Quote:Before I knew what was happening she reached out and slapped me as hard as she could across the face. Then she grabbed my hair and dragged me down the hall to my room. All the while, she yelled and screamed how bad I was. With her free hand, she was swinging the belt with all her strength. The towel fell off as she threw me into my room head first. I hit the floor and rolled away from her. She got into position to start the beating.
I rolled in a ball to hide and protect myself; I was embarrassed at being naked. But that was the least of my worries, as the pain started and increased with each hit. She was using all her might and hit high and low trying not to miss any spots. I was begging and screaming for her to stop, and this just made her madder. I lay there crying and moaning. Finally, she stopped and turned and walked out the bedroom door. I lay there for a few minutes then crawled to my bed and got under the sheets. At that moment, I knew the move to Yorba Linda—the better house, the new furniture—none of it had changed her. She was the same person she had always been; the same anger and the same rage had just moved to a new location.
Monday came quickly and it was our first day at the new school. We lived in a housing track in the hills. We were almost at the top, and the school was at the bottom. It was a long walk and lots of different streets to learn. It was easy going downhill to school but a lot harder going back up at the end of the day. Since it was the first day, Mom took us to school and did her usual bullshit good mother routine. Tom would be going to junior high, and I was going into the fourth grade. Tom’s school was in a different direction than mine.
We went to my school first and checked in at the office. After we got signed in, the principal came out to meet us. “Hi, I’m Mr. Davies, the principal,” he said.
Mr. Davies was a large man in every way. He was tall and fat and was completely bald, but he had a kind face and smiling eyes. He looked at me and asked, “What’s your name?”
I replied, “Timmy.”
He stuck out his hand and shook my hand firmly; it almost hurt.
“I’m Mrs. Fielding’s.” My mom introduced herself, and they shook hands.
“Mrs. Fielding’s, we haven’t received any of Timmy’s transcripts yet from his last school. What grade are you in, Timmy?”
“Fourth grade’ sir”
“Well then, I know just where to put you. Ms. Right’s class has an opening. You will like her a lot. She is a very good teacher, and she is really nice.”
I smiled