Kitty Killer

We had a kitten when I was eight, it had had gotten into the habit of eating food mom left covered on the table, overnight. The night before, Jack had soaked some left over hamburger patties in hot sauce. They were left on the table, to teach the kitty a lesson.

We all arrived in the kitchen together that morning. There was the kitten, eating a hamburger patty. He would take a bite, shaking his head as he chewed it. Then he would bat the rest around, trying to figure out why it hurt. He would then go for another. We watched for a while and soon the kids started to giggle. It was cute.

Suddenly, in one bound Jack was at the table. He scooped up the kitten, wound up like a pitcher and threw him against the wall. We watched in horror as he literally exploded and fell to the table in a pile of intestines and blood, squirming only briefly as he died. We spent that whole day in our rooms, whispering as we listened to mom struggle for her life.

The next morning I’ll never forget. I got up at four a.m. to help Jack run his milk route, something I did every morning before school. Jack sat in the truck as I pulled the orders and ran them to the houses. That was back when your milk was delivered to your door. After finishing, we would go by the warehouse, and I would wash out the truck. I went to school wet and smelling like sour milk. I was real popular with the kids and teachers. I continued to get hygiene advice and beatings, from principles, throughout my childhood.

If our report cards were bad, we got beaten. If we moved in the middle of the year, we never returned to school and failed anyway. School was something I simply endured. That Monday, I would wish simply to endure school.

Mom was on the couch when I got up.

“Look,” Jack said.” I know you’re old enough to understand, and I know I can count on you, to be a man. Your mom says she’s going to kill herself as soon as we leave, so I'll leave you here to watch her. Whatever you do, don't let her out of your sight.”

Mom was out of it and could barely stay awake, so she slept until the kids got up. While I got them ready for school, she kept her head down, mumbling only occasionally, with a stupid smile on her face. I got them out the door, being careful not to take my eyes off her.

After they had gone, I lay my head in her lap and dozed off. We had always been close; she was only fourteen when she had me. She was twenty-three now, but her face looked forty. I woke up to find her stroking my hair. She was smiling at me with a smile much different than before. No longer appearing stupid, her smile radiated love.

“I love you. I know you’re not old enough to understand, but some day you will.”

“I love you, too, but we can just leave.”

“I can't get away from him.” I knew that, I knew all the whys.

“If I die, he’ll send all of you to your grandmother."

I tried again to talk her out of it, but she felt she had nothing to live for. Still, it was one of those close moments you never forget. One of those moments that you know your mom really loves you and somehow that makes everything Ok. Even with the condition we were in, the next two hours were some of my best. After a while, we stopped talking, and she just held me.

“Everything’s going to be Ok. It’ll get better.” When it was almost time for Jack to get home, she felt much better. “I have to use the bathroom.” I helped her to the door, and even though it felt strange, I started inside with her. She stopped me. “You can't come in here with me, sweetie. I'm your Mother. I promise it’ll be Ok.”

Kissing my cheek, she closed the door. I knew it wasn’t Ok.  She locked the door, and I knew my mistake was made.

I started beating on the door, but she made no sound. I was in a panic and begging her to open up, when Jack came in. He kicked down the bathroom door and there she lay, unconscious. Her wrists were cut, and blood was everywhere. The room looked like someone had splattered bright, red paint everywhere.

The white floor, sink, toilet, towels and Angel's white poke-a-dotted Easter dress were all covered in it. As Jack ran to the door with my dead mother in his arms, he was cussing and condemning me for what I allowed to happen.

I think that insanity comes in degrees. On that day, I took another irreversible step. I spent the day alone with the fact I had killed my mother. I frantically cleaned at the blood, so it would not be there when Jack came home. Everything was not going to get better. Everything will get better, and everything will be alright were just the first of many lies my mother told me.

 Throughout my life, Jack taught me many things. But most importantly, he taught me what not to do. He’s long dead now and I still live with him today. If I have a question about what is right, I must only consider what he would have done and do the opposite. I'm glad all lessons are not learned at such a cost.

It was two days before I found out my mom had not died after all. After a brief visit to a mental institution, she was released and came home. A different person looked out at me through her eyes that day. She was never the same again.

Informally Educated