Bryn's Hope

ch.1

Bryn

Eyes of liquid blue fire pierced the darkness as his rigid body shook with each blow. He didn’t cry. He knew better. Tears brought more pain, and at the moment he was not in pain. It wasn’t his body being beaten, but his mother’s. She didn’t cry out either. Together they had learned the lessons of silence.
In silence they survived each episode of his “righteous wrath” .

Finally after an eternity, the echo of his bootheels and the slam of the back door brought relief. The little boy left his bed and tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen. He knew what mom needed. It was hidden in the broom closet under the mop bucket, this week.

Her pills would help her, and then maybe she would get up for a while. Maybe she would talk to him like she did sometimes. She even sang to him sometimes. Her voice was the only music in their world and he adored it. Her whispery smooth voice would flow into his heart and melt away some of the icy coldness growing there.

That cold numbness frightened him even more than his father did. It was like he was fading into a nothingness of ice. Pain, at least was alive and hot. Blood was life, warm and real and full of color. Where there was the warmth of blood there was hope. The numbness was dry and bitter and cold, hopeless and pointless.

Even his body was starting to feel the nothingness, he realized as he wrestled with the mess in the broom closet. He didn’t seem to feel hungry any more, and his fingers could hardly feel anything at the tips. He finally managed to get the bottle of pills . There was always the fear that they wouldn’t be in the latest hiding place, that Dad might have found the and taken them away.

Mom needed her pills. Without them, he thought, she might never ever get out of bed. He didn’t know quite what they did for her or where they came from but he knew that on a bad day they were the only way to get her moving.

She smiled. “ That’s what I need,” She whispered . His mother’s smile was a tonic and the numbness retreated.

She was beautiful in spite of the fresh bruises. Her rich dark hair curled around her face and fell in messy confusion down her back. Her eyes, the same blue as his, were soft and warm. How does she stay warm, he wondered, when I am so cold.

He gave her the bottle, and a kiss on the cheek, smiled again and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Her fingers lingered for a moment on his face, so soft, she wondered, how could anything be so sweet in this hard old world. Inside she wept for his innocence, cried out for his future and despaired at ever finding a way out of this dark life she had created for him.

He was only four years old and already his eyes were ancient.

She had known from the time he was tiny that he was especially bright. It wasn’t just the usual sureness of every mother that her own child was superior. There was that of course, but with Bryn there was more. He did everything early. He crawled at three months and was walking at seven months. He had started reading on his own just after his fourth birthday. But even beyond his obviously advanced development threr was more.

There always seemed to be an intensity to his gaze and a passion in his beautiful eyes. He was like a flower in the desert. So caring and sweet that he could bring tears to her eyes when nothing else could. She knew she was not worthy of him, her perfect boy.

Where he was strong and full of life, she was weak and full of death. She could feel it eating away at her, feel herself dying even as she struggled for life. He was her only reason to hang on. What would happen to her little boy if she died? “It couldn’t be much worse than it is now”, she whispered as he left her room.

But there was alot that she didn't know about Bryn. Her presence in his life, even when she was at her worst, was his life line. Her loving heart was like an anchor that kept him tied to reality. If he was the light in her life, she was the heart of his.

They were like two imperfect angels caught and struggling in a world they couldn't understand, and couldn't cope with.

Bryn waited in the kitchen for his mom. He made her a cup of instant coffee in the microwave. Just the way she liked it and waited. He knew she would come and drink it when she was ready. Meanwhile he drank his juice and turned on the tiny television set and settled at the table to see what was on.

Father didn’t approve of cable tv or cartoons or much of anything else, but finally had given in to his wife’s pleading for “just a little news now and then”. The tv picked up three stations some of the time, but usually it was a fuzzy and hard to see, and something was wrong with the sound so that the voices were distorted and alien. Mostly they left the sound off completely.

Bryn liked the comercials. They seemed so bright and cheerful. He often wondered what he could do to make his mother smile the way the women in comercials did. Mom’s smile always seemed a little sad and a little far away, as if she wasn’t quite with him.

He heard her dressing. She would come out soon and sip the coffee he had made. She would tell him what a wonderful boy he was and then, looking like an angel with a halo of cigarette smoke, she would make his eggs, and they would say a prayer of thanks before they ate.

Bryn was thankful, but not really for the food. He was more grateful for the look mom always got on her face as she prayed. Sometimes he felt a little guilty because he was supposed to bow his head and close his eyes for the prayer, but mom was so pretty when she prayed. She looked so peacefull and safe then.

It was worth the little guilt, besides, he was pretty sure that God wouldn’t mind that he was more grateful for his pretty mom than he was for some half cooked eggs.

She stood at the kitchen door and looked at her boy. He was too thin, and far too serious. What could she to do for him? Soon he would be old enough for school and then what would they do? The outside world would quickly realize not only his incredible potential but the conditions under which they struggled to survive. Then, she knew, he would be taken from her.

And maybe that would be the best thing... for him. There would be no more beatings for her boy, but where would she be then? Her cheeks redended as she said a silenct prayer of repentance for her selfishness.

The pills didn’t help much anymore. Soon her friend wouldn’t be able to get them for her anymore anyway. She would just have to find another way to find the courage and the strength to get out of bed everyday.

She didn’t know exactly what was wrong with her, but she did had a feeling that her time was limited if she didn't get help soon. If Jason didn’t kill her first. How could a man be so mean?

The bruises had barely healed from the last time, and now she was afraid to look in the mirror. She knew her jaw was swollen and the lip cut but the worst of the pain as usual was in her back. Each step was agony and she had been tempted to just stay in bed today, but when she heard Bryn making her coffee, she just couldn’t do it. He was too sweet to let him down.

“How about we just have cereal today buddy?” she winced as she sat down.
“Okay by me mom, I really don’t like eggs all that much anymore anyway."

"You really don't seem to like much of anything anymore Kiddo, what's up with that?"

"I Dunno Mom, it just seems like nothing tastes good. It doesn't taste bad, just...not much like anything, you know what I mean?"