You're Right Next To Me, I Think That You Can Hear Me, Funny How The Distance, Learns To Grow
--"China", Tori Amos
It happened after school, when he was supposed to be taking care of her. He had been put in charge because he was three years older, he was the responsible one, he was the one that would set a good example for her. She doesn't remember why that first time happened. She can't recall the exact sequence of events--if it had something to do with her being willful or conspicuously bratty, or if she had merely caught him on an off day. That's what bothers her most, that she can't ever piece together how it came to be she ended up flipping a switch in her brother that she never quite learned to switch off. If she had the details she could maybe discern a logical sequence of events that would either allay responsibility away from her (he was always a monster and she was just the most convenient target) or she could finally accept that the burden was hers (she had done something to change him). If he had that inciting incident to go back to she might be able to have some reason to pin her frustration on.
She does remember one thing.
She had been eight at the time when he first came for her.
He had followed her into her room. She was sitting on her bed. She watched him cross the room to her. At first, she had laughed him off. Before that day, he had been somewhat docile, somewhat reserved. Up until then she had carried on as if she had some magical immunity to him. She would tease him endlessly with names that she never really understood the meaning behind. There were just words to her, words she had picked up in school and words she knew bothered her brother to be called them. She would say them. He would hear them. He would chase her around for a bit, but that would be it. Or she would play tricks on him--tying his doorknob with rope to the guest bedroom's doorknob so he couldn't open up his door, purposefully emptying out his Frosted Flakes every week a bit at a time so he would be without breakfast more often than not--and he would just take it. But that day when she tried to laugh him off, underestimate his capacity for actual anger, it only served to infuriate him more. Even when he was standing right in front of her she was still laughing in his face. This was her brother. Wasn't it her sisterly right to get under his skin? Wasn't it her duty, in fact? She was confident he was merely posturing, trying to establish who was boss.
It came as a shock to her when he punched her across her left cheek, not with everything he had, but enough to make his point. She remembers he wasn't smiling like he take any great satisfaction in his wrath. But he also didn't have the usual look of guilt that accompanies hurting somebody. If he had any remorse, he was sure not to show it to her.
She immediately fell to the side onto her pillow. She cried, but, unlike most descriptions she says people give of feeling betrayed by someone they thought loved them, she didn't start crying. In her memory of that day it felt like she had always been crying that day. She doesn't want to see the point where she went from being in awe of her brother to living in a quiet fear of him. She remembers she was crying before her head ever hit the pillow.
Again, he didn't immediately kneel down beside to comfort her. The next thing she remembers him doing was telling her that it do her no good to cry now. There was nobody home to hear her. She couldn't understand what he was trying to tell her. It's true, before, she had used crying as a means to call attention to her brother's bothering her. She had employed over-reacting to get her brother in trouble. But that day was different. That day she cried not as a means to signal her parents to rescue her. That day she cried because there was no other way she could communicate her pain. It was her body's natural response.
That's when her brother died and was replaced by the something that never quite figured out how to fight back against. That's when it happened.
Instead of leaving or maybe calming down, he only grew angrier with the same even tone that she would learn. He kicked at her while she still had her eyes closed on the pillow. Luckily, most of the blow just glanced off her thigh, but he had made his point.
She tried to will away her tears and within a few minutes she stopped. He stood over her the entire time.
She learned that day that the only thing that her brother respected, that the only thing that ever made him stop was when she wouldn't give him an excuse to continue. The way she explained it to me was this. He didn't get off on the pain because he only ever hurt her enough to make it count--a few blows to really illustrate how much stronger he was in comparison to her. He didn't get off on her crying either. Tears or no tears, whimpering or no whimpering--it was all the same to him. No, what she feels motivated him was the idea of cause and effect. She had made him angry, therefore she had to be hurt for that. There was no joy or sadness in the act; it was a form of justice to him that was neither vindictive or unwarranted. Before long she realized the more she kept it business-like and I guess what you could call "professional" the easier of a time she had.
That's when she stopped being as cavalier as she once was. She didn't get quiet or become taciturn. That would have only tipped off her parents that there was a problem in the house, which was also punishable. If anything, she became more social. She started becoming more talkative. Yet, conversely, she also become more guarded. Everything became a big joke to her, nothing was serious. She stopped discussing how she felt to anyone in straight terms. Everything became hints and speculation wrapped up in biting language so you could never get the straight skinny from her.
She became like those hard-boiled detectives she came to revere. After all, those men and women faced all sorts of hardships and impossible situations. They never ran to the authorities to solve their problems. They never expected someone else to come bail them out. No, she rationalized, they always solved their own problems. They always took their licks and kept coming back as if nothing had happened. They never let a unfair situation be the reason they gave up. And, most importantly, they never cried. That wasn't their way. That wouldn't be her way either.
Even after she stopped being that frightened eight-year-old, the beatings still continued. Once or twice a month for the next seven years, things would get bad between her brother and her. She never made excuses for him. She never split him into two distinct personalities. She would knuckle through the painful times and smile and joke around with him during the good times. She never would go so far as to describe him as being a good brother during those times, but she never put any stock into coming up with any elaborate scenarios to get her revenge or to get him caught. Like she had worked out, that would only make him hurt her more. She did her best not to cry and then it would be over. She would be bruised in a couple of places, but to her those were nothing that wouldn't heal. She wasn't about to let a few rough times destroy her or make her weak.
She became strong because he would always be stronger than her.
She became tough because he would always be tougher than her.
And during the good times, she said they would both go on with their business as normal. They didn't share these awkward moments of tension at the dinner table. As far as both of them were concerned nothing had happened. It slowly became a cornerstone of her life experience--no more out of place for her than being grounded was for the rest of us.
She says it was because both her and her brother came to a mutual silent understanding a long time ago. They were never going to be close. They were never going to become tight later on in life. What he did to her on regular basis was a conscious declaration to her that he was forsaking all rights and claims to knowing her as a sister after he went off to college. There would be no coming back from it. This they both accepted. They would go on with their life under the same roof with the knowledge the arrangement was only temporary. As soon as he left, he would be gone from her life for good.
That's the deal they made with one another without ever signing any contract or airing it out in so many words.
Her mark was already placed for her that day when she was only eight.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
It happened after school, when he was supposed to be taking care of her. He had been put in charge because he was three years older, he was the responsible one, he was the one that would set a good example for her. She doesn't remember why that first time happened. She can't recall the exact sequence of events--if it had something to do with her being willful or conspicuously bratty, or if she had merely caught him on an off day. That's what bothers her most, that she can't ever piece together how it came to be she ended up flipping a switch in her brother that she never quite learned to switch off. If she had the details she could maybe discern a logical sequence of events that would either allay responsibility away from her (he was always a monster and she was just the most convenient target) or she could finally accept that the burden was hers (she had done something to change him). If he had that inciting incident to go back to she might be able to have some reason to pin her frustration on.She does remember one thing.
She had been eight at the time when he first came for her.
He had followed her into her room. She was sitting on her bed. She watched him cross the room to her. At first, she had laughed him off. Before that day, he had been somewhat docile, somewhat reserved. Up until then she had carried on as if she had some magical immunity to him. She would tease him endlessly with names that she never really understood the meaning behind. There were just words to her, words she had picked up in school and words she knew bothered her brother to be called them. She would say them. He would hear them. He would chase her around for a bit, but that would be it. Or she would play tricks on him--tying his doorknob with rope to the guest bedroom's doorknob so he couldn't open up his door, purposefully emptying out his Frosted Flakes every week a bit at a time so he would be without breakfast more often than not--and he would just take it. But that day when she tried to laugh him off, underestimate his capacity for actual anger, it only served to infuriate him more. Even when he was standing right in front of her she was still laughing in his face. This was her brother. Wasn't it her sisterly right to get under his skin? Wasn't it her duty, in fact? She was confident he was merely posturing, trying to establish who was boss.
It came as a shock to her when he punched her across her left cheek, not with everything he had, but enough to make his point. She remembers he wasn't smiling like he take any great satisfaction in his wrath. But he also didn't have the usual look of guilt that accompanies hurting somebody. If he had any remorse, he was sure not to show it to her.
She immediately fell to the side onto her pillow. She cried, but, unlike most descriptions she says people give of feeling betrayed by someone they thought loved them, she didn't start crying. In her memory of that day it felt like she had always been crying that day. She doesn't want to see the point where she went from being in awe of her brother to living in a quiet fear of him. She remembers she was crying before her head ever hit the pillow.
Again, he didn't immediately kneel down beside to comfort her. The next thing she remembers him doing was telling her that it do her no good to cry now. There was nobody home to hear her. She couldn't understand what he was trying to tell her. It's true, before, she had used crying as a means to call attention to her brother's bothering her. She had employed over-reacting to get her brother in trouble. But that day was different. That day she cried not as a means to signal her parents to rescue her. That day she cried because there was no other way she could communicate her pain. It was her body's natural response.
That's when her brother died and was replaced by the something that never quite figured out how to fight back against. That's when it happened.
Instead of leaving or maybe calming down, he only grew angrier with the same even tone that she would learn. He kicked at her while she still had her eyes closed on the pillow. Luckily, most of the blow just glanced off her thigh, but he had made his point.
She tried to will away her tears and within a few minutes she stopped. He stood over her the entire time.
She learned that day that the only thing that her brother respected, that the only thing that ever made him stop was when she wouldn't give him an excuse to continue. The way she explained it to me was this. He didn't get off on the pain because he only ever hurt her enough to make it count--a few blows to really illustrate how much stronger he was in comparison to her. He didn't get off on her crying either. Tears or no tears, whimpering or no whimpering--it was all the same to him. No, what she feels motivated him was the idea of cause and effect. She had made him angry, therefore she had to be hurt for that. There was no joy or sadness in the act; it was a form of justice to him that was neither vindictive or unwarranted. Before long she realized the more she kept it business-like and I guess what you could call "professional" the easier of a time she had.
That's when she stopped being as cavalier as she once was. She didn't get quiet or become taciturn. That would have only tipped off her parents that there was a problem in the house, which was also punishable. If anything, she became more social. She started becoming more talkative. Yet, conversely, she also become more guarded. Everything became a big joke to her, nothing was serious. She stopped discussing how she felt to anyone in straight terms. Everything became hints and speculation wrapped up in biting language so you could never get the straight skinny from her.
She became like those hard-boiled detectives she came to revere. After all, those men and women faced all sorts of hardships and impossible situations. They never ran to the authorities to solve their problems. They never expected someone else to come bail them out. No, she rationalized, they always solved their own problems. They always took their licks and kept coming back as if nothing had happened. They never let a unfair situation be the reason they gave up. And, most importantly, they never cried. That wasn't their way. That wouldn't be her way either.
Even after she stopped being that frightened eight-year-old, the beatings still continued. Once or twice a month for the next seven years, things would get bad between her brother and her. She never made excuses for him. She never split him into two distinct personalities. She would knuckle through the painful times and smile and joke around with him during the good times. She never would go so far as to describe him as being a good brother during those times, but she never put any stock into coming up with any elaborate scenarios to get her revenge or to get him caught. Like she had worked out, that would only make him hurt her more. She did her best not to cry and then it would be over. She would be bruised in a couple of places, but to her those were nothing that wouldn't heal. She wasn't about to let a few rough times destroy her or make her weak.
She became strong because he would always be stronger than her.
She became tough because he would always be tougher than her.
And during the good times, she said they would both go on with their business as normal. They didn't share these awkward moments of tension at the dinner table. As far as both of them were concerned nothing had happened. It slowly became a cornerstone of her life experience--no more out of place for her than being grounded was for the rest of us.
She says it was because both her and her brother came to a mutual silent understanding a long time ago. They were never going to be close. They were never going to become tight later on in life. What he did to her on regular basis was a conscious declaration to her that he was forsaking all rights and claims to knowing her as a sister after he went off to college. There would be no coming back from it. This they both accepted. They would go on with their life under the same roof with the knowledge the arrangement was only temporary. As soon as he left, he would be gone from her life for good.
That's the deal they made with one another without ever signing any contract or airing it out in so many words.
Her mark was already placed for her that day when she was only eight.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
Labels: communication, fighting, hardness, Ilessa
posted by mojo shivers @ 1:36 AM
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