Three Things
*Sound of struggle, shuffling of sheets on a bed, a short scream cut off, a couple mean comments from bullies, the opening is a cacophony of sounds that happen throughout.
NARRATOR
My world AT AGE 13 WAS one of struggle, a conveyor belt leads me day by day through a grueling strife of horrible twists and small mercies. Each of my usual events will be given in sets of three, deviations from main events that can happen in any given day to give a wider scope beyond one simple day.
* Sound of shuffling sheets, deep, restful breathing. A door opens in the background.
MOTHER
(harsh)
Time to get up!
NARRATOR
Now, three things can happen from this point. I can get up immediately, which would be rare because of my narcolepsy and sleep issues. My mom would leave and comes back to grab me by the ankle and drag me out of my loft bed.
*Sounds of climbing metal ladder
MOTHER
(angry )
I said it's time to get up you little bitch!
*Sound of some thuds, BODY falling and HANDS clasping the ladder, maybe dragging of sheets?
MARY
Short scream
NARRATOR
The last thing that could happen, is she would get something to pour on me to wake me up, this time it was a pot of hot coffee.
*Sound of pouring liquid, or a splash.
MARY
Shrill cry of pain.
NARRATOR
I don't ever want to get out of bed, never want to face the day, especially when your first few moments of waking are so startling and painful. And yet, under threat of yet more violence, I
somehow manage to get up out of bed. I tell myself that it's better to face the day than risk a full on beating even though it would spare what's to come.
*Sound of car running, a sliding van door shutting.
SIBLING #1
Mary, you're such a f***ing slob.
SIBLING #2
You didn't even change out of your Pajamas.
NARRATOR:
She was right, I never had any one to dress for, and at this point of my life I had given up looking presentable completely. I tell myself how ugly I am in compliments to what my siblings tell me. It's been happening for so long that I have no defense left for it and accept it as fact.
SIBLING #1
You know you're going to grow up fat and alone in a messy house with 30 cats.
SIBLING #2
You're such a crazy weirdo.
SIBLING #1
You've made us late again you fat, ugly bitch.
NARRATOR
I don't even cry, these are just cold, dead facts to me now. My mother smiles proudly, or mockingly as the siblings are given free range to let their frustrations of their own abuse from her out on me.
*Sound of school door shutting, school bell rings. General sounds of children talking in hallway.
NARRATOR
I make it to school now, and upon entering, I see a group of my usual bullies gathered up
in the entrance lobby as normal. Most people don't give a damn about me, but there are those that did. I see them, the bullies. They are clumped up in the entrance hall as normal, talking about music or sports. At this point, three things can happen. These antagonists to my already desperate situation could pressure me to get closer so they could assault me, make fun of me and my appearance as I rushed off, or not notice me. TODAY THEY DON’T NOTICE ME. Those small mercies were not wasted.
*Sound of school bell ringing.
NARRATOR
In class, the bullies are at least spread out in most cases, but always present like a bad chronic illness. They weren't the only ones; the teachers could be just as bad. The three kinds of teachers I have experienced in my life are as followed: There were those who didn't care a lick about me, the ones who would single me out as a punching bag for letting out their frustrations of their own terrible lives, and the ones who 'cared' and drew extra attention to my situation, causing others to be jealous of the extra attention I was getting and thus, getting extra aggression from them. As class draws on, my narcolepsy falls in again and I dose off. It didn't matter how hard I could try; I could never stay awake.
In moments of waking, I would feel spit wads in my hair...
(Doze)
Wake to someone slapping the back of my head and trying not to cry...
(Doze)
A series of jabbing pokes...
(Doze)
The slap of a rubber band against my eye...
(Doze)
The teacher calling me out and bouts of humiliating laughter.
TEACHER
CALLING MARY OUT
Sound of CHILDREN’S HUMILTATING LAUGHTER, lunch bell rings. SOUND OF CHILDREN EMPTYING CLASS ROOM.
NARRATOR
It was finally lunch time. One of my only ways of coping with my life was eating. It showed in my weight, which literally made me a bigger target. Today is Pizza day, and my exhausted, numbed self-tried to enjoy the gooey slice of cheese and pepperoni with chocolate milk as best I can as I sit alone. Alone, and a clear, isolated target.
BULLY #1
(patronizing)
Oh, look GUYS who's eating all alone again.
NARRATOR
Cue the bullies. The times that they leave me in my isolated respite are best, but now they sit around me. Their faces seem to be thinly veiled representation of friendship to hide their vicious, malicious intents.
Bully 2 : She's always eating alone, you should count yourself lucky that we'd be willing to sit with a fat, ugly loser like you.
Bully 3: She's always sleeping in class, and when the teacher calls on her, she never knows what's going on, what an idiot!
(All bullies laugh )
Narrator: I solemnly look over to the teachers who are watching over lunch time to make sure nothing bad is happening as I silently beg them over. They never come, and the rest of lunch is filled with pinching and under-the-table kicking as well as food flinging chorused by their laughter. With mercy, the lunch bell finally rings.
( Ringing school bell )
Narrator : With lunch out of the way, I fall back into the rest of the day with vicious peers and teachers, narcolepsy and humiliating moments. I am already beyond exhausted, holding myself just together enough not to burst into tears again and deal with that embarrassment.
( BELL RINGS)
The final bell, and it is finally time to go home. My mom is there to pick me up. Some times she lets out her own frustrations of the day with a strike to the head, a burn of a cigarette on my bare skin, or just an annoyed look and a hateful side comment.
Finally home, things finally get worse as my siblings and Mom are full of their own disappointments and frustrations for the day, built up and ready to let loose on their punching bag. They are a lot more violent than people at school, but I couldn't tell you if it hurt more or less because they weren't strangers or they were my family. At this point of my life, the house itself is a wreck, covered in urine and feces from our two dogs and tortoise who wanders the house freely. There are unclean dishes, and I'd be lucky if I was even allowed to have dinner, if Mom ever made it. My mom would have her use of me, helping her reload her pistol cross bow to shoot pictures of my Dad, or calling up my dad to harass him and cry while he told me how much he loved me. I felt bad, but also thought that if he really did love me, he would get me out of this hell hole.
( Sound of chaos, screaming, plate shattering, yelling, cries of pain. Pause... Door shutting)
At some point I finally close the door to my room. It's the cleanest room in the house. My dog Cassie is sitting next to my computer chair under my loft bed, happy to see me with her stubby tail wagging happily. I crouch down to her, and pet the loving Jack Russel terrier as she wants nothing more than to rest at my side while I get onto the computer, or cuddling me, or playing.It is the last two hours of the day, 120 minutes. I log on, and I slowly lose every thing around me. For that time I have to myself, every thing else melts away. The escape is the only thing that I have to look forward to. It's the only thing that keeps me going ,just 120 minutes a day. I am no longer a ugly, fat girl that every one seems to exist only as a punching bag, I am a human being. I am loved by my sweet dog and digital faces of people that can be hundreds of miles away. The online community enjoys me, and I enjoy them. I squeeze as much as I can out of this experience. This small amount of time, the escape into an artificial virtual realizty, and not having one source of in person human love. It may not seem like much to some, but it was all I had, and I clung to it with all my heart, and some how it was enough.
( Rustling of bed sheets )
I lie in bed, trying to focus solely on the experiences of the 120 minutes I had to myself as I wrap my arms around my dog and push down the anxiety that it's all going to happen again tomorrow. I stay close to my small match I struck and hope the warmth will just make it through the next day with out going out at last.