Domestic violence is like domestic beer.
Everybody lies and says it's fine.
— A Truth Teller
I don't know how old I was when I realized I'm not like other people. Five, maybe?
I was in kindergarten, sitting two desks over from a kid named Ed. Trina said he was dumb as a dildo in a box of cocks, and she was his mom, which means he was probably dumber than that. I thought cocks meant Cox, the folks who lived down the street. Why they'd be in a box, I didn't know, but Cody Cox was in my class, and he was dumb. They all were. Box 'em up? Sure, why not.
I remember looking at Ed, thinking, "I'm not like you." And then I looked at the boy sitting between us, and that kid was worse. On the other side of me was Becca. She was eating crayons. Probably weren't even hers.
"Why am I here?!?"
Five years old seems kind of young to be asking yourself existential questions, don't ya think? Maybe I was six.
"I'm not like these people." I've always known. Didn't matter where I went. I wasn't like them. But THOSE people? In Wanatah?
Since I already mentioned Trina... She's a perfect example of what I'm talking about.
Call me crazy, but I think being a parent is a big responsibility. I understand why my mom couldn't really do it, but this woman had no excuse.
What the hell kind of role model is a woman who beats her son after she gets slapped around by her latest "boyfriend," and I use that term loosely, pardon the pun. Oh, but she wouldn't let Ed watch TV after school because the cartoons were violent.
I remember thinking, "Bugs Bunny isn't real but your black eye is and we all know how you got it so you can just shut the fu..."
...OK, maybe that last part is an exaggeration. I've always had a foul mouth, but not that bad, that young. But goddamn, I still get angry just thinking about it.
I don't fault her for not standing up for herself. Not everybody is strong. I fault her for the company she kept, in front of her kid no less. You are the company you keep. She was trash.
I'm not like those people.
I was trash too, but even all the way back then, I knew I could do better. I knew I could be better.
I knew I didn't belong in Wanatah, but at that age, I didn't know what else existed beyond the farmland that separated our town from the rest of civilization. Oh, sure, you see stuff on TV, but you know it's not real. Or is it? There's only one way to find out, but that's not an option when you're six. You've gotta wait.
I knew I'd leave Wanatah, the first chance I got. Knowing that gave me permission to not care about my reputation.
I didn't have a reputation like you're thinking. I know what the word means. What it implies. There were definitely women like that in Wanatah. Trina was one of those women. My mom was one of those women. Sometimes. I don't mean it like that.
I mean, I didn't care if I became known for being something. Being a bitch. Being a thief. Being whatever. Right or wrong, none of their opinions would matter after I was gone. And I knew I would be gone, someday. But I also knew I had to keep it in check until that day came.
That's why I had thoughts of speaking my mind to people like Trina, but I didn't.
Maybe I should have.
Trina Wilson is the reason I got a reputation for being a smartass.
I didn't like any of the kids in that town, but I knew who was broke and who wasn't. Her son Ed was the flinging-boogers-across-the-classroom kind of kid, but maybe the reason he never thought to eat 'em was because he was well fed. In a town where lots of folks are broke, that's a kid you hang out with, boogers and all, even if you can't stand him.
And I did, even though I couldn't.
I snatched all kinds of stuff from Ed's house. Mostly food, but not always.
One time, I snatched what I thought was Trina's cigarette money on the kitchen counter. Later, I realized it was... Let's just say it was payment for services rendered unto whichever one of the town's useless humps was sowing his oats that night.
She didn't even need the money, so why did she do it? Mom did that when we were really down and out. But Trina? She lived in a decent house and the fridge was never empty. I resented her for being like that, with men.
I knew what her and her hump were doing upstairs, at least as much as a kid would know, but I didn't know that's what the money was for. Why did he hit her, though?
"One of these days, you oughta get the pipes fixed," I said, as Trina came down the stairs, knowing damn well the bang bang bang we heard while watching cartoons wasn't coming from the pipes. She knew I knew, and she resented it. There was a lot of resentment going on in that town.
Her humper put the money on the counter as he left, and I palmed it as I followed him out the door. She knew that too, but she couldn't prove anything, and we both knew why she couldn't say a word.
When you're a kid, that's the perfect crime.
When you're a kid.
"Turn off the fucking TV, Ed! You know I don't want you watching that stuff. It's VIOLENT!"
Bugs Bunny is violent, shrieked the lady with a new black eye. "It's gonna make you grow up WRONG!"
I was still in the driveway when I heard Ed scream from getting smacked. Trina's latest hump was just a few steps ahead of me. I knew he heard it too. He didn't even flinch.
"Hey, mister," I said. "Aren't you a cop? That, back there? That's not OK! He's getting beat 'cause she's mad at you!"
I didn't like Ed, but he was a good kid. And there's no excuse for a parent taking their anger out on a child.
The cop barely turned his head to look at me. "Do I know you?"
"It's a small town, Buttmunch. People talk."
I am not like those people.
"They better not," he growled. And he got in his car, as if nothing happened. I was furious, but I shouldn't have been. Even at that age, I should have known. That was the way of Wanatah.
Domestic violence is like domestic beer. Everybody lies and says it's fine. But cartoon violence? That's gonna make kids grow up wrong.
Buttmunch was Bud Marsh. Neither one of us knew it yet, but he'd be my first.