But somehow I always knew Mother and I had a private relationship. Then I thought Mother was sick because she only acted differently when my brothers were not around and my father was away at work. No school means no food and more time at "The House." All I can do is try to imagine myself away - somewhere, anywhere - from "The House." For years I have been the outcast of "The Family." As long as I can remember I have always been in trouble and have "deserved" to be punished. That's the only time I can escape my life. The only pleasure in my life is when I sleep. My day ends only when Mother allows me to sleep on the army cot, where my body curls up in my meek effort to retain any body heat. Then, and only if I have completed all of my chores on time, and if I have not committed any "crimes," I may be fed a morsel of food.
I receive beatings or play another one of her "games," perform afternoon chores, then sit at the bottom of the stairs until I'm summoned to complete the evening chores.
I run to school, steal food, return to "The House" and am forced to throw up in the toilet bowl to prove that I didn't commit the crime of stealing any food. I wake up from sleeping on an old army cot in the garage, perform the morning chores, and if I'm lucky, eat leftover breakfast cereal from my brothers. I am nine years old and I've been living like this for years. But that's nothing new - I've learned to turn off the pain. My neck and shoulder muscles begin to throb. I'm hungry and I'm shivering in the dark! I sit on top of my hands at the bottom of the stairs in the garage. Winter 1970, Daly City, California- I'm alone.
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