Ever since forever, Mother put a rubber sheet under my bottom sheet so the mattress wouldn't get soaked. Sometimes, pee flows beyond the rubber's edges. That happened this morning. "Your mattress is soaked," she screamed.
Dad doesn't like getting up early. Today, he jumped out of that bed as fast as a whitetail buck bounds from its grassy resting place the moment it hears anything step on dried leaves. "Did he piss the bed again?"
"He did," yelled Mother, "and he pissed an ocean." I hadn't dressed but wanted to take the wet stuff down the basement to the washing machine. Mother blocked the kitchen door that led to the basement steps. "Wait for your father."
The floor shook. Hair disheveled, face and cheeks red, Crazy Man barreled into the kitchen and jerked a kitchen chair from under the table. It scraped on the linoleum, sounding like a squealing pig. Crazy Man plopped down on the chair. "Lie down on my lap, backside up," he ordered. He struck my butt hard. My back and shoulders, too. Each time the Fuller hairbrush's bristles struck, I screamed.
"Jim," Mother said, "he's bleeding."
"You're lazy," Crazy Man's spit shot across the room. "That's why you piss the bed. Stand up. You're not hurt." Crazy Man glared at the wet sheets and underwear that lay on the floor. "Take those things downstairs and get dressed."
When I made it upstairs, Crazy Man wasn't in the kitchen. I figured he must've returned to his bed. "I'm sorry," said Mother.
"No, you're not. I bet you wished I was dead." I ran to the bathroom, closed and locked the door, sat on the sink's ledge, and bawled my head off as I peered into the medicine cabinet's mirror. It's hard to explain but the kid looking back at me wasn't really me. I cleaned myself with a wash cloth. Mother yelled for me to hurry and get dressed since it was a school day. At morning recess, a bunch of us—Billy Schroeder, Jimmy Lokken, Roger Aton, Lee Anunson, and I—played tag on the playground. Lee, who was it, ran after me and slapped my shoulder. "Owww," I screamed, "that hurt." And it did.
Miss Wren, the 3rd grade teacher, approached me, eyebrows lifting into inverted (Thank you Readers Digest Word Power page) Capital V's. "What's wrong, Gordon?" She pulled back my shirt collar.
"Nothing. Can I go and play now?"
"After recess, you're coming with me to the nurse's office."
When the electric bell rang, announcing end of recess, I joined my chums. We filed in as a group into Mrs. Kellogg's classroom. Reading class just began when Miss Wren tiptoed into our classroom and approached Mrs. Kellogg. "Oh, no," I thought. Moira Conway, the judge's daughter, stopped reading. Everyone but me looked up. "Gordon," said Mrs. Kellogg, please go with Miss Wren to the nurse's office." Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
The nurse wasn't in her office. "Wait here until the nurse returns," Miss Wren said and left. I waited for ages. Two eternities at least. When the nurse finally came in, she said, "I had a talk with Miss Wren. Please remove your shirt." After I took it off, she said, "My God, how did this happen?"
"Don't know."
"I'm sure you do. Tell me, or you're going to stay here until you do."
I waited. She got up, moved about the room, sat down, read some mail, and began writing on a pad of paper. "My dad did it with a hair brush because I wet the bed."
She put some salve on the hurt spots, which felt good. "Okay, we're finished. Put your shirt back on and return to your classroom."
My friends asked me why I had to go to the nurse's office. "None of your beeswax," I told them.
After school, I headed to our house. Mother was on the phone. "Yes, Jennifer," she said, "he just came in. Gordon has a habit of lying. I assure you the doctor did no such thing. I don't know how he got them, probably playing in Kell's garage and fell with all sorts of metal and nails and things lying around. Yes, I'll tell him. Thank you." Mother put the phone on its cradle. "That was the School Nurse."
"Why'd you tell her I lied?"
"If I hadn't, your father could lose his practice."
"Practice. What practice?"
"His medical practice. It's how he makes the money that puts food on our table."
In my bedroom, I noticed the guppies had more babies while I listened to the crystal radio with my headset. I didn't leave my room until I was called for supper. Dad ate with us and hardly said a word. I didn't speak at all, afraid he'd become Crazy Man again.
Dad doesn't like getting up early. Today, he jumped out of that bed as fast as a whitetail buck bounds from its grassy resting place the moment it hears anything step on dried leaves. "Did he piss the bed again?"
"He did," yelled Mother, "and he pissed an ocean." I hadn't dressed but wanted to take the wet stuff down the basement to the washing machine. Mother blocked the kitchen door that led to the basement steps. "Wait for your father."
The floor shook. Hair disheveled, face and cheeks red, Crazy Man barreled into the kitchen and jerked a kitchen chair from under the table. It scraped on the linoleum, sounding like a squealing pig. Crazy Man plopped down on the chair. "Lie down on my lap, backside up," he ordered. He struck my butt hard. My back and shoulders, too. Each time the Fuller hairbrush's bristles struck, I screamed.
"Jim," Mother said, "he's bleeding."
"You're lazy," Crazy Man's spit shot across the room. "That's why you piss the bed. Stand up. You're not hurt." Crazy Man glared at the wet sheets and underwear that lay on the floor. "Take those things downstairs and get dressed."
When I made it upstairs, Crazy Man wasn't in the kitchen. I figured he must've returned to his bed. "I'm sorry," said Mother.
"No, you're not. I bet you wished I was dead." I ran to the bathroom, closed and locked the door, sat on the sink's ledge, and bawled my head off as I peered into the medicine cabinet's mirror. It's hard to explain but the kid looking back at me wasn't really me. I cleaned myself with a wash cloth. Mother yelled for me to hurry and get dressed since it was a school day. At morning recess, a bunch of us—Billy Schroeder, Jimmy Lokken, Roger Aton, Lee Anunson, and I—played tag on the playground. Lee, who was it, ran after me and slapped my shoulder. "Owww," I screamed, "that hurt." And it did.
Miss Wren, the 3rd grade teacher, approached me, eyebrows lifting into inverted (Thank you Readers Digest Word Power page) Capital V's. "What's wrong, Gordon?" She pulled back my shirt collar.
"Nothing. Can I go and play now?"
"After recess, you're coming with me to the nurse's office."
When the electric bell rang, announcing end of recess, I joined my chums. We filed in as a group into Mrs. Kellogg's classroom. Reading class just began when Miss Wren tiptoed into our classroom and approached Mrs. Kellogg. "Oh, no," I thought. Moira Conway, the judge's daughter, stopped reading. Everyone but me looked up. "Gordon," said Mrs. Kellogg, please go with Miss Wren to the nurse's office." Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
The nurse wasn't in her office. "Wait here until the nurse returns," Miss Wren said and left. I waited for ages. Two eternities at least. When the nurse finally came in, she said, "I had a talk with Miss Wren. Please remove your shirt." After I took it off, she said, "My God, how did this happen?"
"Don't know."
"I'm sure you do. Tell me, or you're going to stay here until you do."
I waited. She got up, moved about the room, sat down, read some mail, and began writing on a pad of paper. "My dad did it with a hair brush because I wet the bed."
She put some salve on the hurt spots, which felt good. "Okay, we're finished. Put your shirt back on and return to your classroom."
My friends asked me why I had to go to the nurse's office. "None of your beeswax," I told them.
After school, I headed to our house. Mother was on the phone. "Yes, Jennifer," she said, "he just came in. Gordon has a habit of lying. I assure you the doctor did no such thing. I don't know how he got them, probably playing in Kell's garage and fell with all sorts of metal and nails and things lying around. Yes, I'll tell him. Thank you." Mother put the phone on its cradle. "That was the School Nurse."
"Why'd you tell her I lied?"
"If I hadn't, your father could lose his practice."
"Practice. What practice?"
"His medical practice. It's how he makes the money that puts food on our table."
In my bedroom, I noticed the guppies had more babies while I listened to the crystal radio with my headset. I didn't leave my room until I was called for supper. Dad ate with us and hardly said a word. I didn't speak at all, afraid he'd become Crazy Man again.
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