The Jesus Diaries

II

Crashing into Oblivion

Sometimes as a child you were expected to obey and follow all the things your parents said; my parents never said a word to me. They humiliated me, chastized me, poked fun at me; that was when they were around, but most times it was just silence with the Television turned on.

It was hard growing up as a kid, not realizing the tolls in life you will pay to get there; sometimes as a child you are made to realize this quite early in life - like my father used to tell me, when he was bitter and angry.

A month before we were supposed to move from Ohio, the apartment we lived in was slowly getting packed, and what I could remember was that school for me would soon be over; the first grade [you may ask yourself how I can remember such things, but as I look back on it, reflect upon it, it was actually easy to remember about bitterness...]

As class ended, I walked home, which was about 3 blocks away. I walked home with some friends who were chiding me at the time. As we walked along together, I remember my friend rambling his mouth off about running across the street as a dare; we already passed the crossing guard - and in those days, there was no restriction on speeds during school hours. As my friend continued to dare me, and make like a chicken flapping his arms, he was already jetting across the street like some mad dervish that caught his pants on fire; the next
one followed, turning his head to me, saying: "See you on the other side chicken, bwak, bwak, bwaaak!"
As a kid, things always seem longer, farther, more exaggerated; the road looked that way to me and it seemed it would take forever to get to the other side. Not wanting to act scared, I obeyed my cronies and made a mad dash for it; eyes on the obstacle ahead of me, (not far at all,) and in one sudden blaze I was in the air spiralling out of control, my head hit glass, I twirled, felt the impact of bone crunching metal; I didn't know what hit me until I felt the pavement and found I was in utter hysterics, and too traumatized to scream; my left leg was broken in five places. My forehead bleeding.

There was the smell of gas fumes, burning rubber, blood creeping into the back of my throat, and shadows hanging over me as the clouds drifted above them.
My senses were disoriented; Someone got out of the vehicle. It was a woman who seemed to be as hysterial as I was, as she cursed to herself over and over again about Jesus; she grabbed my hand, trying to speak to me, to keep me awake. At that moment I just wanted to sleep. Soon, there was a bunch of people surrounding me; sirens wailing; someone saying they would go fetch my father. I could only whisper, oh God.
When my father came, I could hear the beating of flip-flops as they ran toward me, but my father did not run toward me; he remained like a spectator in the crowd. The police questioned all parties involved and when the ambulance arrived they immediately got me into the back of their vehicle strapped down firmly to the cot.

My father entered in the vehicle, closed the doors, and sat on the steel bench by me. I was scared because he was once again silent. He looked at me, and only said, " How are you going to pay for this?"

* * *

I was in the hospital for thirty days.
Relatives came to visit to ensure I was in good spirits and to see the device I was rigged to; my left leg in a
cast, with two screws on each side going through the knees; leg elevated 45 degrees and no less. I screamed and howled when the doctor had used the drill to insert those screws; I think it was just the mere sound than it was the actual tugging on my leg bone that had me petrified.
My uncle made fun of the contraption I was in, and it too, had somewhat made me giggle at the thought. My father had called my mom. She came back. She only said a few words, about how idiotic I was to listen to people that were to do me harm and should of not done what I did. It was a constant drone with her; it was also the same when they had surrounded me around the Christmas tree to back me into a corner, to take my punishment. And also other special occasions; for humiliation, my father ran at me naked with my mothers wig
on when he was in a festive mood, on another occasion, he would smash a banana in my face for trying to access the trick or treat bag on Halloween, that I had so earned. It was these little incidents that probably lead up to this point of me getting hit by the car...just plain old bad luck.

My father mellowed out for a time being, feeling that he was being too hard on me or what not, I was never sure how he was to feel. His idea of being a father was taking me to restuarants and sitting there with nothing to say; if my mother had been there, she would of have been over dramatic in her foreign accented voice, and constantly poking me like a bean bag for her own comfort. Originally I had grown up being left handed, my mother thought that was the Devil's hand and would not have her Son raised that way, as she sometimes tried to put it; if i would pick up a chicken leg or crayon with the left arm, out would come the hand, and not
more said. I never understood. Parenting back then was an art in it-self.
I remember my father taking me to See all these horror movies, either in the drive-in movie theatres, or at the cinemas; my introduction between five and seven years old were such movies like "The Exorcist", "The Omen", parts I and II, "Carrie", "Halloween", "Behind the Door", "Eaten Alive", and others that have in my aged repertoire. This was the only togetherness we could ever feel and not much more.

The years then are now so vague and wearied that I can not much longer remember those things that trouble me, or even inspire me. After I was released out of the hospital and returned home, the apartment almost looked bared, except for a mattress in the bedroom that my father and I would have to share. In the evening he would read a horror story to me because he would not read one of my favourites. I, then closed my eyes, thinking a prayer for all those things in the world, that would hurt a man like my father. Tomorrow we would be on the road to New York City. And I anticipated the adventure to come.