the room and raise his favorite son into his arms
and abandon me in the darkness of the bedroom.
This was my birthday present.
Matthew and I were the same age for one day.
Each year on my birthday, Bobby would toss
Matthew and I into our bedroom and warn us
that only one of us was allowed to emerge. The
other was to be beaten until he could not get up.
Each year I lost. Each year Matthew was
rewarded. I lost because I was not used to fighting
back. I was accustomed to Bobby’s daily beatings.
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Any sign of defense only brought a more
aggressive beating.
This was my fifth birthday, November 10th, 1978.
As I stood facing my brother, he was no less than
six inches taller than me. Lean and strong in
contrast to my cherubic soft form, he had been
nurtured by Bobby to be a fighter and a thief. He
roared toward me to earn yet another victory. As
he lunged forward, I stepped out of his way, and
he stumbled over some of the toys on the floor
behind me. With his face down on the floor, I
took my chance and jumped on him and
pounded my tiny fists into every area of his back
and head that I could reach. He squirmed and
attempted to roll over. I lost my balance and fell
forward, covering his body with my own. Our
heads collided before Matthew’s head hit the
floor. I sat up, higher now on his back and
grabbed his hair. In a wild frenzy I smashed his
face into the hard concrete floor. With my knees
pinned on his back, he could not roll over, and I
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could not stop myself from smashing his face over
and over again. My rage had taken over, and I
was lost in the new feeling of triumph.
“Ge’off, ge’off,” I heard Matthew yelp. I ignored
his pleas for release but allowed him to roll over.
His face was red and beginning to bruise. His
forehead and mouth were streaming blood. I
balled my fists together and pounded them down
onto his sculptured face like a hammer. His head
bounced a last time before he spit blood onto my
shirt. My energy was gone, but I brought my fists
down in a flurry of connecting blows to each side
of his face. I had never fought so much before
and soon I had no energy to continue the combat.
I stood up and kicked him in his ribs. He rolled
over to avoid another kick but I kicked him in the
back. A tooth fell out of his mouth in a pool of
blood as he began to scream. His scream was
loud and strangled with blood. I heard the door
open behind me then quickly slam shut. Bobby
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said something I could not hear through the door
but I could hear him laughing.
Reinvigorated by Bobby’s laughter, I jumped
back on Matthew and pounded my tiny soft fists
at any surface of his body I could reach. His
blood excited and disgusted me at the same time.
I knew if I left Matthew conscious he would get
up and pounce on me before I left the room.
Matthew wasn’t moving. He had stopped
struggling and screaming. I could feel him
breathing beneath me but I could not stop my
attack. I had been attacked so many times by
Bobby, Debbie, Matthew, and all of the
neighborhood kids, and all of those beatings
produced an anger I had never known until I sat
on top of Matthew and watched the blood pour
from his mouth. His face was swollen to resemble
my own. Bobby’s words of encouragement to
Matthew rang in my head. I knew I had won, and
it felt good. For the first time I felt good, and
I
wanted to be rewarded.
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I was sweating as I stood up and looked down at
my brother, prone and motionless on the floor. I
felt that I had finally become the son Bobby had
always wanted, another fighter, and another
strong protégé, to be paraded about in front of
the endless parties of friends as he did with
Matthew. I kicked Matthew one last time before I
walked backward to the door, making sure he was
not getting up. He did not move as I clicked the
light off and opened the door and emerged
victoriously, clomping breathlessly into the short
hall toward the living room.
“Damn boy, you good. That was fast. Come on
and have a seat,” Bobby said without turning
away from the television. I stumbled into the
living room and presented myself before Bobby
and Debbie, my clothes covered in Matthew’s
blood. Bobby’s hand came up and slapped the
side of my face before I ever noticed his hand
move.
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“What the fuck you doin’ out here boy?” Bobby
bellowed.
“Where tha fuck’s yo brotha?” he screamed as I
tried to raise myself from the floor quickly, but
the kick came and knocked me on my back, as he
yelled, “Don’t get all that gotdamn blood on my
floor, get the fuck up boy. What the fuck you doin
out that room?”
We got up at the same time. Bobby raised himself
from the couch as I scurried across the living
room floor trying to avoid being hit. Bobby
moved quickly toward the bedroom while yelling
back that I had better not have hurt his son.
Debbie moved from the couch and smiled at me
without saying a word. I scuttled back away from
her, but she caught me easily and drew me up
into her arms.
“I love you baby, I’m so sorry. Happy birthday.
I’ll get you a present soon, I promise.” She smiled
slightly and with her face close to mine she began
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to cry and repeated, “I’m sorry.” I knew there
would be no present.
Before I could say a word, Bobby exploded into
the room holding Matthew’s limp body.
“Get a gotdamn washrag. Get this boy cleaned
up. What tha fuck you think you doin’ hittin’
your gotdamn brother like this? I’ma kick yo ass!”
He gently placed Matthew on the couch as
Debbie scampered to the adjoining kitchen,
returning quickly with a wet rag and began
dabbing Matthew’s face. The same rage welled
up inside me as Matthew’s limp body was so
tenderly laid out on the couch. On this same
night each year previously I had been left alone in
the dark to wake up in the morning covered in
blood and bruises which I had to clean myself
while the rest of the family celebrated Matthew’s
birthday.
When he saw Debbie dutifully cleaning Matthew,
Bobby unbuckled his belt and whipped it out of
his pants. The familiar crack brought me to
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attention across the small living room. I stood by
the television where Debbie had left me, and now
I realized I was cornered. The belt swung down
and slashed me across the face. I fell to my knees
and covered my face with my hands. The belt
continued to rain down again and again until
blood from my hands streamed into my eyes and
mouth. Semiconscious, I bled out onto the floor.
Bobby reached down and lifted me by one arm
and dragged me to the couch where Matthew was
recovering and seemed to be gaining
consciousness. Debbie had his mouth open and
was applying an ice-filled baggie to the space in
his mouth where his tooth had been.
“So you big now? You gonna beat yo brother like
you got something? Show me what da fuck you
got. Come and gimme some of that, big man!”
Bobby was yelling at the top of his voice.
Debbie looked up from tending Matthew, “Baby
you told them to fi-”. Before the word was out her
mouth, Bobby’s mighty arm had slung the belt
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down across her back. “Bitch, this don’t concern
you.” Bobby wheeled around and slashed my face
with an up-handed whip of his belt.
“You like that shit, make you feel big don’t it?”
Blood poured onto the floor though it went
unnoticed in Bobby’s fury. My hair was sticking
to my eyes and forehead. I couldn’t see clearly,
but I saw Matthew moving on the couch. Bobby
saw him too. His attention turned quickly, as if I
had never been there.
“How you doin boy?” Bobby spoke gently as his
rage transformed into concern, though he still
clutched the belt firmly in his hand.
“Awight,” replied Matthew, now sitting up on the
couch. “My mouf ‘urts,” he mumbled shakily.
“What the fuck you doin lettin’ dis asshole hit you
like this? Yo face all red and ya got a toof
knocked out. What the fuck is this boy? I taught
you better than this. Gonna let this asshole kick
yo ass?”
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Matthew tried to explain but his voice only made
Bobby laugh and it was impossible to hear what
Matthew was saying.
“Get me a beer bitch, and get some for the boys
too. Shit I guess they earned that shit this time.”
He was speaking to Debbie but he spun around
and stared at me as if seeing me for the first time
since bringing Matthew out of the bedroom.
“SO, you a badass now?” Bobby barked with a
half-smile.
I stood frozen having not been given permission
to speak. For a brief moment I felt a spark of
pride through the stinging pain tearing through
my body. Debbie handed me a bottle of beer.
The cold glass felt good against my swollen
hands. I switched the bottle from hand to hand as
I wiped the blood from my hands onto my pants
so I could hold the beer. I took a drink and felt
the liquid sting the open cuts in my mouth.
“Well boy, I’m talking to you, answer me.”
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“No. I was doing what you told me to do. I didn’t
mean to hurt him.”
“BULLSHIT!” his voice boomed inside the tiny
apartment and the beer slipped from my hands as
I shook. I caught the bottle as it slid down my
legs. Bobby approached and bent down, putting
his face in mine.
“When you hit someone you hit them to hurt
them. You always mean to hurt someone you hit,
that’s why you hit them. That’s why you always
lose when those boys out there kick yo ass, and
that’s why you lose when yo brother kicks yo ass.
You’re too much uva pussy to hit anyone.” He
took a long pull from his beer and reached for the
joint Debbie was smoking. She handed it to him
and he took a drag. Then he handed the joint to
me.
“I guess you not a pussy tonight now are ya? Ya
little prick.” He turned again to Matthew as I
grabbed the burning joint from his giant
fingertips.
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I set my bottle on the floor and held the joint in
my lips. After my hands were dry and free of
blood, I balanced the joint in my mouth and took
a quick drag and then another. The smoke
burned but it was familiar and pleasant. I
coughed a little as I reached for my beer. I walked
to the couch and handed the joint to Debbie. She
looked at me with pride as she reached out her
thin fragile fingers. Her dirty fingernails caressed
the back of my hand and a chill ran through my
body. I was so unaccustomed to my mother’s
delicate touch.
“Give that shit back, he earned it,” Bobby
commanded. Debbie’s trance-like gaze was
broken and she looked up at Bobby from the
couch. She put her feet on the floor and leaned
forward to hand the joint back to me. I took the
burning joint from her outstretched fingers and
raised it to my lips without looking at her again.
Before I could taste the warming smoke, Bobby’s
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hand had smacked the side of my head, rushing
me away from the living room.
“Now get the fuck outta here. I can’t stand
lookin’ at you.” Bobby snarled without looking at
me. His attention was fully trained on Matthew. I
was too stunned to move, and Bobby did not
notice that I was still in the room.
“Drink up boy; you feel better in a minute.”
Bobby was cooing at Matthew. He tilted
Matthew’s beer, making foam run down his chin.
“My mouf ‘urts,” Matthew said again.
“Boy, I don’t wanna hear that shit outch yo mouf
ever again. I don’t care how bad you beat you
don’t ever say you hurt. You hear me? Aint no
son a mines gonna be talking ‘bout bein’ hurt.
That some pussy ass shit and you aint no pussy
ass nigga like yo brother. Ya hear me boy?”
Matthew nodded. He brought the beer to his
mouth again.
Bobby slapped Matthew’s leg and stared down
sternly, “You will not lose to that boy again, ya
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hear me?” Without giving Matthew a chance to
respond, he moved his giant hand to Matthew’s
back and pushed him off of the couch.
“It’s probably time for your birthday now, get
ya’self another beer, and get that joint from yo
brother. Good night boy.”
Bobby fell onto the couch as Matthew walked
triumphantly to the kitchen. As he walked around
the far side of the couch, I limped off into our