The name was Brave.
A Soul,
So it never changed.
Because the name was Wordless
The physical spot,
Where it can be felt,
Is at the base of the neck,
And the spot just below the buttocks,
The Shoulders follow,
Then the chest,
The abs,
The balls of the feet,
Calves,
Lips,
Eyes,
Fingertips,
Hearbeat.
His name was Trevor,
He was Everything,
Every Him.
H__,
Not born yet.
A__,
A Selfish terror,
Jealous,
Effortless.
Jonathan,
There were two,
This one is L__’s
He lived in a different place,
Only a short walk away,
Nice-looking,
Redneck,
With light features,
A crass and vulgar humor.
R__,
Lazy,
Too intelligent for it,
So a liar,
Not a Him,
The price paid was his having an indifferent shoot,
Wasted on him,
His dark features,
Ungroomed,
Unclean,
Unfit.
L___,
(Mom)
A bad woman,
Sleeping around,
Mean,
Pretending to be a victim.
Jonathon,
different from L__’s,
A Him,
Maybe,
Nice,
Attractive,
Blond,
Muscular,
Regretful
El__
Little blonde girl.
__________
There’s the part where I shifted to a scene where I’m at Trevor’s door. I don’t know if I’m shifting in the Sleep place or the Wake place. I’m asking him if he’ll help me get to the low place -- the not-high place. Between the low place and this place is the reckoning.
“Time Traveling’s not that hard,” I say to him, “You’ve just got to take really good notes, so you can keep up. I suppose it’s easier for people who are not horrific.”
I thought it was insanity and had to be gotten rid of, kept a secret to the point of not even articulating or acknowledging it. But then I was forced to realize the Shifting was just as Real as me .. I would be in a dream full of memories, knowing a few truths but not much, I’d notice an untruth and the dream would shift to a more accurate memory. I’d notice another untruth and the dream would then shift to an even more accurate memory. Shifting, shifting, shifting, slowly closer to my true memory .. Maybe it seems I missed out on natural sleep, natural dreaming. But the I remember I would dream while I was awake instead. I simply switched them: put the memories in my sleep world and the dreams in the wake world. I don’t want to dream in the wake world. I want to be awake as possible. If I need a break, I’ll go into one of the other worlds, whether by dream or by drink or by pills, because the wake world isn’t Real either. It’s just me that’s Real.
There’s the part where I’m Brave. I’m a Soul who leaps forward from the Who Knows Place because no one else was as Brave as me and I was glad to be the Bravest.
There’s the part where I know Mom is sleeping with Johnathon and R___, and neither of them know whether I am there’s or the other’s.
There’s the part where the doctor says I got too little oxygen and am now brain-damaged. I will never talk or walk. I never cry.
There’s the part where they name me, the name that’s on my birth certificate. It’s a child sexual abuse joke, or a baby I should say, concerning a clock. She laughed when I got hard. “Oh, Biiiiig Ben!” Mom said, laughing.
There’s the part where I was a sexual joke between Mom and Jonathon. Mom would take me to Jonathon’s house and I would be the joke of their love making, like a prop. He sucked me off, to see how big I could get. He laughed, I watched him, laugh, he didn’t seem mean, like R___.
There’s the part where Mom and R__ would put me between them when they had sex. I was big and would get hard whenever I got milk from her. She would put me inside her, between her and Dad and they would rock me back and forth, back and forth. I remember gaining consciousness while having sex.
There’s the part where he was f-cking the hell out of me, meanly, with hate, behind Mom‘s back. It had little to do with him getting off. R___ was pissed. He thought he was accomplishing something. It wasn’t abuse, it was hate. Calling it systematic abuse makes it manageable but in reality it was hate.
There’s the part where R___ would beat me, punch me, play a game where he would keep almost-drowning me.
There’s the part where we got a big black German Shepherd because we lived in the rural areas and Dad worked at night. Smokey stopping it. He started barking and growling. I was in the corner, in their bedroom, near Mom’s side of the closet, beneath her hanging dresses. Smokey between me and Mom and Dad. He barked and growled at them, wouldn’t let them near me.
There’s the part where now that I wasn’t a part of their sex I would try to get into their room at night. They barricaded the door. I would lay down just outside the door and rock back and forth, like they would do to me when they would have sex. Even when I wasn’t laying in front of their door, I always rocked myself to sleep that way, I couldn’t fall asleep any other way. When I rocked, I would dream, even though I was still awake. Smokey watched. He never seemed happy with me. All I knew was sex. The reason was because sex felt so good, it was like withdrawing from heroin.
There’s the part where A___ would play footsie with me. That’s what the adults thought was going on, but really she knew that something was going on concerning the size of the shoot between my legs and when she started a game of footsie she was really trying to get her foot near my crotch and I would fight for my life. I would shoot out of the Johnston House and into God‘s Country, into the night. I would shoot into the field and hide. I would rush into the field and I would see the ghosts. A whole population of the supposedly-enslaved rearing up, but then they saw me only being chased by A__, or R__, or Mom, and they would quickly disappear into an outline and then into nothing. All that would be left was the older black woman in the red bandana, and the two bad men. People think because the blacks were enslaved they were angels, but these two enslaved blacks would never be good. The ghosts never looked at me, the woman, her back knife straight never looked at me, always looked on at the two bad men. One hissed to the person chasing me mean and ugly: “You better get on away from this field now.” And the other would laugh. And A___ bought sh-t her pants. The woman in the red bandana looked on, her face peacefully serious. None of them ever looked at me.
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