"A Victim's Silent Cry"

My name is Kurt Write. And I am a victim of child abuse, but no one knows. I didn’t consider myself a child anymore. I was 16. I had my permit; I was a sophomore and not a care in the world. But, is that a good reason to keep a secret? Should I keep things to myself that I know others would tell in a heartbeat? I think I should, it’s no big deal. But to others, child abuse is big. But I am no child. I am 16 years old. What would police think? Would they think it was child abuse and arrest my parents? Or would they tell me to man up and deal with it myself? Plus, I couldn’t go without my parents. I may be 16 but I am not a grown up. To add to it I have no family members that live in my school district. So I would have to move away and leave my friends behind, that wouldn’t be fair to me, right? I want to be with my friends and have at least some sort of parental guidance. It may not be good guidance but it was still something. And it would only be for two more years. That’s no to bad. At least that’s what I think. My friends on the other hand, have threatened to call the police themselves. I have had to beg on my hands and knees to convince them not to. They never call, but sometimes I wish they had.
“Kurt, you need to stop his charade,” Jake said to me, the day after my parents had been drinking, like they always do. I looked at him through a partial black eye. He was a little blurred but I could still see him. His stare went right through me and made me quiver at the knees.
“I don’t need help,” I said with a swollen fat lip. “It wasn’t that bad and they are getting better. Now they only do it when they drink.” All he did was stare at me. I had to look away because I couldn’t take it anymore. But on my other side was Abigail. She was looking at me with eyes that could slice right through solid brick.
“Just tell someone,” she pleaded, “it doesn’t have to be the police. It could be a teacher or the guidance consular.” She just kept looking, both anger and sorrow in her eyes. I snapped my head forward. I couldn’t face either of them. I just starred as the other people pass me by. They didn’t pay any attention to my wounds because I had them a lot. I always blamed a sport when they said something. One week it would be soccer the next it would be football. I thought people would think I was some super jock or something. The only real thing I did was play in the band. But I don’t think you could get hurt doing that. No matter how many times people said something or how many times my friends said something I just pushed it to the back of my mind. I couldn’t think about or I would think about telling. That was a big no. The rest of that day I didn’t talk to either of them. Well I couldn’t. I just couldn’t stand to hear what they had to say. In class I did was stare out the window. It was spring and everything was alive, but I felt so dead on the inside.
You wouldn’t think that my parents beat before I was 13. I was a good kid that never did anything wrong. And back then my parents only drunk on special occasions. But for some reason after I was of out of middle school, they just turned around. They still acted nice when we would have family over but, after they left, they would drink till they could drink no more. At first they would only drink on weekends, but then it was every other day, then every day. It grew more increasingly and more intense as the weeks went on. First they started with just beer, but then moved onto the harder stuff. They didn’t know when to stop. But in the beginning I wasn’t beaten every day. Which was pretty good and it was mostly on Fridays, so that I would have time to heal. Then after a while it was almost daily. I just hid in my room all day and never came out. I would cry but never a lot. For I didn’t want my parents or kids at school finding out. If my parent found out they would probably beat me more, and kids would pick on me at school. So I just kept things to myself. It was a life that I got used to after a while. And I learned the routine. But, I still wondered how it would be like to live normal. But then I realized that I would never be normal again. I just had to face the facts.
That day after school when I got home I heard the clinking of bottles, which was never a good sign. I couldn’t go to a friend’s house because I was supposed to come right home. And I would be punished if I they caught me. But I didn’t know if the punishment would be worse off then the beating I was more than likely going to receive. I just slowly opened the door and crept in. The smell of alcohol almost killed me. I had to take short breaths. I didn’t want to disturb them. I was almost to my room when I heard a slurred yell. I snapped around there was my dad, beer in hand. He started stumble towards me. I turned around and tried scramble to my room, but before I could get in, my mom was there, martini glass in hand.
“Where… do you tink… your going?” her words were almost slurred to the point where you would think it was just some big word that you couldn’t understand. The smell of alcohol on her breath made me gag.
“Mom, I just wanted to get into my room,” I tried to step back, but my dad’s hands tried to hold onto me. They couldn’t quite grip that well anymore.
“You mean the room we pay for you ungrateful, little-” he was about to finish but belched in the middle of it. It was always the money issue. It was always, no rent no room, or God’s gift, more like a burden. I never took any of them seriously, but I did feel the sting.
Before I could rip out of my parents grip my mom slugged the glass at me. It hit me right in the neck, shards of glass sprayed everywhere like a fountain in a park. My dad kicked my leg out from underneath me and started to kick me where ever he could. My mom wailed things at me that broke every time and would send shards everywhere. I rolled over to protect what I could, but the shards of glass and ceramics cut me in as many places as possible. My dad still kicked and kicked till he finally fell over. His drunkenness finally got to him. He passed our right there. I got up and tried to run by my mom. But I had pain everywhere. Every movement I made felt like knives were slowly being pushed into me. My mom didn’t last much longer then my father. She too fell over and passed out. I was left there to be filled with pain and sorrow.
What was I to do? Could I go to hospital? Or should I just stay home and care for myself. I reached down to grip my stomach and felt that it was wet. I lifted my hand up and noticed it was covered with blood. I started to panic. They never made me bleed this bad before. I made my decision; I would give in to my friends and finally get some help. I called my friend, Abigail, up.
“Hey I need a ride,” I said slowly crawling to the door.
“To where,” she asked I could heard her walking to her kitchen.
“The hospital,” I said. I heard her take in a breath as I got to the door, I lifted myself up and opened the door.
“I’m on my way”, she said. She dropped the phone and I heard it clank to the floor. I pressed end and saw her headlights. I could see her shape, it was blurred, but it was the last thing I did see that day.
When I woke up, the smell of the hospital wafted up my nose and almost made me gag. I squinted at the bright florescent lights that were up on the ceiling. I saw balloons and cards. But my vision still sucked to the point I couldn’t see outside the room. I couldn’t hear the blue Jays tweeting about outside. My ears felt like they had cotton balls in them. I couldn’t feel my sheets that I was laying on. My hands had no sensation at all. All I could feel was pins and needles. Pricking at my skin from every angle and everywhere. I didn’t understand. Why did I feel this way? What did they do this time that was different? Did they hit me harder, or was all the other beatings adding up to this one? I didn’t understand. I started to cry, but it stung my eyes very badly. Before I knew it I saw a dark figure enter the room. I started to panic. I couldn’t see a detail in his face. It looked like Death, coming to take my soul. But as the Death figure came closer, my panic started to fade for I saw the white lab coat. Then I saw facial features; a mustache, a long nose with a bump in the middle, eyes that told of age old stories and that saw things that no one else ever will. His face showed that he has been through stuff and the stress has taken its toll. But he still had a spark left in him. Then I heard his voice.
“Hello. Are you able to tell me your name?” he asked. His voice was a little hoarse, but I could understand ever word. I still had to strain to hear, but after a moment I got it all. I looked at him. I took in his features and processed what he said.
“My name,” I started. The pain shot through my throat. “is Kurt Write.” That was all I could say. I gripped my throat in pain.
“Ok, good start. I need to know some medical history about you. Should we contact your parents?” he said, looking at me with those eyes that pull the truth right from me.
“They are the ones,” I paused, taking in a breath. “They are the ones, who did this to me.” I was almost in tears again, but I remembered the pain. The doctor looked at me, then down at the clip board.
“Are you saying your parents abused you?” he asked, he started to walk closer. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t bear to tell him. He wouldn’t understand. He came and put his hand on my soldier. I flinched and tried to shake him off. He wouldn’t let go.
“Do you know how bad you were hurt?” he asked. I shook my head and looked, remembering the pain.
“You had internal bruises on your lungs and intestines, your whole arms were bruised and you had glass and porcelain under your skin. This must have been going on for some time now?” again I shook my head. He just stared at me. He let go of my shoulder and left the room. I started to feel tears running down my face. I didn’t know why I told him. He was probably laughing at me at that moment. Then I saw another dark figure, but this one was taller and bigger. I couldn’t see who it was until he was right at the end of my bed. It was a police officer. I knew I was in trouble.
“Hello there, Kurt. I am Officer Paterson. I was called about a child abuse case. And I have your parents in custody. I just need a little more information,” He said. His voice was soft, but had a lot of authority behind it.
“I can answer anything,” I paused. I didn’t know where I should start. “As long as I know my parents won’t know that I told.” I said. The Officer looked at me. He nodded his head once as if he understood. I told him everything, right from the beginning. I almost cried, but I held tears in for the whole story. When I was done, I thought the Officer was going to break down. He just took his notes and left. Not even a single word. I sat alone.
I sat there starring for only a minute before I saw two figures run into my room. My eyes couldn’t focus on them before they attacked me with a hug. I could hear one crying. I could tell it was Abigail.
“Oh Kurt I thought you left us,” she cried holding on longer and it felt like she would never let go. I didn’t want her too. Jake let go without a second thought. Which was fine with me.
“I wanted to stay,” she sobbed still holding on, “but my mom wouldn’t let me.” I put my arm around her and held her. I didn’t want to let her go.
“Man, I would have come sooner but my dad was like, ‘son, it’s not your business’ I wanted to come right away.” Jake said, he let out a breath as if letting out anger. I understood their excuses. Parents are parents, there is not one thing you can do about them. I understood that very well.
Before I could tell them all that happened, the doctor came in again.
“Son, I need to know if you are allergic to anything, or have had any surgeries in the past month two,” the doctor said with a small quiver in his voice. It was as though he didn’t know how to talk to me. I understood why and I knew what to say.
“I am not allergic to anything,” I started to say, but was cut short by a yell just outside my window. I looked out, though I couldn’t see a thing, I could even barely hear the yell. Abigail ran to the window.
“Kurt,” she whispered. “it’s your dad. He has a gun.” She ran straight to me. As if scared by the thought of him. I was even scared by the thought of him with a gun. The doctor ran out of the room and toward the stairs. Officer Paterson was already there. I only knew this because Jake was telling me. I just stared blindly out the window and strained my ears to hear even a single sound. But, I listened to hard. I thought my ears were going burst, when I heard a gunshot. I screamed and covered my ears. I didn’t know who was shot; I didn’t want to know who got shot. I just wanted to not think about it, but when I uncovered my ears, I heard Abigail let out a soft cry, and I beckoned her to come to me. I knew it was my father who was shot. But for some reason I didn’t care. I didn’t want to hear his name. Never again will he be on my mind.
The doctor came back after a moment. My sight along with my hearing was coming back. I still couldn’t feel much. It was as if the pain was still waiting there behind the scenes.
“I know of my father was shot,” I said with confidence. “he was more than likely drunk. And my mom is probably at the house passed out.” I didn’t care if he knew anymore. As long as I got help, I didn’t care what happened to them. That may sound mean, but I figured out, that it was time to be free.
The hospital let me out a few days after entering. I actual demanded to be let out. As soon as I walked out of the hospital news crews greeted me and asked so many questions that it sounded like one big crowd yelling at a concert. I just shook my head and ran for Abigail’s car. Her mom said I could stay at her house until a family member came to live with me. I was pretty happy about both. As soon as I got into the car I was greeted by a warm hello. I looked up to see Abigail’s mom in the driver’s seat.
“Hi Abigail’s mom,” I said, looking at the women as if she was a role model. She looked back me and smiled.
“Oh please Kurt, call me Deborah,” she said with a big smile on her face. She always treated me with such care. It was as if she wanted to show me how a good mother was like. And I loved every minute of it. I knew she knew, but for some reason she didn’t say anything. I guess she thought of what my parents would do to me if someone told. I appreciated her for that.
When we got to her house I stepped out of the car. I saw the blue and red lights of the police car outside my house. I saw my mom in the back a police cruises. She was passed out. This, I think, was a good thing. Abigail grabbed my hand and led me into the house. She didn’t want me to see what they were doing or what was going on. I thanked her for that. I didn’t want to see what they were doing either. It was my house that had blood in it. It was my blood. The police came and wanted to ask me questions. Deborah said she would ask, but I was already there, waiting for them. I was ready, I had to be strong. It was my time to tell my secrets that I had inside me. I told them everything. Some of the times I couldn’t remember the details, but as I got more current, I was able to tell them everything. They just nodded their heads and left. I told them. I was no child, but a man. I was free of the secrets. Free of the old me. I can be me, without lies and fake stories. I can just be a regular 16 year old with friends and the future to look forward to. The past is behind me and I think I can live with that. I can live normally once again.