For All The Wounds That Are Ever Gonna Scar Me
Cigarette Burns
Mother honked the car horn twice. I grabbed my backpack and ran out of the house.
I took a seat in the back.
"What are you going to tell the school if they ask...?" she asked me in her cold hoarse voice, taking another drag of her cigarrette.
"I squished my finger on the car door...?" I replied looking at my injured left hand that she had crushed with a skillet the other day.
"Smart boy."
When I opened the car door, Mother put on her 'Good Mother' voice, "Don't get into trouble at school today."
I slammed the door and she sped away.
As I walked to my classroom, all the students stayed atleast five feet away from me. This was because I smelled, I was ugly and I was very different.
I entered the classroom beofre everyone, as always, and Mrs. Mason noticed my fingers.
"What happened to your hand?" she gasped.
"Oh, um, I...I accidentally closed the door on it." I lied.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." I said and walked to my seat in the left corner of the class. Mrs. Mason took roll and the rest of class was a blur.
I waited a half hour in the Alabama rain for my mother to pick me up. She never showed. So I walked the ten blocks home.
When I arrived, Mother was sitting on the sofa, covered up in a blanket, smoking a cigarette and watching some stupid sitcom. SHe had heard me enter.
"Robert," she called. "Come in here now."
I walked into the living room, being careful to stay out of her reach and not to look her in the eye.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
"At school." I whispered.
"Why did it take you so long to get here?"
"You didn't pick me up."
"Hmm," she laughed. "Come closer, I don't bite." she said and smiled showing all her yellow teeth.
Yes you do. I thought to myself and walked three steps foward.
Now, she had me. All she had to do was reach and she could push me down. She would hurt me again.
She grabbed my arm and squeezed. She let smoke escape her lungs and looked back at the television again. She turned to look at my wrist. Then she shoved her cigarette butt to my skin. Pressing it hard, burning me. I whinced at the pain. Then she let go of me and grinned.
"Go do your homework boy."
I walked slowly down the hall into the room with the desk.
I sat in the chair examining the burn I had just recieved. It stung. It was a reddish blackish colour. I couldn't handle it. I cried and cried. I had to do something about this, or...my mom would end up killing me.
I took a seat in the back.
"What are you going to tell the school if they ask...?" she asked me in her cold hoarse voice, taking another drag of her cigarrette.
"I squished my finger on the car door...?" I replied looking at my injured left hand that she had crushed with a skillet the other day.
"Smart boy."
When I opened the car door, Mother put on her 'Good Mother' voice, "Don't get into trouble at school today."
I slammed the door and she sped away.
As I walked to my classroom, all the students stayed atleast five feet away from me. This was because I smelled, I was ugly and I was very different.
I entered the classroom beofre everyone, as always, and Mrs. Mason noticed my fingers.
"What happened to your hand?" she gasped.
"Oh, um, I...I accidentally closed the door on it." I lied.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." I said and walked to my seat in the left corner of the class. Mrs. Mason took roll and the rest of class was a blur.
I waited a half hour in the Alabama rain for my mother to pick me up. She never showed. So I walked the ten blocks home.
When I arrived, Mother was sitting on the sofa, covered up in a blanket, smoking a cigarette and watching some stupid sitcom. SHe had heard me enter.
"Robert," she called. "Come in here now."
I walked into the living room, being careful to stay out of her reach and not to look her in the eye.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
"At school." I whispered.
"Why did it take you so long to get here?"
"You didn't pick me up."
"Hmm," she laughed. "Come closer, I don't bite." she said and smiled showing all her yellow teeth.
Yes you do. I thought to myself and walked three steps foward.
Now, she had me. All she had to do was reach and she could push me down. She would hurt me again.
She grabbed my arm and squeezed. She let smoke escape her lungs and looked back at the television again. She turned to look at my wrist. Then she shoved her cigarette butt to my skin. Pressing it hard, burning me. I whinced at the pain. Then she let go of me and grinned.
"Go do your homework boy."
I walked slowly down the hall into the room with the desk.
I sat in the chair examining the burn I had just recieved. It stung. It was a reddish blackish colour. I couldn't handle it. I cried and cried. I had to do something about this, or...my mom would end up killing me.