Carry The Weight Part 2 (Brotin Tale #5)

Okay people, you know the Brotin drill. Go read Brian Miller's part first before you read this, otherwise you will be totally lost. It was his turn to start us off this time!


I ask Tommy why he needs a happy machine. After years of dealing with children, I have developed a keen sense of observation when it comes to spotting abuse or neglect.

“I dunno,” he answers me, staring down at the floor in a valiant effort not to make eye contact.

I don’t push him too hard, Too much pressure and he will never open up to me.

“Okay Tommy, you can tell me when you feel like it,” I say to him, giving the boy a gentle rub on his shoulder, trying to assure him that I can be trusted.

He follows me around most of the afternoon, not saying much, but seemingly enjoying my company. Even when the science fair is well underway, the sheepish boy refuses to leave my side.

“Are your parents coming to the show?”

“Mom might, but Dad will never come,”

“Why not?” I ask him, trying not to sound like I am prying too much.

“Because Mommy and Daddy don’t do anything together without yelling. That’s why I made them another Happy Box.”

“You mean Happy Machine?” I ask him, curious as to why he changed his terminology when referring to his project.

“Well, mine is a Happiness Machine, and the other one is a Happiness Box. I figured that since I made my machine in a box that I could just call them both Happiness Boxes. Mine is bigger than the other one. I added some lights and stuff. I just hope that it works as good.”

I was going to delve deeper into the second happy box, but Tommy’s mother made her presence known at her son’s exhibit.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Douglas,” I say, greeting her in a friendly tone of voice. “Did you and Tommy’s dad help him with his project? It is a very creative and wonderful idea.”

She just stares at the box full of lights and gadgets as if she has never seen it before.

“It’s another Happy Box, Mom. Now we have two happy boxes!”

It is at this point that I know that she has never seen his project before. A look of anger fills her face.

“Tommy, you grab that happy thing of yours. We are going, NOW!”

“Mrs. Douglas, he obviously put a lot of time and effort into his happy machine, how about giving him a chance to use it and bring a few smiles to his own face?”

She peers at me with a spiteful glance, picks up Tommy’s happy box, and grabs her son by the arm.

“Raise you own God Damned kid the way you like. Leave my kid to me!” She snaps, and then leads him away.

“Bye Mr. Miller,” Tommy says as he flashes me a look of helplessness.

At that, his mother picks up the pace and they disappear down the hall.

the second inkling of concern pulls at my conscience, he sees it on my face, his hand waves goodbye with troubled thought, bringing back the weight that I felt yesterday while I was at the window...

*****

Tommy and his mother arrive at their home. She leads her son inside, puts the project on the coffee table and then proceeds to slap him across the face.

“You little Bastard, don’t you ever tell people that we need a happy box!”

Tommy begins to cry and runs to his bedroom, slamming the door.

“Wait until your Dad hears what you made, he’s gonna kill you,” she yells out, in the direction of his bedroom.

Tommy shudders.

Later, Tommy’s dad enters the room brandishing a belt. He violently flips his son over and lashes at his lower back and buttocks. He has a crazy look about him as he grinds his teeth and growls out a word with every single sickening strike.

“DON’T (slap) EVER(slap) TALK(slap) ABOUT(slap) US(slap) OUTSIDE(slap) OF(slap) THIS (slap) HOUSE(slap) AGAIN!”

Tommys cries are ear piercing, as his father exits the room and slams the door. He heaves and sobs for over an hour, rubbing his back where the welts continued to grow larger. Tommy thinks about his happy machine in the box that he left on the coffee table. He hopes that maybe his parents will use his invention tonight.

He lays in bed for a long time, watching the light that comes in from under his bedroom door. He knows that when the light dims, that he will be able to peek out and see if they are going to try his invention. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the light grows dim and Tommy climbs from his bed. He cracks open his bedroom door and gazes into the family room. He sees that the box containing his happy machine is no longer on the table. It had been replaced by the other happy box, the big wooden one that he has seen them use many times. His mom holds a spoon over an open flame, as his dad grabs a big needle and a large rubber band from the box. Tommy watches as his dad twists the rubber band tight and jabs the needle into his arm. He has seen his parents do this many times, often referring to the box as their “Happy Box”.

Tommy watches for a while as his mom injects herself, and then for a period of time his parents both look so peaceful and quiet. It seems that his little happiness machine was no match for theirs. He can not wait until he is old enough to try their happy box. He is tired of the beatings. He knows now that he cannot talk to Mr. Miller anymore about his home life. It hurts too much!

******

I drive home, knowing that I will have to notify Social Services about Tommy Douglas. I know that he is in trouble. I do not know what kind of trouble it is, but I feel pretty sure that I can save him. Tomorrow morning will bring new hope for him. Knowing that I am going to take action eases my mind. I get ready for bed and just stand in the bathroom staring in the mirror.

I have eased the concern that pulls at my conscience, I can see it on my own face, my finger flips the light switch with a peaceful thought, leaving behind the weight that I felt while I was at the window...