Forgotten

“1-2-3-4-5” Was the chant I sputtered half asleep, clinging to my mother in bed,
”-6-7-8-9-10…” I continued afraid to open my eyes for fear the monster under my bed would be there when they opened. But after assuring me there was no monster my mother prodded :

“Now open your eyes sweetpea, and the bad things will be gone.”

“You promise?” I asked wearily

“Promise to the moon and back with a cherry on top.”

Well, if it had a cherry on top it must be true.

“Okay,” I said, “But will you say the words?”
“Hmm…okay sugar. Here goes: little boy, little boy where are you? Little boy ,little boy where do you stay? Little boy, little boy why do you cry? Little boy why’d you wish yourself away? Now nobody remembers your hair. Your laugh is something so foreign. Now open yours on 3……”
“Maaama…”
“And wish your pain away.”
“And-”
“1-2-3” Open.
Everytime I had a bad dream mama would say ‘Close your eyes sugarpie.
And wish your pain away.” I can’t recall how many nights our mantra of words was said.
But I never forgot them.

Not when Jimmy Coller in 1st grade punched me every day in the gut for a year. Not when Mikey poured ants down my back in gym.
Not when Alisa dumped a tray of spaghetti on my head. Not when Spencer Gaulisky greeted me on the first day of middle school by pantsing me on the one day I forgot underwear.
Not when Gordon Donners flushed my head in a used toilet.
Not when Henry choked me with his belt.Not when I was stuffed in a locker, held in front of a train, chased by dogs for a mile, hung on the flagpole, wedgeid, beat up with a crowbar or had my hair pulled out. In chunks.

But mom there was one thing I couldn’t wish away. Skin.

I tried mom believe me I did. Every single freaking night: 1-2-3-4’…But it never worked mom. It never did. Why? Maybe I did it wrong. Maybe. But seeing as I couldn’t wish my skin away, I had to cut it off. One long slash at a time.

1 slash 2 slash 3 slash 4. 5 slash 6 slash, 99 more.

That’s my new mantra, seeing as the old one stopped working.

You have to get creative sometimes. Sometimes slashing gets boring. That’s the worse kind of pain.The boring kind. You need exciting pain. You need blood. You need meat and flesh and ribbons. You need exciting pain. Otherwise it gets boring.
So now I recite my new mantra. My new soother of the soul.

1 slash 2 slash 3 slash 4. 5 slash 6 slash 99 more.
It’s dumb to wish things away
. Because you can’t. So I’m sorry mama. The old one can now be considered
Forgotten