Taking it with you

I must've been eight.  We were still living in Spartanburg, SC.  There were already frays at the seams of our family.  My brother and I learned to play outdoors or in the playroom, far from the adults.

Charlie was 4 years younger than I and slight for his age.  He had yet to give up his fetid blue "Ni-Night" and still sucked his thumb when he thought no one was watching.

We played together frequently, and well.   Ambulance, House, Teacher... we kept our games simple but always mimicked adult behavior.

As I was bigger, and inherently bossier, we usually played as I dictated.  Charlie, sweet and reticent by nature, was happy to comply.  Our only bone of contention was The Chair.

Situated in the only corner suitable for watching the T.V., was The Chair.  It was a wingback with a loud abstract floral print.  We two comfortably fit into The Chair together, like kittens nuzzling to keep from cold.  I usually didn't even mind when Ni-Night was nestled between us.  We watched Scooby-Doo and sometimes The Brady Bunch.  However, I had begun to feel a little smothered.

There was a moment, I'm not sure exactly, when the tilt of our little planet shifted.  Seemingly overnight, my father awoke and decided to start parenting.  Suddenly my poor showing in math was pertinent.

My room was untidy.  My hair was disheveled.  I talked too much.  I was too negative.  I didn't try hard enough.

At night, next to my purring cat, deep beneath the covers, I cried myself to sleep.

I was too busy to play House, too grown-up to play Ambulance, too bored to play Teacher.

The Chair however remained the same.  When all my homework was completed, I was allowed to watch T.V.  Charlie and I sat together, gape mouthed, learning about meddling kids and ancient chinese secrets.

I was sour as vinegar.  I bit my ragged fingernails and picked at scabs.  I did NOT want to share The Chair.

Cramped, and caught in the folds of Ni-Night, I became irate.  I pushed Charlie from The Chair.  Unfortunately, an upholstery nail had poked through the fabric and as he fell, Charlie's leg, from thigh to knee, was ripped open.

I bolted.  "Safe" in my room, I hid underneath the bed.  I stayed there, among the dust bunnies and wayward toys, and eventually fell off to sleep.  I remember being pulled out and abruptly awakened.

I thought of all my heinous crimes, the Cs in math, the messy room, and knew that this latest of course was the most despicable.  I braced for pain.  And it rained upon me.

Audibly though, over the slaps and crying, was a small voice beseeching my father to stop.  My brother pleaded, insisted that the accident was just that, and that we two just no longer fit in The Chair.  In truth, we didn't.

My brother is 34 now and my father is dead.  Yet, the scars remain.