She's Got Legs

A few months have passed since my first real punishment.  I'm still in the fourth grade physically, but I haven't really been there since I became aware of the terrible injustices that exist for me.  Dad can pull me out any time he pleases, teachers cannot be trusted, and the other kids cannot relate to me nor I to them.  I have come to despise all that school is--bullies, cliques, know-it-all teachers who really don't know the half of it, and going over and over the same material I've already learned a million times.  School is stupid and I will no longer be a part of it.

Mrs. Gregaydis, however, disagrees.  She lets my laissez-faire attitude go for quite a while because, really, my grades are not suffering--I'm still getting perfect grades on all of my tests even though I haven't done any homework in months because, like I said, I've learned this material a million times before.  But she can no longer stand my lack of work and poor attitude--don't get me wrong, I'm never rude or disrespectful, just disillusioned and maybe a bit sad.  After all, school has always been my escape and now that's been taken from me.

She makes the phone call home.  Again.  Damn her.  At least this time she waits until it's time to go home to tell me, so I don't have to stew in in all day.  How kind of her.

I pray that Mom answered the phone because usually Mom will keep things from Dad if she knows the information would be detrimental to us.  She's one of us in my mind.  One of the victims.  One of the weak ones.  It's Dad against the rest of us. 

My walk home fills me with stomach knots and a throat hardened with stifled tears.  Each step feels as though someone has strapped 10lb. weights to my scrawny legs.  As I near the corner where I can see the front of my house, I see that there is no car parked in front!  No car = no Dad = no punishment!  For now.  I'll take it! 

The weights are lifted from my ankles and my stomach knots loosen a bit (they never really disappear.  Never).  I get to the front porch, constantly looking back, expecting to see Dad pulling up in the car behind me. If he does pull up, what do I do?  What do I say?  The knots begin to retighten until I get into the sanctity of the empty house.  The big, empty house is heaven with only Thor, our Great Dane, to greet me.  How I wish he was one of those protective dogs like I've seen in movies and on tv.  But he's afraid like the rest of us.  He's been beaten down by Dad one too many times. He, too, is one of the weak, subservient, subjects of Master Dad.  Sorry Thor and thanks for the hug--I really need it right now.

Thor, you are one of those strong currents that make beautiful music as it passes by my big rocks.  I can still feel the strength and warmth of your neck beneath my hugs.

Jen ;-)