her again. He gently rubbed the full lips of her vagina with
his hand while still kissing her. She had never felt anything so
wonderful. She not only picked the strongest alpha-male in their class,
she unwittingly chose a man who sensed how a woman felt and he was not
going to force himself on her until they both were in agreement they
could wait no longer to feel him inside of her.
He started
inserting his fingers feeling her moisture coat his fingers. She tried
masturbating with various objects but his fingers felt better than
anything she'd ever used. She didn't want to seem too forward but,---
damn,--- his gentle probing was feeling good. How could he be doing
this his first time with her? He was reading her mind or playing her
body like fine-tuned instrument. Her body resonated with his touch. He
leaned toward her and gently kissed her.
"Sweetheart,
don't feel like you have to hold back because of modesty. What you and
I do here, will only be between us. I feel you wanting to meet my
fingers but you're worried what I'll think. I love you, Dear. You could
do nothing wrong in my eyes."
How could he
read her thoughts like that. She melted under him. She felt her body
become rubbery all over and then,--- she just couldn't help herself,---
she raised her hips to meet his three fingers inviting him deeper, and
he obliged. He made sweet love to her for almost an hour until she
began to shake under him. He felt her one more time and she had reached
a peak. She was ready for him. He was waiting for her to ask. She
wanted him so badly.
"Now,— please,—
love! Take me! I need to feel you in me. All of you." He positioned
himself and slowly began to move the big head of his dick in and out.
He began to sink more and more into her. She moaned and looked him in
the eyes. He didn't take his away from hers. He wanted to gage the
effect he was having. If she registered any pain he would stop and
retract. She didn't. She grabbed a buttock in each hand and began to
pull him more into her. He was about half way in when he came to a
wall. His sweetheart was, indeed, a virgin.
"I have to break
through, Darling. Kiss me and you do it for us. I'll hold steady while
you break it for us. Can you do that, Sweetheart?" She smiled to him
and shook her head 'no.'
"I want you to
take it from me. It's important to me. I give it to you, my Love. It's
yours to take."
They kissed and
he began to apply more pressure. He felt the tissue stretching.
Suddenly she bucked her hips forcefully upward toward his invading
shaft. It was her signal for him to take her. Using his dick as a sword
he lanced her virginity. She wouldn't let him stop there. With her
hands she pulled him the rest of the way into her. They stopped and he
lay his head beside hers. She was weeping.
"Have I hurt
you, Darling? — I'll withdraw."
"Don't you
dare." She laughed a little. It's so beautiful. You've made it more
wonderful than I could imagine. Your dad must have really had some long
talks with you." he laughed at her compliment.
"He told me
women are not like men. That's obvious, but dad explained a woman
shouldn't be rushed. Like a fine red wine shouldn't be drunk
before it's time and then, only if it's allowed to sit and breathe for
thirty minutes or more. He told me to remember that and I'd do
fine. Dad told me to make it best for both, a man has to
consider a woman's feelings and what she's giving for his pleasure as
well as hers. I've only tried to do that, love, but there's more to
follow. I'll watch you until I'm sure you're comfortable. If I hurt you
in the least tell me. If it isn't good for you, it isn't going to be
good for the man who loves you.
"Are you,—
?"
"You have all of
me, my Darling, and you are so beautiful and special. You feel so
wonderful and good to me. Your love has made me welcome."
He made the
sweetest love to her. So softly and steadily but she found herself
wanting more. She wanted him to take her harder. How was she going to
ask him without appearing crass? 'Don't ask him, show him,' she
thought. She began to moved her body to meet his every thrust but began
to push up to him harder; inviting him to take her harder. He
responded, she relaxed and opened to him. She spoke to him.
"I don't know,—
if I can,— hold back,— much, — longer, Darling, take me! Take
me!" and, he did. She exploded deep inside herself as she felt
him empty into the condom deep within her. It was the most euphoric
experience of her life and her body sang beneath his. It sang a song of
pride and thanksgiving to the kind, gentle, caring , and loving young
man who made her first time more than wonderful; more than special, he
made it theirs.
It was so
wonderful and good, yet, she felt an emptiness. Part of her, perhaps
her maternal instincts, felt cheated. Certainly she couldn't fault him
for anything. He was all she dreamed he might be and much, much more.
She felt she should be carrying his ejaculate within her,— but they
agreed. He withdrew and made love to her, telling her how beautiful she
was, and how wonderful and special she made the first time for him. He
kissed her and told her of his love for her. He went to the bathroom to
remove the condom and relieve himself. He cleaned himself, came back
and she excused herself. She was sitting there and noticed the full
condom in the waste basket. Should she? Without thinking she reached
into the waste basket, took the condom out and held it. She dipped her
fingers in the thick greyish white fluid, came out with a glob and
shoved it as far into her as she could. It probably wouldn't take, she
thought to herself, but if it does, I'll have his baby to remember him
by.
* * * * * * *
She opened her
eyes as the bus pulled into another small town for a rest stop. She
felt herself. She was wet. She had to use the rest room. She
arrived in Dallas and was met by her Aunt Agatha. Aunt Agatha had two
grown daughters, living at home. One worked for Neiman Marcus and the
other at the Methodist Hospital. Her cousin Zelma worked for Neiman
Marcus for several years and was a floor supervisor. She offered her a
job. She couldn't turn it down. A chance to work at Neiman Marcus for a
girl as young as she, was almost unheard of. They usually hired older,
mature women. Zelma was one of the youngest there. She would live with
her aunt and cousins in a spare guest room while living in Dallas. She
insisted on paying room and board. She would have to pay if she lived
somewhere else. She started work for Neimans and she did well. She was
well liked by staff and customers alike. She was polite and helpful to
everyone. She even won over the older ladies.
She missed one
period; then two. After missing her third period she began to notice
her clothes were beginning to feel a bit snug in the waist. She was
trying to keep it from her aunt and cousins but it's hard to keep
morning sickness quiet. Her clothes seemed to get smaller and smaller.
She was so happy yet she was melancholy. She went against his wishes
and did what he was so afraid for her to do. Was she too impulsive? Did
she do the right thing? One evening the four women were having
dinner when one of her cousins, Clara, asked if she'd gained a little
weight.
"Shut up, Clara.
Eat your dinner, Dear. She'll tell us when she's ready." Aunt Agatha
gently but firmly dictated.
"Yes, Moma.
Sorry, Cousin." Clara obeyed. Aunt Agatha smiled lovingly at Clara then
her.
'She knows,' she
thought, '. . . no use denying it, besides they're my family. They love
me.'
"I'm pregnant,
Clara." The two girls were thrilled for her and so was her aunt. She
was honest with them and told them what she'd done. She told them
everything, how she had to talk him into it, to her removing his sperm
from the condom. The two girls thought it was delightful and
scandalous, but Aunt Agatha didn't comment. She told her she was happy
for her.
She could tell
something bothered her aunt. She would ask her later. She knew Aunt
Agatha would take her secret to her grave if that's what she wanted and
put the fear of God into her two daughters to do the same. Aunt Agatha
was her favorite aunt. She could always talk to Agatha as friend to
friend and not feel her aunt would judge her. Agatha raised her own
daughters to be responsible and polite but not to let anyone push them
around. It was getting on towards bedtime and her cousins retired. They
were working tomorrow. Tomorrow was Saturday; however, she had the day
off. She could stay up a while longer. Her aunt was cutting up some old
clothes into squares for her quilting society. She got up and moved
over to the hassock next to her aunt's chair.
"May I give you
a hand, Aunt?"
"Certainly,
Dear. There's a pair of sharps in that basket and you may use this as a
templet." She took the templet from her aunt and began to cut squares.
"You would've
told me if you'd secretly married the young man, wouldn't you, Dear?"
"Oh, yes, Auntie
Boo." It was her childhood, endearing name for her beloved aunt.
"Well, I suppose
he'll be a little more than surprised when he returns, finds he has a
child and has no choice but to marry you."
The thought
hadn't entered her head. The only picture in her mind was how joyous
and happy he would be coming home to her and his child. Her aunt wasn't
scolding her or chastising her, she was simply pointing out a fact;
something she hadn't considered. In her denial of her sense of
wrongdoing she saw him thrilled and pleased she loved him enough to
take the initiative. She wouldn't allow herself to consider other
reactions.
'What if he does
come home and feels differently. His travels may have made him not want
to settle down. We have no idea what those poor men are going through
over there.' she thought to herself.
"I guess I
didn't think it all the way through, Auntie Boo. I acted on the passion
of my love for him at the moment and felt so cheated his seed wasn't
within me. I wanted to have his baby. I love him so much, Auntie Boo."
She started to cry, realizing she did the wrong thing. Her stalwart
aunt comforted and consoled her.
"There, there,
Dear. What's done is done. Can't change the past. Let's live for the
future. I'm sorry I asked that question so soon. I guess it weighed
heavily on my mind. It was inconsiderate of me child, forgive me. I
apologize. I'm being a meddlesome old aunt."
"No, no, Auntie,
you have every right to ask that question; you of all people. I love
you so dearly I would only want to share this with you. I know Clara
and Zelma will be discreet."
"If they know
what's good for them." Her aunt winked at her and chuckled. She didn't
have a mean bone in her body. The two of them sat there and talked
until almost midnight. Her aunt was supportive but kept asking her if
this was really what she wanted.
"What other
choice do I have, Aunt Boo?"
"I'm certainly
not suggesting you do it but there's always giving the baby up for
adoption."
"I don't know if
I could do that, Auntie Boo."
"Well, you have
time to reach a decision. Consider your options and what you may lose
if you keep the child. He may become angry and accuse you of having the
child to entrap him. He might not say a word but always feel he didn't
have a choice in the matter. You took that away from him. In a way, my
Dear, to put it indelicately, you've snipped his testicles off. You've
robbed him of his male magnanimity; his need to be a man. He may think,
'If she made that decision on her own, what does she need me for?' He
would have every right to feel that way. He was right to use a condom.
He wanted a child to be a decision you made together. I don't know the
young man, but I, for one, admire him for that. By asking you to agree
for him to use a condom he wasn't leaving you out; however, you've very
definitely left him out of your decision to have his child. You agreed
he would use a condom and you went against his wishes. He certainly
would have every reason to ask himself if you superseded a decision you
both agreed on, could he trust you as a partner and a wife?
As hard as
it is for me to tell you this, it would seem to me, you've done a fine
young man a great disservice. He trusted you to love him enough to
abide by a decision he contracted, not only with you, but your parents
as well. Are you willing to risk losing a man like that when you and he
can have other children? God forbid, but suppose he doesn't come home.
It's a lovely sentiment to want to have his child but it sounds to me
like he loves you enough he didn't want to place you in that situation.
The man was right, there are few men willing to take on someone else's
child to raise when there are many single women who will give him
children of his own. By the same token, there are few men who would
love their intended that much to try to insure their happiness if he
didn't make it back. Sounds to me like you have a pearl of great value
in him. The worst case I can imagine is he might believe you've been
unfaithful to him, made up a story to snare him and saddle him with a
child that isn't his. You're action, as scandalous as my girls seem to
think, is a bit out of the ordinary for a young girl; especially, when
he agreed to it only if he used a condom to prevent this from happening.
You have no real
proof the child is his. Perhaps the length of gestation period might
convince him but he still will never know for sure if you might have
had relations with another man within days of him leaving. I'm not
suggesting you do one thing or the other, Sweetheart. Think about it.
Let's talk some more. I hope for your sake and the sake of the baby,
you'll consider all options and what might be best for both. You'll not
only be making a huge decision for yourself but for the child as well.
You should feel comfortable with any decision you make. If you don't
think you would be comfortable giving the baby for adoption, consider
the consequences. Above all, pray. The Almighty is use to us fallible
humans finding ourselves down a road we might not have chosen if we
looked harder at the street signs. Trust in him and your own sense of
right and wrong and you'll make the right decision. All I can say is, I
hope he does come back and marry you, he sounds like a wonderful young
man; one I would be proud to see you marry."
"He is, Auntie
Boo, but I'm afraid I've failed him and he may not want me when he
returns. I suppose when you think about it, you're right, we can have
other children but there's only one of him. It's not going to be an
easy decision."
"No it won't, my
child; however, whatever your decision the girls and I will stand
behind you a hundred percent. You have our love." She cried in her
auntie's arms as she kissed her goodnight.
She worked until
her last month of pregnancy. She asked her cousins and aunt to keep her
secret from the rest of her family. She planned to have the baby in
Dallas and either give it up for adoption or go home. Her aunt insisted
she stay with them with the baby if she wanted but she didn't want to
put them out with a screaming baby. She thought secretly her Auntie Boo
would love to help care for a baby. Her cousin who worked at the
Methodist Hospital participated in finding homes for babies outside of
the bureaucratic red tape and endless waiting of an adoption agency. It
was illegal as Hell but in those days there weren't as many checks and
double checks.
Nurses could
change documents without anyone being the wiser. It was simple.
The mother wouldn't know the family the baby was going to and they
would make all the necessary arrangements. The head nurse in obstetrics
would simply put the name of the receiving parents on the birth
certificate and there was no question. If the baby was healthy they
could take the baby home that day. It was best if she not know who or
where the baby was placed but they promised a good family for the
child. Likewise, the receiving parents would neither know her name nor
where she lived. The time came and she was admitted under the name of
the woman who would receive the child (she was never told the name she
was admitted under) On a Wednesday, at five-thirty-five in the morning,
July tenth, she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. She asked to hold
him before they took him. She undid the blanket to get a good look at
him. He was beautiful to behold. He even had his father's dimpled chin
and platinum blond hair. He was prefect, except on his right big toe
there was a small mole and on the inside of his right leg, near his
groin, he had a small port wine stain birthmark in the shape of a small
but distinctly recognizable, cowboy boot . She ran her finger gently
over the birthmark and mole and closed the blanket. She kissed him
gently and reluctantly gave him to her cousin.
The head nurse
knew her mother's sister's boy and his wife were looking for a baby boy
to adopt. He couldn't have children. He had mumps as a child and they
settled in his testicles rendering him sterile. He had been tested many
times and they found no active, motile sperm. She contacted them
immediately. They rushed to the hospital in Dallas to received the
baby. The birth certificate had both their names on it as the legal
birth parents. Simple! Done! The baby went to a new life and she went
home to her aunt's. No one ever knew but her aunt and two cousins. They
would carry her secret to their grave. She stayed with her aunt
and went back to work. She made several trips home during the war years
and went home to see her young man and welcome him home. He returned
from the war a hero. He was the second most highly decorated man during
the second World War.
* * * * * * *
1941 through
1945 ~ Waddie Claymore Lovejoy ~ Wednesday's Child
Waddie lived in
a room downstairs, across the hall from his ma and dad's big room. He
stayed in their room in a crib until he was two. It was almost like he
was abandoned to this huge room across the hall. It was a natural
transition as seen by his parents but there seemed to be unnatural
fears of rejection and separation that existed in the boy's heart. His
whole world, to that point, was the two people he trusted to provide
comfort and care; his ma and dad. He quickly learned to love his dad
more. His ma took necessary care of him but showed him no attention or
affection. He longed to be held by her and told he was a good boy or be
read to. His brother and sister were too busy with their young adult
lives to show him much attention and when they did it meant another
rejection for him to have them go so abruptly. If it weren't for his
dad the child would've lapsed into severe melancholia or worse, autism.
He looked forward to the evenings when his dad would spend time with
him, reading to him and playing. His dad asked his mother,
"Do you ever
play with this baby? He seems starved for affection when I come home."
"Of course I do.
He's in my lap or I'm playing with him all day long. He likes you
better than me, that's all. I can't play with him all day, I've got
things to do around here taking care of all of you." Morgan would shake
his head.
Waddie felt like
he was thrown out of paradise into the cold, scary world when he was
moved across the hall. It was a big room and the ceilings were over
twelve feet high which gave it an ominous feeling; one of dread and
foreboding. It seemed like it went on forever and the shadows
that would play against the walls and ceiling from the old hackberry
tree in the yard made grotesque figures and shapes. He quickly learned
if he covered his head he couldn't see the horrible shapes who were
surely plotting his doom. Waddie was trying hard to be a good, brave,
little cowpoke, as his dad called him, but that damn tree kept talking
to him. It wasn't as bad as when they first moved him in there. At
least he had a little better grasp on life and decided to stay for a
while. He was now almost four years old. He was bright, intelligent,
sensitive with an insatiable apatite to learn about things. He wanted
to know how things worked. He love animals and seemed to have an
affinity for them.
It was scary in
the big room. He'd been up against that damn tree before but it hadn't
gotten him yet despite all it's threats. On cold wintry nights the wind
would blow back and forth to make the old tree shake it's branches
about like a woman shaking her hair after washing it. The old hackberry
would complain to him. It would moan that it was hungry. It's voice
would get louder, grumbling that it's stomach was empty; it hadn't
eaten in a couple of years and what it most desired, it's favorite
meal, to make it strong and thrive again, was a cute little four year
old boy. It would tell him it knew he was in there and if it didn't
come and take him while he slept in peaceful dreams then it would wait
patiently until one day he felt brave enough to climb it. Then without
notice it would open wide it's jaw between the branches as it shook,
causing him to lose his balance and fall directly into it's huge, empty
maw. Then it would quickly close around him, never to be seen nor heard
from again.
At first, as
most young boys his age, he would be confused by the darkness inside
the tree and start to cry. That was the sound the evil hackberry
yearned to hear within it's body. That sound was the trigger frequency
that would start it's digestive fluids, a sticky sap, to begin to ooze
from of it's walls eventually covering the child. The boy would soon
recover his bearings. He would be frightened of the dark and trying to
feel his way around within the tightness of his captor's digestive
chamber. He couldn't sit down. He could feel the sticky fluid begin to
surround him filling the cavity of the massive tree's trunk. The more
he struggled the more sap he got on himself. He began to yell, then
scream but no one heard him. No one can hear the lost children within
the thick wood outer shell of the tree.
It told him not
to worry. Soon he would be part of it and he too could travel
from it's deepest roots to catch the warm summer sun atop it's highest
branches. The old hackberry began to sing a song to him, a hymn of
thanks and gratitude to the boy. Thanking him for giving his life, so
the evil tree might thrive. It would explain, in a stoic manner, how he
was about to become a part of it and it's gratitude to him that it
would live another decade feeding on his young, delicious, succulent
body. They would live together as one. (Wicked trees aren't too
original but they're very Zin.) He felt helpless, immobile. He could
feel the sticky sap rising to his chin. He couldn't yell any more or
scream. The digestive juices all ready seeped into his porous skin and
tranquilized him to accept, to give in.
"Nothing will
ever hurt you again, my boy. Abide with me, my tasty man-child, it
sang. Close your eyes, it's easier if you don't struggle, that's it,
relax, and let me EAT YOU LITTLE BOY!"
"Hey,— hey,—
hey,— cowboy!" Morgan soothed and assured his son. Morgan would sit
down on the side of Waddie's bed, pull the boy to him and hold him,
soothing and comforting him. Waddie would collapse into tears of fear,
anger at himself, and relief that his dad was there to give him comfort.
"There, there,
cowboy, Daddy's here. Daddy ain't gonna' let nothin' happen to his
little buckaroo. We need him for the big roundup in the spring. We
ain't gonna' let nothin' happen to our top waddie. How would we round
up all them dogies?"
Waddie would be
wide-awake by that time, crying softly, hiccuping, then crying some
more. He was ashamed. He once again let that awful tree and it's
influence on his dreams scare him so badly that he yelled for his dad.
He thought he was getting better, stronger, less fearful, and he was,
but that damned old tree,— if it would just stop talking to him. He set
his jaw, he was going to have a talk with that awful old tree tomorrow.
"Is that damn
hackberry tree after you again, Son?"
"Uun-huh."
Waddie answered amid tears and hiccups.
"You want me to
cut that darn thing down? I will if you want me to." Waddie thought
about it for a minute then shook his little head 'no.'
"You don't want
me to get rid of it?" It was really tempting but he knew he had to
learn to face his own fears. Again he shook his head, 'no.' Waddie
learned when he set his jaw, everything around him could go to Hell in
a hand basket but his resolve would see him through.
"I'm gonna' have
a talk with it tomorrow." he said determinedly. Morgan was proud of his
son and kissed him lightly behind his ear. It was a sign that Waddie
was taking control of his life. The kid had seen enough high
strangeness with his ma, Willie and Dorothy to shake him to his
core. He knew from the beginning he was not one of them. He
didn't know enough words to describe the feeling but he understood it
perfectly. They projected onto the child he was separate. Only to be
tolerated; a necessary nuisance.
He intuitively
reasoned, if he was to survive, he better grow up fast or they would
consume him before the damn tree. That strength of purpose cross
applied to the tree. He was determined neither would feast on his soul.
To Hell with that damned old tree, anyway. Sometimes his family scared
him more than the tree.
"You're gonna'
have a talk with it,— ?" This was a creative approach. Morgan was
stunned at Waddie's resolve. He had to hear more about this.
"Yes, Sir."
Waddie didn't elaborate.
"Can you whisper
to Daddy what you're gonna' tell it?"
"I don't have to
whisper, Dad. I don't give a damn if it hears me or not. I'm gonna'
tell that big ugly son of a bitch if it don't stop talking to me and
trying to scare me to death, I'm gonna' piss on it every day until it
dies. When it dies, I want it to know it was me what killed it. I want
to make sure it dies a slow, horrible death, poisoned by my piss. I'll
teach that piece a' shit it ain't gonna' eat me."
Morgan chuckled
to himself thinking, 'Oh, God, I can't wait 'til Buck gets home.' He
hugged and kissed Waddie, telling him he supported his plan one hundred
percent. Just don't let his ma catch him pissing on it. Morgan gently
put him back to bed and couldn't resist the magnetic pull of Waddie's
love for him. Morgan crawled in beside his boy.
"You know what,
cowboy?"
"What, Dad?"
"I'm so proud of
you. Your mother says I shouldn't be sleeping with you like this when
you get scared. I wasn't going to, but fuck it. You ain't gonna' let
that damn tree push you around then I ain't gonna' listen to her
neither. Be all right with you if Daddy stays here with you for a
while? Daddy was getting a little scared a while ago himself and the
thought ran through my head, 'where would I feel the safest if I got
really scared.'"
"You get scared,
Dad?" Waddie turned to his dad in surprise.
"Everybody gets
scared sometime, Son. It's normal. So, you see, you're normal."
"Where would you
go if you got really scared, Dad?"
"I've thought
about it a lot lately and I could only come up with one place where I
know I'd be safe."
"Yeah, where's
that, Dad?"
"In your arms,
cowboy."
"Oh, Daddy."
Waddie said in a frustrated voice. He thought his dad was pulling his
leg.
"No, no, now
hear me out,— " Morgan paused, "we come from God, right?"
"That's what
they teach me in Sunday school. I believe we do but I can't remember
anything before here."
"Who would be
closest to God as far as coming from and going back to." Morgan asked.
Waddie mused for a minute.
"A baby and an
old man." he replied.
"Exactly, so you
see, you're closer to God than I am and he looks after little children
even though they can't see him. My thinking would be if he's looking
out for you then maybe I'd be safe, too. See what I mean?"
"Yeah, Dad, that
makes sense to me. That makes me feel a Hell of a lot better, too."
Waddie lay there for a minute thinking.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah, Son?"
"If'n you get
scared you can come to me and I'll ask God to keep both eyes on us. One
for you and one for me." Morgan got a lump in his throat and couldn't
swallow. He almost choked when he tried to speak. Finally he got it out.
"That's so damn
sweet of you, Waddie. I'm proud to call you my son. I promise you, if I
get scared, you'll be the first person I run to and by the way, cowboy,
I love you."
"Love you, too,
Dad. Now go to sleep. Don't be afraid, Daddy. God's here now, he'll
watch over us." Morgan lay on his side as involuntary tears ran down
his cheek onto his pillow.
'Thank you,
Sir.' Morgan thought in prayer, 'don't get much better'n this and, Sir,
while I got your attention, I know I asked the same thing earlier, but
I was a' hoping an extra prayer might help. Please send your angels to
watch over my brother, Buck, wherever he is. Please God, bring him home
to us. There's a little man laying next to me who needs a good buddy
and I have a feeling my brother Buck will fill the bill. Thanks, Sir."
* * * * * * *
About the same
time Waddie was moved to the other bedroom, Morgan had to close down
the auto repair shop due to lack of business. He owned the building.
His uncle left it to him. Morgan got a better job as a switchman on the
Cotton Belt railroad. The bad thing was he had to be gone on train runs
three and sometimes four days a week. This left plenty of time for the
terrible troika to do their worst.
* * * * * * *
Willie Lump Lump
Waddie lived in
that room for almost two years, then his ma kept after his dad to turn
the room back into a guest room and put Waddie upstairs in his own
room. Morgan reluctantly agreed after being nagged day in and day out
for two months. Willie, Waddie's stepbrother, lived upstairs. It was
his kingdom, his complete domain. Waddie was never allowed to go
upstairs. In his imagination Waddie began to think of the second floor
as the land of his majesty, King Willie Lump Lump. (a name Waddie gave
him from one of his children's books)
Willie had a
haughty attitude about himself and possibly entertained the idea
everyone should feel blessed he was in their presence. He came with his
ma and made it perfectly clear from the first he was there under
duress. Willie thought it his royal duty to tie a rope across the
entrance to the stairs to make sure his little step-brother couldn't
make it to the second floor and invade his territory. Waddie's sister
Dorothy lived downstairs in a huge room back of the kitchen. Originally
it was a maid's room.
Morgan made
quick work of having the rope removed but not without some trauma. He
called Willie downstairs. Willie had a way of walking that was
determined. He slowly descended the stairs and stood with his arms
folded looking at Morgan as if to say, 'You requested an audience,
Peasant?'
"What the fuck
is this?"
"It's a rope
across the stairway, what's it look like?"
"Why is it here,
Willie?"
"Because I put
it there!"
"For what
purpose, Willie?"
"To keep that
little bastard from bothering me." Morgan flashed, jumped the rope onto
the stairs, grabbed Willie by the neck, and drew back his big fist. His
wife, Judy, came screaming,
"Morgan! Morgan,
I told him he could do it. Don't hit him, Morgan!" Judy lied to protect
Willie. She saw Willie putting up the rope but never questioned him.
"One thing at a
time, woman." Morgan barked at his wife, "I'm gonna' warn you one time,
Willie! Next time, I'll put you in the hospital 'cause I won't stop
beating on you until your lights go out. I better never, ever hear you
or hear of you calling my son, a bastard, again. Got that!" Morgan
yelled loudly in Willie's face,"You're certainly one to talk you
pompous little asshole. Do you understand me, Willie?"
"Yes, Sir." a
shaken Willie replied. Morgan didn't let him go.
"Now,— you will
apologize to me and Waddie for calling him a bastard. Don't look at
your ma, Son! This is between you and me. I'd do this to any son of a
bitch that called him that. You refuse to apologize and all three of
you can start packing immediately." Morgan saw Judy nodding to Willie
to apologize.
"I'm sorry,
Waddie, I called you a bastard. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry, Morgan, I
called your son a bastard." Morgan let the boy go and spoke to him over
his shoulder as he walked away.
"You've got five
minutes to get that damn rope down and any hardware on the stairs
removed. Don't you ever put a rope across those stairs again. Oh, and
another thing, we're putting Waddie in the big room at the end of the
hall. He's gonna' live upstairs with you. I know you don't give a
shit about him but you will treat him with respect, Willie. That's not
a request, Boy, understand? Whether you like it or not, he is your
brother and you damn well better start treating him like one."
"Yes, Sir."
Willie was busy
taking the rope down and ran to the back porch to find a screwdriver to
remove the brass eye hooks he carefully put there. He had them out in
no time. Morgan was on his way back to check as Willie got the last
screw out.
"Now, you get
some wood filler from the shop. Fill those holes and when they dry you
sand them smooth. Got that, Willie?"
"Yes, Sir."
Willie scurried
off like an emotionally wounded, little rat to find the wood filler.
Suddenly, H.R.H. King Willie Lump Lump the first, realized he was going
to have that damnable little runt living upstairs with him. There goes
the neighborhood. His life was ruined. That awful little kid who
everyone dotes over will pester him constantly. He had to come up with
a plan quickly or his privacy would be compromised.
They say history
repeats itself. Once more the handwriting appeared on the wall; mene,
mene, teakle, umpharsin; thou art weighed in the balance and
found wanting; a grim pronouncement. Willie was guilty as
charged. In that same act, the king was deposed,— and,— his
kingdom divided.
* * * * * * *
Before Waddie
caught on to how life worked, how mean and cruel some folks can be, he
worshiped Willie. All kids want to be like their big brother. Waddie
wanted to be just like him. Waddie adored him, but the son of a bitch
wouldn't have anything to do with him. He never allowed Waddie to get
close to him. For a young pre-school kid on a ranch with no other kids
your age around can be a pretty lonely existence. Waddie was alone a
lot on the ranch and looked forward to at least sharing some things
with his brother.
'We got the same
ma,' Waddie kept thinking, 'that should account for some feelings of
brotherly love.' He couldn't understand how Willie could be so cold,
calculating and cruel. What had he done to make Willie hate him so.
Waddie made him birthday cards and valentines. Willie wouldn't even
open them. He'd toss them in the trash knowing Waddie would find them
and it would break his heart. Willie never gave Waddie a Christmas or
birthday present. He never even gave Waddie a card. He wouldn't give
Waddie the time of day. People sometimes do to other people what they
wouldn't do to a stray dog. Waddie confronted him after Willie did such
a terrible thing. He wanted to know. He felt he was due an explanation.
"Willie, why
don't you love me?"
"I just don't."
"But, why,
Willie? I ain't never done nothing to you."
"I don't have to
give you a reason, Runt, I just don't like you." Willie barked at
Waddie.
"But, Willie,—
brothers are suppose to love each other."
Willie looked at
Waddie like he was angry at his questions and got a faint smile on his
face.
"You don't
qualify, Runt."
Willie turned on
his heel and walked away. Waddie had no idea what he meant. He didn't
even know what 'runt' meant. Waddie tried going to Morgan with
his hurt and his dad told him to be strong and not bother Willie. His
dad didn't know how to balance fairness and put blame were it should
be. Morgan was the only one in the house Waddie loved and
trusted. He tried talking a couple of times with his ma, but she
told Waddie in no few words that he should remember his place. He was
only a boy and Willie was almost a grown man. His mother made it clear
if he knew what was good for him he'd stay out of Willie's way and not
bother her about it again. Willie's room was off limits to Waddie. He
kept his door locked at all times. Even when he went to the shower he'd
lock his door. When he was alone in his room doing nothing he'd keep
his door locked to keep Waddie out. Willie would come home, talk to his
mom or step dad, go to his room and lock the door so Waddie wouldn't
bother him.
When Waddie was
still a small boy, three to five years old, there would be some
hellacious lightening and thunder storms in that area of Texas. Being a
frightened kid, Waddie was scared to death and wanted to crawl in bed
with his big brother to have him comfort and protect him. Waddie would
run to Willie's room only to find the door locked. He would knock and
pound on the locked door, yelling to him.
"Willie! Oh,
Willie! Please let me in. I'm scared, Willie. Willie! Willie! Oh, God,
Willie, don't be mean to me. Please let me in." Willie never so much as
cracked the door to tell Waddie to go away. He lay there in front of
Willie's door crying his heart out, so afraid, calling out for Willie
to help him. Willie refused to acknowledge there was anyone outside his
door. No one he cared about, anyway. Waddie would be in such hysterics
he wouldn't see two big arms reach down, pick him up, hold him close,
carry him back to his own room, put him into bed, comfort him, sleep
with him and hold him for the rest of the night. His dad would kiss
him, soothe him, and talk softly to him. Morgan would tell him what
father's have told their kids for generations. The thunder is the devil
beating his wife for putting too much salt in the bread. The next day
Willie would rag Waddie's ass for being a sissy; a little girl; a
namby-pamby crybaby; afraid of a little thunderstorm. He was right,
Waddie was terrified of them. Judy jumped Morgan in front of Waddie.
"You're spoiling
that damn kid by running to him every time he cries our at night."
Morgan wasn't real pleased at Willie's performance; now this from his
wife? How could anyone be so cold hearted and cruel and then have the
nerve to castigate him or the boy. Morgan looked at Judy like he could
run a knife through her heart.
"Don't you say
another Goddamn word to me about how I raise my son. You're track
record ain't so damn great you can go around giving others the benefit
of your advice. Look what a cold, heartless son of a bitch you've
created, Mrs. Frankenstein." Morgan gestured toward Willie. "You
can think what you like, but in my house you'll bite your damn tongue
before you say anything like that again. Do you understand, Woman?" She
nodded her head and went about her business. "Further more, you better
have a long heart-to-heart talk with that asshole son of yours; that
is, if you can find his heart. As for you, Willie, I'm tired of
hearing you rag my boy when you won't give him the time of day. Better
keep your bags packed Willie. The next time I hear you rag him you're
out of this house; no apologies accepted. You got that, asshole?"
"Yes,
Morgan." Willie answered with sarcasm in his voice.
"Yes, what,
Willie?"
"Yes,
Sir." he replied more contritely.
Waddie's ma
never came to see what might be bothering Waddie in the night. If his
dad was gone a couple of days, he was on his own. There was no one to
come to his rescue. However, children learn to adapt and survive. The
worst thing to Waddie was the lightening. The rumbling and thunder he
could abide; although, it was difficult to sleep. It seemed the
lightening went everywhere. 'It could get him,' he thought. Waddie
discovered if he got in the back of his closet and stuffed a towel
under the door the lightening couldn't get through or so he thought.
The closet was wider than he was tall so he made himself a nice
comfortable bed in the back of the closet and hid it behind some big
cardboard boxes he kept his toys in so his ma couldn't see it. When a
storm started he'd run to the closet, stuff the towel under the door,
curl up and go back to sleep. He never cried out again;--- except,---
one night, all Hell broke loose. There were tornado warnings for the
area. Morgan ran to Waddie's room to take him to the cellar. He wasn't
in his bed and Morgan's heart sunk to his feet. Where could he be?
Morgan yelled at the top of his voice,
"WADDIE!"
He heard a faint
voice reply. "In the closet, Dad." Morgan ran to open the closet
as Waddie walked out.
"What’re you
doing in the closet, Son?"
"Getting away
from the lightening." Waddie said sheepishly.
"Used to do the
same damn thing when I was a kid! Good think’n, Son!"
Morgan grabbed
him up and carried him to the cellar. It was one Hell of a storm but
Waddie was determined not to be afraid. He was pleased to see his royal
highness, was scared shitless.
'Almost a grown
man? Yeah, right!' Waddie thought but he didn't say anything. Waddie's
dreams of having a loving, caring big brother slowly vanished. Waddie
began to treat Willie the way he treated him. He ignored him.
* * * * * * *
Willie was a
good looking kid. He looked enough like Morgan to be his natural son.
Folks who didn't know just assumed Willie was Morgan's boy. He
was almost Morgan's height and would be when he finished high school.
He had the same dark olive complexion and coal black hair. Willie had
one feature that use to scare the piss out of Waddie before he was use
to him. He had a physical anomaly within his eyes. His irises were jet
black. You couldn't see were the pupil began nor where the iris ended.
It looked like he had two big black marbles for eyes. The doctors told
his mother one child in three million would have the anomaly and it
only occurs in males. The girls and even grown women of the town found
Willie to be the most, handsome, exotic looking young man they'd ever
seen. He was drop dead handsome, no doubt about it, and he knew
it.
Willie, was ten
years old when Waddie was born. He was now fifteen and would go to high
school in the fall. Willie made it to the big time, he thought, and he
was convinced that very possibly his body's waste giveth forth no foul
odor. Willie was small until he got to high school and his second year
he began to gain height. Willie topped out at six-two and became the
consummate jock. At least he thought so. He played anything there was
to play with balls attached. Word was, he was pretty good. Waddie
wondered to himself if Willie was as good as he bragged. He was all the
time telling the family how good a ball player he was. Waddie heard an
old saying, 'The King doesn't have to tell a beggar he's a wealthy
man.' If he's all that good why isn't a lot of other folks bragging on
him. Waddie heard others say Willie thought he was a lot better than he
really was. He had to be a pretty fair ball player because he played in
the Texas minor leagues for several years. He even had a shot at the
big leagues but something happened that he didn't get it.
Willie's outer
package may have been attractive but underneath he was a conniving,
backbiting, ruthless, bastard. He was livid after Morgan embarrassed
the shit out of him and made him eat crow. Willie set his jaw and
decided the day Morgan made him apologize to him and that little son of
a bitch that he would do his damnedest to get back at Morgan. He hated
Morgan. Willie vowed to himself, Morgan would rue the day he did that
to him and yelled at him for teasing that worthless little piece of
shit. He would get back at Morgan anyway he could. What was the easiest
target a coward would go for? Morgan's bastard son, Waddie. He would do
everything he could to make life miserable for Waddie, and covertly get
Waddie to hate Morgan. He planned it, step by ruthless step. Willie
knew his mother would side with him. She would've killed for him. He
knew he could get his sister to cooperate. She was a bit frazzled
around the neural circuits but she loved to play 'us' against 'them.'
In this case, 'them,' being a hapless little five year old boy.
Usually when a
baby is born into a home with older siblings the child is more easily
accepted. A brother or sister many times will become nurturing and
protective even though the child wasn't a full sibling; that is,
if the family doesn't have a symbiotic passive/aggressive personality
disorder syndrome with schizoid tendencies and a mother who was a
full-blown, certifiable, sociopath. Waddie always remained a
step-brother. He was reminded of it daily. Judy's other two children
were the 'real,' fully acknowledged, bona fide, children in the house.
Waddie was a half brother so he was worth half of what they were. He
was told repeatedly he wasn't wanted. He was told nobody in the family
wanted him there. They told him his dad was only being nice to him
until they could find an orphanage to take him. Willie and his sister
would laugh at him for crying because they hurt him so much. They
treated him like a emotional punching bag. When his dad read
"Cinderella" to him he wondered if he could trade places with her. Her
life was a cakewalk compared to his. 'Waddie was there,' they thought,
'vulnerable, and naive, why not make life miserable for the little
bastard?'
Willie's
insidious plan for vengeance against his step-dad was underway. In
their eyes, all Morgan was good for was to put food in their bellies
and a place to live. Willie started by symbolically and emotionally
cutting Waddie's balls off before they even had a chance to descend.
There's nothing more rejecting or castrating than to be ignored. It
says you aren't important enough to be acknowledged. You are nothing.
Many times they treated Waddie like he wasn't even there; like he
didn't exist. Willie ignored him completely. Willie would walk away
from Waddie while he was trying to talk to him.
Willie's older
sister, Dorothy, was an early blooming, pubescent teenager. She thought
she was twelve going on twenty-one when she came with her mother to
live with Morgan. She tried to act more mature than she was for her
age. She had a bit kinder attitude toward Waddie but she developed an
almost sadistic joy in giving to the boy and then taking away from him
again. She would be passively accepting of him in a loving manner then
aggressive and unrelenting in her rejection. On rare occasions
she would show him love and keep him dangling hoping for more then
forget about him and her promise. He never knew from minute to minute
where he stood with her. She became a pathological liar. She would lie
when the truth would do more good. The real sorrow was she came to
believe her lies. Everyone saw this happening but did nothing to help
her. In those days they didn't know much about personality disorders.
The family hoped she'd outgrow it in time. She never did. Her only
salvation was to find a man who would put up with her.
Dorothy was many
times mistaken for Elizabeth Taylor. While she didn't have lavender
eyes she nevertheless looked more than a little like her. No one could
understand how a lovely girl who became a strikingly beautiful woman
could get so messed up mentally. Waddie knew exactly why but no one
asked him. Morgan didn't have a clue because, Judy, his wife and
Waddie's mother, kept it hidden from him for years. Waddie's ma was the
same damn way. In some ways, Waddie thought she was worse. Judy went
along with Willie's plan. She never wanted Waddie in the first place
but Morgan begged her. She resented having to take care of Waddie. In
her sick mind she looked on Waddie as Morgan's kid. Judy was still in
love with her first husband. As far as she was concerned, they could do
anything they wanted to Waddie. She never cared about him. He was
totally Morgan's kid. If she never saw Waddie again she wouldn't
care. Aside from being uncaring about her kid, Waddie didn't realize he
was dealing with a classic sociopathic personality.
What's a
sociopath? Someone who has no conscience about anything they do to
another person; emotionally or physically. They have little, if any,
empathy for anyone who's been negatively effected by their behavior.
Young children pick up on mental aberrations faster than adults. They
may not know the fancy words or a diagnosis but they can tell it's
there. Children are nearer the center of personality development
pulling in a wealth of information to form their own personal identity.
They get input from their peers, other adults, and even people they
meet and talk to. If some of that information comes in and tells them
it doesn't balance as acceptable input, they become suspicious,
threatened and back away. Waddie got to where he couldn't stand to be
kissed or hugged by his ma. She would be warm and loving one minute
until she got what she wanted, then be cold and rejecting. She did it
to Waddie time and time again. She did it to Dorothy and she, in turn,
absorbed her mother's personality. Her only child she didn't do it to
was Willie. Waddie was mystified. Why? Why not Willie? Waddie was to
find out later.
From the time
Waddie moved into his room Willie barged in to do whatever he pleased.
Waddie told him he didn't want him in his room. He didn't want to
snitch but if he continue he would tell his dad. Willie grabbed the
five year old boy in his bigger hands and began to shake him like a rag
doll.
"If you ever
snitch on me you filthy, little cocksucker I'll see to it you have an
accident you won't recover from. Then you'll be out my hair for good."
Waddie started screaming and crying. His dad was out of town but his
mother never came to see what was wrong. That was just warm ups for
Willie. Willie would do something around the place Morgan told Willie
over and over not to do. Morgan would get pissed off ready to take
Willie to the barn when he'd smile sweetly.
"Oh, no, Morgan,
you got it wrong, your precious son did this. Ask Dorothy or ma,
they'll tell you." Morgan would ask them and they would swear they both
saw Waddie do it. Morgan would stomp up to Waddie's room and
practically drag Waddie to the barn. His son would be screaming and
yelling.
"Dad! Dad,
what're you doing? Why are you dragging me to the barn."
"To give you a
whipping."
"What for, Dad?"
"You know what
you did."
"No, Dad, I
don't."
"Did you do
'such and such?'" (whatever the offence)
"No, Sir, I
didn't!"
"Don't lie to
me, Son."
"I ain't lying,
Dad. You taught me not to lie. "
"How did it
happen then? It didn't just happen by itself."
"I don't know,
Dad. I don't know, but I swear to you, I didn't do it."
"Your ma and
Dorothy told me they saw you do it."
"They're not
telling the truth, Dad. I never did it."
"I won't have a
liar in my house. I'm gonna' whip you 'til you admit you done it."
Waddie continued
to protest to deaf ears. Morgan wasn't going to listen to another word.
He pulled Waddie's pants down, bent him over a hay bail with a horse
blanket thrown over it and started wailing on his son's butt with his
big wide western belt. Waddie would cry and yell he didn't do it but
Morgan told him he would whip him until he admitted it. Finally, it
would hurt the boy enough he would be forced to lie and admit he did it
begging Morgan to please stop whipping him. Only then would
Morgan cease. He would talk to Waddie about truth and trust. It was the
last thing Waddie wanted to hear coming out of his hypocritical dad.
Preach one religion and practice another? Waddie lost all respect for
his dad that day. Morgan was not prepared for the hatred in his son's
eyes. Waddie always looked at his dad with love and trust in his eyes.
That was now replaced by fear, hurt, confusion and disillusion. The
first time he took Waddie to the barn Waddie immediately owned up to
his mistake and promised he would never do it again. He never did. But
now, . . . he was like a different kid. He admitted he did it, why
isn't he being contrite? He had hatred in his eyes, like he hates me
for correcting him. I can't have this, I'm in control here. A wee small
voice he couldn't quite hear spoke in a whisper,
'You gave up
control when you betrayed the child's trust. You condemned him without
giving him the benefit of the doubt. Are you sure they aren't lying to
drive a wedge between you and your son? Without his respect, you have
no control. Furthermore, you don't deserve to have control over him if
he can't trust you to trust him. Trust is a two way street, Morgan.
Just because Waddie's five years old doesn't mean he's less deserving
or incapable of your trust. Search your soul, Morgan. If Buck came to
you and told you the whole town said they saw him do something and he
told you different, who would you believe? Well?' Either Morgan
couldn't hear or chose not to listen to his own voice of reason.
"Well, I hated
to do it but it had to be done." Morgan told him. Waddie refused to
talk to him about it. He was emotionally confused and physically hurt.
He trusted this man and now he whipped him to make him tell a lie. He
looked at his dad and asked him,
"You gonna' whip
me again, Dad?"
"No, why do you
ask?"
"For the lie you
made me tell you."
Morgan didn't
answer. He didn't want to hear the point his son was making. That scene
was repeated five or six more times that year. Willie knew what set
Morgan off and would frame Waddie. Willie's mom and Dorothy would go
along with him. The more whippings Waddie got the less he cried.
Waddie,— without a tear,— would yell at his dad.
"You had enough?
You ready for me to admit I done it?"
"Yes, Son, I'm
ready to hear it."
"Yeah,— well,—
okay, Dad, I done it. There,— you happy?" Waddie would say flatly
without a trace of emotion. Once again Morgan would try to talk to
Waddie. Waddie was almost five and was still a little boy at heart but
he was growing up fast. Morgan would give the boy his standard, 'This
hurts me more than it hurts you,' speech. That day Waddie turned and
looked at his dad with a look that sent chills down Morgan's spine.
"Like Hell, it
does! You gonna' let me whip you now for that Goddamn lie?" Waddie
noticed Morgan's dick was hard and a wet spot at his crotch. His dad
was getting off on whipping his ass.
"I'm not lying
to you, Son."
"Bull shit! Why
should I believe you? You don't never believe me. I tell you them sons
of bitches is lying and you won't believe me. To Hell with you, Dad!"
Morgan hauled
off and slapped his son hard across the mouth. He was immediately sorry
for what he'd done but it was too late. The damage was done. Waddie
didn't yell or cry out from the hard blow to his face. He merely turned
to his dad, looked him in the eye with a look of hatred so cold and
strong it almost froze Morgan's heart. The five year old child looking
at him, who should have the openness of love in his face looked like a
hardened convict looking at fifty to life. Waddie spoke very
purposefully to his dad.
"I don't love
you no more, Dad."
Waddie turned
and ran out of the barn out into the pasture land behind the barns. He
ran and ran until he was exhausted then fell to the ground and let it
all out onto the Earth. He prayed to God to help him. He wasn't asking
for wrathful vengeance, he just wanted his dad back. The old dad whom
he loved, cherished, trusted and believed in. Morgan tried to follow
Waddie into the field. He'd never seen the boy this upset. He realized
he owed him an apology for smacking him one. He slowly came to where
Waddie was laying in the field and could hear him heaving gut wrenching
sobs. Morgan could see the red hand print forming on Waddie's small
face. He knelt down and tried to pick his son up. Instead Waddie
reacted violently throwing wild but strong punches that had some kick
to them.
"Damn you! I
told you I don't love you no more! Now, keep your Goddamn hands off a'
me."
"Waddie listen
to me,— "
"I don't want to
hear another pack of lies from your mouth. You've preached and preached
to me to be truthful and then you drag my ass out here and beat me 'til
you make me lie. Well, you happy, Dad? You made your son into a Goddamn
liar and he don't love you no more." Waddie turned and ran off
again toward the old barn.
"Waddie,— "
Morgan hollered after him, "you don't mean that. Come back here, Son,
and let's talk."
"Talk to
yourself, Dad! You're the only one you'll believe, anyway. Go ahead,
Dad, tell yourself a lie. Tell yourself Waddie still loves you. Well,
he don't! But you go ahead, if you can believe them son’s of bitches
lies over the only one in that house who gives a tinker's dam about
you, go for it. You wouldn't know the truth if it bit you on the butt,
Dad."
Waddie was
walking to the barn blinded by tears but Morgan decided not to follow
him. He decided to let him cool down and he'd be in for dinner. Waddie
didn't come in for dinner. He climbed to the loft and arranged some hay
bails, got some clean horse blankets, made himself a bed under the warm
hay and intended to stay there all night. Morgan came out and yelled
for him but he wouldn't answer him. He looked all over for him. Morgan
could sense Waddie could hear him.
"Listen, Son,
I'm sorry I hit you. Daddy was wrong to do that. I love you, Waddie. I
can't stand to think you don't love me anymore. Come on in the house
with me, Son. I won't try to talk to you no more. Just have something
to eat, clean up and go to bed." Waddie didn't breathe. He wasn't about
to do what his dad wanted. Morgan finally left and Waddie
thought, 'Good, now I can rest.'
He cried some
more and thought. Rather than be passive this time he decided to fight
back. There was only one problem. He needed a champion. Some one to
love him and believe in him. That sounded like a God request to him.
Fine he hadn't talked with the Old Man in a while. He'll probably be
happy to hear from him. He heard footsteps in the barn from a big pair
of boots and Waddie recognized them as his dad's. He hoped he wasn't
coming out to beg him to come in the house again. He heard Morgan
climbing the ladder to the loft but he didn't hear him looking for him.
He could see the light from the lantern. He could hear Morgan near him.
"Waddie, I
brought out a couple of blankets. I'm gonna' sleep out here with you
tonight. If you want to come share my blanket I'd love to have you by
my side. I think you need your dad to hold you and tell you how sorry
he is for hitting you. You need to hear me say I love you, Waddie.
Whether you love me or not, I still love you."
Waddie, started
crying again. Morgan almost couldn't contain himself from the pain and
anguish in the boy's sobs. He knew that something was desperately wrong
but he still refused to believe his son over the three in the house.
Maybe this rebellion against punishment was a phase Waddie was going
through. Waddie got up early before sunrise and crept down the ladder
from the loft. He walked to the house, climbed the stairs to his room,
quietly closed the door, went to his closet, closed that door and
settled in his dark, hurt proof, corner. He stayed there for almost two
weeks.
* * * * * * *
It was summer.
Two days before Waddie's fifth birthday. His dad came to his room.
Waddie hadn't come out since his whipping, not even to eat. His dad
brought him trays. He never touched a thing. He lost so much weight his
levis wouldn't stay on his hips. His face looked shrunken and hollow.
Morgan was worried about his son. Waddie turned his back on his dad
when he came into his room. He refused to look at him. Morgan asked him
what he wanted to do for his birthday.
"Find a new
home." Waddie replied flatly with no emotion.
Morgan's heart
had all ready been broken but to hear this from a child he loved with
all his heart was too much. He started to scold his son but there were
no words that would come out. What could he say? Scolding would only
drive him further away. Was Waddie really telling him the truth? Could
all three of them be doing this to turn his son away from him? Morgan
refused to believe anyone would be that cruel. Willie maybe, but Judy
and Dorothy? Morgan could feel the resolute, desperate nature of his
son's statement and it crushed him. He thought if he could just touch
his boy he could communicate he still loved him. He went to reach for
his son, but Waddie pulled away, ran for his closet and tried to hide
in the back corner in a fetal position.
"Don't touch me!
Get away from me! I told you I don't love you no more and I mean it. Go
away and let me be. I don't want a birthday from you or anybody. You're
suppose to celebrate your birthday with folks you love and love you.
Nobody in this damn house loves me and I don't love any of you either.
Now, do me a favor and get out of my room. I ain't coming out of my
room again. Let that bastard, Willie, try to frame me with something
when I been in my Goddamn room all the time."
Morgan looked at
his son and knew if he hadn't all ready lost him, he soon would.
"I'm sorry,
Son." He said quietly.
"No, you ain't,"
replied Waddie softly, "or you would've believed me."
Morgan really
was sorry. He was hurting in his gut so bad he rushed to the upstairs
bathroom and threw up his dinner. As he ran to the bathroom, he saw
Willie standing in the door with a sneer on his face. Waddie wanted to
love his dad but when his dad came around to play with him or spend
time, Waddie rejected him. He told Morgan to go away. He didn't want
nothing to do with him anymore. He didn't want Morgan touching him. He
wouldn't even look into Morgan's eyes. Waddie drew further away from
Morgan. He stayed in his room for days mostly in the corner of the
closet. That's where Morgan always found him with the door closed. He
hadn't come out of his room in almost two weeks. Morgan was frantic.
Waddie wouldn't respond. He had nothing to eat in a week and a half and
very little water. Waddie knew he was dying. He simply didn't care.
There was nothing to live for without love. He'd go home to God. He
knew God would love him. Waddie prayed to God to either let his dad
believe him or take him back to heaven. He didn't want to live anymore.
This was an awful place down here where mean people hurt folks for no
reason. I'm not a bad boy, God, I try to be good. Why do they hate me?
Judy, 'Grindle's
mother,' could see the handwriting on the wall. Sociopaths aren't
stupid people, they're just devoid of care. Many say they have no
souls. To have a soul implies a conscience. She, nor her spawn had ever
heard the word let alone possess one. She gathered her two wicked
step-children about her and told them to cool it for a while. Morgan's
near the breaking point and if Waddie doesn't come around they may get
thrown out. She thought Morgan was getting suspicious. Waddie
continued to pray in the darkness of his closet.
"God, nobody
down here loves me. Do I have to live without love, God? I was told you
love me. Excuse me, Sir, but that's hard for me to believe. Even if my
dad don't believe me you know what the truth is and how mean my ma,
Willie, and Dorothy are to me. I believe in you and love you. Can't you
love me a little in return. If I can't be with you, God, send me an
angel to protect me. I ain't asking for toys, a dog or a pony, Lord. I
just need help, Sir. I need someone to believe in me and love me. Then
these sons of bitches can't hurt me if I have love in my heart. Please,
Sir." And God heard Waddie's prayer and answered it. He sent him the
biggest, meanest, toughest, best looking, kick-ass cowboy angel he
could find.