A Child Called 'It'

Tell him you ran into the door." Then in a voice she rarely uses with me, she states, "'Have a nice day.'" I look into her swollen red eyes. She still has a hangover from last night's stupor. Her once beautiful, shiny hair is now frazzled clumps. As usual, she wears no makeup. She is overweight, and she knows it. In all, this has become Mother's typical look. Because I am so late, I have to report to the administrative office. The gray-haired secretary greets me with a smile. Moments later, the school nurse comes out and leads me into her office, where we go through the normal routine. First she examines my face and arms. "'What's that above your eye?' she asks. I nod sheepishly. "'Oh, I ran into the hall door. By accident!' Again she smiles and takes a clipboard from the top of a cabinet. She flips through a page or two, then bends down to show me. "'Here,' she points to the paper. "'You said that last Monday, remember?' I quickly change my story. "'I was playing baseball and got hit by the bat. It was an accident.' "'Accident! I'm always supposed to say that.' But the nurse knows better. She scolds me, so I'll tell the truth. I always break down in the end and confess, even though I feel I should protect my mother. The nurse tells me that I'll be fine and asks me to take off my clothes. We've been doing this since last year, so I immediately obey. My long-sleeve shirt has more holes than Swiss cheese. It's the same shirt I've worn for about two years. Mother has me wear it every day as her way to humiliate me. My pants are just as bad, and my shoes have holes in the toes. I can wiggle my big toe out of one of them. While I stand clothed only in my underwear, the nurse records my various marks and bruises on the clipboard. She counts the slash-like marks on my face, looking for any she might have missed in the past. She's very thorough. Next, the nurse opens my mouth to look at my teeth that are chipped from having been slammed against the kitchen tile countertop. She jots a few more notes on the paper. As she continues to look me over, she stops at the old scar on my stomach. And that, she says as she takes a deep swallow, is where she stabbed you? Yes, ma'am, I reply. Oh, no, I tell myself. I've done something wrong, again. The nurse must have seen the concern in my eyes. She puts the clipboard down and hugs me. God, I tell myself, she is so warm. I don't want to let go. I want to stay in her arms forever. I hold my eyes tightly shut, and for a few moments nothing else exists. She pats my head. I flinch from the swollen bruise Mother gave me this morning. The nurse then breaks the embrace and leaves the room. I rush to put my clothes back on. She doesn't know it, but I do everything as fast as possible. The nurse returns in a few minutes with Mr. Hansen, the principal, and two of my teachers, Miss Woods and Mr. Ziegler. Mr. Hansen knows me very well. I've been in his office more than any other kid in school. He looks at the paper as the nurse reports her findings. He lifts my chin. I'm afraid to look into his eyes, which is mostly a habit from trying to deal with my mother, but it's also because I don't want to tell him anything. Once about a year ago, he called Mother to ask about my bruises. At that time, he had no idea what was really going on. He just knew I was a troubled kid who was stealing food. When I came to school the next day, he saw the results of Mother's beatings. He never called her again. Mr. Hansen barks he's had enough of this. I almost leap out of my skin with fear. He's going to call Mother again. My brain screams. I break down and cry. My body shakes like jello, and I mumble like a baby, begging Mr. Hansen not to phone Mother. Please, I whine. Not today. Don't you understand? It's Friday.