Healing Grace (19 page)

“Insanity”

Complete domination of body and mind,

I disappear from life, deaf, dumb and blind,

At heaven’s gate, madness outlined,

But you amended and redefined.

I crush my skull to remove mentality,

I live with nothing, cradled in empty,

I destroy myself in this depravity,

Yet you won’t let me be.

You soar above, swoop down, conceive,

You take my breath, in me believe,

You secure the good and steal the key,

You give so much to set me free.

You draw maps to vacate and detain,

You control the torment, cleanse this stain,

You swallow my tears, divert my brain,

But I am still insane.

After the colonel cried, he wouldn’t let the boy go to his bedroll on the floor. He said what they’d done together would be their secret, and he made the boy promise to never tell. Keeping secrets was nothing new for the boy, so he didn’t mind. All night long he lay beside the colonel in the big bed with the colonel’s feet touching his. The boy thought he would never sleep, but he did.

The next day the colonel spent working with the troops and didn’t return until bedtime. Awkwardly the boy stood by his bedroll, facing the wall, and took his clothes off. He was still there, in his underwear, when the colonel came up behind him. The colonel laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder and murmured, “Sleep with me? It’s lonely in that bed by myself.”

“Okay.” The boy shivered.

“You’re cold,” the colonel said. “Get under the covers where it’s warm.”

The colonel went to lock the door, so the boy took his underwear off because he thought that’s what the colonel wanted him to do. Then he pulled back the blanket and lay down. He didn’t cover himself, and he didn’t look at the colonel but he felt the colonel’s eyes on him. He thought the colonel would do things to him as soon as they were lying together, but he didn’t.

The colonel drew the blanket over them both, then leaned close and kissed the boy lightly on the mouth. “Sleep well, love,” the colonel whispered.

Many nights after that were the same, but many were not. The colonel kissed the boy a lot, and touched him a lot. But each evening, when he climbed in bed, the boy didn’t know what the night would bring. He didn’t know until the colonel told him. If the colonel wanted to do again what he’d done the day he cried, he always said the same thing, “I want you tonight.”

The boy was confused a lot, and surprised a lot, but he was getting used to it. He did things for the colonel too, and it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be. The colonel didn’t force him. The colonel didn’t pinch or slap or pull his hair. He remembered being puzzled, but he learned he didn’t need to be scared. The colonel was always gentle. All he had to do was listen and do what the colonel asked. He couldn’t say he liked it, but he didn’t hate it. It was okay, because he knew the colonel was pleased.

During the day, the boy’s chores and duties didn’t change, and their evenings sharing dinner, telling jokes, making up stories and reading books were the same, too. For the first week or so, the boy felt funny, but that feeling passed. The colonel treated him no differently, except perhaps he smiled more and touched him more. Rarely did the colonel walk by without brushing against the boy’s shoulder or rubbing his back. Every day before the colonel left, he lightly kissed the boy on the mouth.

As autumn settled in, the leaves began to turn and the nights grew colder. It was on one of these that the colonel came in much later than usual. By then, the boy had already gone to bed. He’d already been asleep. He awakened when he felt the colonel crawl in behind him and re-tuck the blankets around them both.

The colonel kissed his cheek and whispered, “Goodnight, love.”

That meant nothing more would happen, so the boy closed his eyes and rested contently. It was better too, having the heat from the colonel’s body next to him. In seconds he was drifting away.

“I can’t sleep,” the colonel murmured. “I know it’s late, but I want you tonight.”

The boy didn’t know if the colonel had actually spoken, or if he’d dreamt what he heard. But then the colonel turned him and kissed him, the deep tonguing kisses the boy was getting used to, the kind the colonel liked best. Under the blankets, as always the colonel’s hands roamed, caressing, stroking, making him burn.

The boy didn’t know exactly what sent his mind adrift, whether it was the way the blankets were suddenly flung aside, or the way the chilly air made him shiver, or the colonel’s words, or even the way the colonel turned him. It could have been simply that the boy was still groggy with sleep. But reminding himself that he didn’t need to be scared, the colonel would never hurt him, didn’t work. The voices in his head wouldn’t stop.

“It will be over soon… make the noises… the cool creek water
feels good… wade out deeper… Toby’s fur is so soft… Toby’s scratchy
tongue tickles, silly kitty… faster means it will be over soon… the slimy rock is slippery… oops, falling, falling, splashing, splashing, laughing, laughing… hold your breath… the sky is blue… very blue… oooooooh…”

“Does this feel good, love?”

“Oooh, it hurts...” The boy knew what to say. He let the whimpers fall out of him. He let the words ring out between his cries, “…oooh, Daddy, please, it hurts, pleeeease, don’t… Daddy…”

In the next instant, everything stopped.

Something was wrong—very, very wrong, but the boy didn’t know what it was. Something touched his back. Something light and tender trailed up and down his spine. Someone said his name. The voice wasn’t Daddy’s voice, was it? Was it? Just in case, “…ow…ooooow…” His breath came out of him in a whispery moan, like it was supposed to.

“Lie down, love.”

The boy obeyed the quiet murmur, stretching his legs out, and he stayed on his stomach, with his arms curled under him, with his fists under his chin. He felt strange, disoriented, and it was hard to breathe. A blanket was brought up over him, but Daddy had never done that before. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to see where he was, because he didn’t want it to be that other place.

“Why did you call me that?”

He knew that voice. It was the colonel’s voice, wasn’t it? The boy couldn’t open his eyes because he was afraid. Why hadn’t Toby jumped up onto the bed yet? Where was Toby? The colonel wasn’t supposed to be in this place. The boy wanted to cry, but he wasn’t allowed.

“Did your father do this to you?” the colonel’s voice asked. “Did he rape you?”

The boy shook his head, burying it further into the pillow. The pounding in his chest increased, but he had to answer. If he didn’t, Daddy would take him to the barn.

“I can skip r…r…rocks.” The boy’s voice was squeaky, like a child’s. “I’m g...g…good at it. Once I c…c…counted n…nine skips.”

“Nine? That many? You must be very good at it.” The colonel spoke gently, like he was talking to someone young.

The boy felt young, like he was little again.

It was a mistake, Daddy! Please, don’t, oh, please…

“You have to f…f…find the fl…fl…flat ones. The skinny flat ones w…work best. Sometimes it’s hard t…t…to find them.”

“That’s right, love, the skinny flat ones. You must skip rocks a lot to be so good at it.”

A hand touched his head and brushed his hair back in a tender caress. The colonel did that to him. The colonel was the only person who ever did that.

“It’s m…m…mostly pretend, mostly pretend.”

“Pretend? What do you mean, love?” the colonel murmured.

“It’s j…j…just pretend. I’m n…n…not really sk…sk…skipping rocks.”

“Like a daydream?” the colonel asked.

“N…n…no. It was n…n…night. Mostly nighttime.”

It got quiet. The boy kept his eyes shut, listening to the silence, willing his heart to stop pounding, and the rest of him to stop shaking. But he’d said something wrong. He knew because it was too quiet.

I’m sorry, Daddy. It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to tell… please don’t… please…

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” the colonel’s voice was soft, and the hand brushed his hair again, petting him. “Is that why you ran away from home? Because of your father? Because of how he hurt you?”

The boy shook his head. He couldn’t breathe. “No. Be…be…because T…T…Toby died.”

“Who’s Toby?”

“M…my k…k…kitty.” A droning shrill whine started in the boy’s throat and rang in his ears.

“It’s okay, love. It’s okay to be sad about your kitty.” The colonel’s hand brushed his hair again.

“It was my fault. I’m too old.” The words came out whirring, carried along by the awful noise in his ears.

“Too old? What?”

The sound got louder and the boy shook his head to make it stop, but it didn’t stop.

“Shhh, love, it’s okay to tell me,” the colonel’s voice said. “How old were you? How old were you when your father did this to you?”

The voice tricked him and made him say things he wasn’t supposed to say! The whirring increased, screaming inside his head.

It was a mistake! Please don’t… Daddy… oh, please…

“Don’t tell… say something else… talk about the kitties in the barn…they like me. I feed them from my hand a…a…and th…they like me. I want to pl…pl…play with the kitties. I…I like the kittieeeees… don’t tell… don’t ever tell…” The rest of his words were swallowed by the whining wall of sound.

“Oh my god,” the colonel whispered. “Oh my god!”

The colonel was mad now. Because the boy was bad. He was bad. He was bad!

“Answer me, boy!”

How old was he? The kitties are running away. He’s getting up, turning around. Daddy’s there.
“Come up to the loft,”
Daddy says. But once he’s in the loft he can’t stand up. His legs don’t work. Daddy hauls him to his feet. The belt stings. Oh, it stings!

“Get up, crybaby! Pull your britches up!”

“Shhh, shhh, love, shhh…”

“Answer me, boy!”

He’s by the big washtub, but he can barely reach over the sides to the spigot. “I used the soap, b…b…but I can’t get it out… oh no. Oh no. Momma’s coming. Don’t let Momma see the blood. Don’t let her see. Don’t ever tell!”

“Shhh, shhh…”

“Answer me, boy!”

How old was he?

The footsteps are coming. “Get under the bed, Toby. You can come out after, when it’s over, when he’s gone.” The door creaks. Whiskey smell wafts into the air. The big hand clamps on his arm, jerking him, dragging him.

“It hurts now, doesn’t it, faggot? Don’t you dare cry!”

“…no, no, Daddy, please don’t hurt him. Please let him go. Pleeease, Daddy…!” he’s pleading, crying, but Daddy just laughs.

The shriek—that awful caterwauling shriek—the thud, the silence. He stumbles through the barn and falls to his knees. He picks Toby up, but Toby doesn’t squirm. Toby’s head lists to the side.

“Why, Daddy, why? Oh no, oh noooooo! It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I’m too old… I look like a man, not a boy… oh, Toby…
Tobyyyyy
…”

He tried to cover his ears, but couldn’t move his arms. Someone was holding them down. He struggled, twisting, fighting against the constriction, but it just got tighter.

Someone called his name. Someone was yelling it over and over again, “…Open your eyes! Open your eyes! Oh my god. Open your eyes! Daddy isn’t here. He can’t hurt you anymore. Shhh, shhh…”

The boy’s eyes flew open. He was in the colonel’s bed. He didn’t remember how he got there. He didn’t know how the colonel’s arms got wrapped around him. He was on his side, with his back against the colonel. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, pinned there by the colonel’s embrace. His breath was heaving.

“Shhh, shhh. Oh my god,” the colonel murmured. “Are you okay, love? Are you okay?”

He didn’t know if he was okay. He felt drained, exhausted, but terrified all at the same time. He’d never felt like this before—this strangeness, like he wasn’t himself anymore, like if he closed his eyes, he would disappear, like his mind would split in two.

How old was he?

The panic came again, along with the ringing in his throat. “Colonel? Colonel?”

“Shhh, shhh, I’m right here. It’s okay, love. Breathe, just breathe… you’re okay now. Your daddy can’t hurt you here.”

“I’m sorry I’m bad. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“No!” the colonel said firmly. “You’re not bad. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The boy’s voice was a squeaky whisper. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, love, I’m not mad. I could never be mad at you.”

The colonel began to rock, a slow, easy motion, back and forth, back and forth. The sound in the boy’s throat gradually withered away and he could breathe again. The only sound became the subtle crinkle of the ropes stretching under the mattress. He let his eyelids drop, lower and lower, until he could see his fuzzy eyelashes, until his pupils crossed, until his eyes closed completely.

“Answer me, boy!”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” he wailed. “I don’t know…”

The colonel’s hand was on the boy’s head, holding him still. “What don’t you know? What is it, love? It’s okay to tell me.” The colonel’s tone was so gentle, so tender.

“I don’t know… I don’t know how old I was…”

“Shhh, shhh, I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry.” The colonel’s voice lowered even more and his arms squeezed, holding the boy even tighter. “…you poor baby, you poor, poor baby…”

The colonel’s arms were so strong, and his body was warm, like the sun. The boy felt like he was lying on his back in the meadow by the creek. The whisper of wind in the trees was the colonel’s voice, and the ground underneath was slowly rocking him. It seemed so real, he could even hear the grass crinkle. The wind told him he could go to sleep. And it was okay because he wasn’t in that place and he didn’t have to remember anymore.