CHARLIE'S POV:
~ 30 Years Ago ~
"Could you be any slower?" Bryan asked, carrying over another opened paint can. "I don't want to be here all day. We're supposed to be inside by eight and it's going on six."
"If you think you could do it any faster then, by all means..." I motioned my paint brush toward him but he only shook his head. "Exactly, so shut it. You're supposed to hold the ladder and fetch things, not talk."
"You keep talking and I'm going to tear this ladder out from under you." He threatened, not very convincingly.
"Yeah," I smirked. "you do that so I can spill this paint all over you."
"I'll move out of the way." There was some condescension in his voice.
We may have been around the same age, but I swear sometimes it's like I'm the designated babysitter.
"You're not fast enough." I said snidely, dipping my brush into the can and trying to even out the strokes of paint on the tile.
"Oh yeah?" He asked, shaking the ladder.
"Cut it out!" I yelled down, grabbing the top of the roof for support.
"Go ahead and drop that paint on me, I dare you!" He shook the ladder again.
"Bryan, knock it off!"
"You know what your problem is? You don't know how to take a joke." Even from up here, I could sense he was rolling his eyes at me. He had a bad habit of doing that.
"Bro," I steadied myself, putting the paintbrush back into the can so it wouldn't leak out and looked down at him. "if you make me fall, and I spill this paint all over the lawn and you, dad'll come home and show us the buckle-end of his belt. Do you want that?"
"No."
"Then quit playing games." I said harshly. "Go get me another towel, I need to wipe this off the gutter."
Sighing, he headed back toward the garage. We decided to split the paint job, him doing the bottom half and I doing the top on the ladder. He finished first, not because he was quicker or more skilled, but because he didn't have to get off the ladder and reposition it every five minutes.
I'll have to check the bottom half when I'm finished, of course. He finished too quickly, and I want to make sure everything looks the best it can so dad will come home pleased. That's all I ever really wanted; just the look of happiness on his face and maybe even a 'Good work.'
He always took pride in the appearance of his lawn and house, there could be nothing out of place. But this year he bequeathed the duty of yard work to us, which we surely got the short end of the straw. This was the hottest summer we had in my lifetime, and it was only the end of June. We were given a budget at the beginning of May, which we had to make a list for the hardware store every time we needed something, and the burden of upkeep was placed with us.
"Here." He motioned up, getting ready to throw it at me.
"Wait, don't throw it." I had the paint can and the brush in my hands, how did he expect me to catch it? With my teeth?
He threw it anyway, and my effort to catch it was overshadowed by the fact that my brush swiped against the roof tile.
"You idiot." I put everything down immediately, grabbing the towel caught in between the ladder and began wiping as hard as I could. "I think we're saved."
Just as I went to put the towel in my back pocket, I realized my elbow had hit the end of the paintbrush, causing it to flip through the air. It fell swiftly, too quick for me to catch and Bryan to deflect, so it fell and splattered right on top of his head. His mouth opened wide as his hands ran through the paint in his hair.
"I'm s-sorry." I couldn't help but laugh. "Are you ok?"
"Do I look okay?" He shouted.
"You look more beige than anything." I covered my face, trying to conceal my smirk.
"You did that on purpose just because I dared you earlier!" He stepped forward and pushed the side of the ladder, causing me to begin falling about eight feet through the air."
I grabbed a hold of the gutter again, but unfortunately it wasn't strong enough to support my full weight and that of the ladder since my feet were entangled in it. Everything I had sitting on the top shelf had come crashing down with me; the paint can, roller, and spare towel. Most of it had fallen on me, while the other spilled out all over the lawn.
"You jerk!" I yelled, getting to my feet and using my momentum to push him hard against his chest. "It was an accident....!"
"You started it." He stepped forward, pushing me back. "You always did cheat in everything!"
"I did not! This whole thing is your fault..." I said but was interrupted as he smeared the tray all over my chest. "What the hell?"
My blood was boiling at this point. I grabbed what was left in the paint can and chucked it at him, leaving him just as covered as I was, before pushing him again. We both knew not to put our hands on anyone, let alone each other, but he went too far this time.
"You laughed at me!" Wrapping his arms around my neck, he pulled me down on the ground.
I elbowed him in the chest, but he returned a punch to the side of my face. Desperately trying to get on top and pin him down, I managed to shove my weight forward, so he'd turn on his back. I was just trying to stop this before either of us were caught.
"Enough!" I tried yelling, but he carried on.
"Boys! What is the matter?" Mom shouted over our brawl.
"He started it!" We both stopped and said simultaneously.
"No, you started!" I yelled before him, but we found ourselves yelling at each other. The sound of simultaneous shouts blocking out any recognition of the words we were trying to say.
"Enough!" She hollered, wrapping her hand towel around her knuckles. "Listen to me."
Bryan and I went silent, as if we both finally grasped the severity of the situation, awaiting the horrific instructions we were about to be given. Mom had supreme authority while dad was away. She was our own version of a paparazzi.
"Neither of you will say anything else." She pointed her finger at us. "Your father will have a few words to say to you when he gets home."
"Oh, I'll do more than say a few words." Dad came around the corner.
"Crap." Bryan said under his breath.
The heat of the moment must have distracted us so much that we didn't hear him pull into the driveway. His presence alone was enough to make us quiver, I could feel goosebumps forming on my arms from the thought of our fate.
"Hi honey." He kissed mom on the cheek. "What's going on here?"
"Dad, Charlie..." Bryan stood up and started, but that resulted in a growl from him.
"Boy, when I am ready to talk to you, I will let you know." Dad said sternly, a darkness lingering in his eyes.
Bryan stepped back, parallel to me, while dad looked back to mom for an answer. Dad's manifestation was similar to that of a vampire, even though I could argue he could spook a vampire. I wasn't the one he reprimanded but even I was scared.
"They were fighting, luckily I noticed and put an end to it before someone got hurt." She shook her head at us.
"Fighting?" Dad glanced at us. "I know they're really not stupid enough to cause a big mess and then fight each other over it."
Neither Bryan nor I had the audacity to speak first, nor did we have the courage to look him in the eye.
"Charlie? You want to tell me what happened?"
I wasn't sure where to begin or how to make sense of it without throwing Byran under the bus. Even he doesn't deserve to suffer the wrath of our dad.
"Charlie, answer me." He took a step forward.
I stood up, walking closer to Bryan. "It was an accident sir."
"An accident led to all this?" He motioned to the large mess around us. "You accidentally threw paint at each other? You accidentally were fighting?"
"No sir. It started as an accident," I clarified. "I-I lost balance on the ladder and dropped my paintbrush on Bryan." Ending there, I buried my chin against my chest.
"And then what happened Bryan?" Mom chimed in, impatiently waiting to see if he would tell the truth.
"I, um," Bryan glanced at me as if he wanted my help. "I knocked Charlie off the ladder."
"And Charlie tried grabbing the gutter for balance?" He asked, looking up at the broken link. "But clearly didn't make it. Then, in retaliation, he threw paint at you and you two found yourself in a fight." He folded his arms over his chest.
"Yes sir." We said in unison.
Bryan was beginning to panic; it was written so clearly on his face. Somehow, I was able to control my breathing, but my nerves were causing an uncomfortable pounding in my head.
The suspense surrounding us was suppressed, the air is so brittle it could snap, and if it doesn't, then I might. There was nothing more for either of us to say; nothing to ease the terrible burden of anxiety.
"Look at me!" He demanded, our heads shooting up. "Finish painting the garage, spray down the lawn with the hose, and clean this mess up. You two can spend all day tomorrow getting the dry paint off the cement."
We nodded.
Turning back to mom, he walked toward her. "I'm sorry honey, our boys won't be eating dinner today."
"I'll wrap it up for lunch tomorrow." She folded her hands inside the pocket of her apron.
"And I'll be in bed late," He looked back at us. "doing some painting of my own tonight."
He referenced our backsides.
"When you've finished cleaning, bring in two switches."
Bryan and I exchanged looks, both of us having flashbacks of our last switching from dad. Only this time it would be together, and for the same offense.
"I'll bring out a garbage bag and spare change of clothes, so you don't get paint through Mr. Kirkwood's lawn."
I woke up in a sweat; my shirt was drenched around my collar as well as under my arms, there was a wave of heat that crashed throughout my body and then resurfaced. You'd thinking serving in the Army for seven years would trump the distorted memories from my childhood, but those are what occupied my dreams.
Glancing at my clock, it was almost three in the morning. I sighed, I only wanted to sleep until six. Thankfully I didn't have work in the morning.
"Better go check on the boys." I whispered to myself, tearing off the thin layer of covers I had to creep out to the dark hallway.
Slowly creaking their door open, I found them both sound asleep. Eryk was snoring as usual, but Cody was in a perfect, blissful harmony. He even wasn't slugged over his bed as he usually is, instead he laid there peacefully.
"Goodnight Eryk, goodnight, Cody." I whispered, closing their door, and returning to my bedroom.
Crawling back into bed, I contemplated on doing something to escape the unavoidable dream I was having...but my eyes were putting up a fight. I knew I wouldn't make it through my shift tonight if I don't get at least a few more hours of sleep.
But this dream was weighing on my conscience. Cody's breakthrough the other day during our discussion combined with the advice given by Eryk was all still fresh on my head. The two had pushed me into a cycle of reminiscing in my previous encounters with Eryk, as well as some of my own as a child.
No doubt, tonight's dream was about a lack of communication.
My dad was inventive in his cruelty. Because our yard had no bushes nor trees, we had to go next door and ask Mr. Kirkwood if we could have some branches from his. He was longtime friends with my dad, so of course he knew our purpose for doing so...but that didn't stop him from making it more embarrassing for us.
"You two look like you've seen a ghost, or your father," He smirked. "I guess you're here because you need branches?"
"Yes sir." We both said.
"You want to tell me what you did wrong now?" He leaned against his front door frame.
Lord knows I wanted to say 'no, back the hell off,' but I don't think I'm ready for my funeral just yet.
"Fighting and throwing paint." I answered, eager to get this moment over with.
Nodding, "Well I guess you shouldn't keep your father waiting. Go ahead out back, lock the gate when you're finished."
"Yes sir." I responded, mostly to avoid saying 'thank you.'
Heading down his porch and into the yard through the gate, we made our selection within a matter of seconds. Our repeated encounters had made us almost mechanic; we knew exactly what dad deemed as an 'acceptable switch.'
"Why didn't you say anything about me pushing you off the ladder?" Bryan finally spoke, just before we left.
I shrugged, "We were in trouble anyway, I didn't see the need in adding fire to it." I kept walking.
"But aren't you mad?" He almost sounded sorry.
I was somewhat mad, but it wasn't just his actions that got us here. "No, I never should have hit you. I should have let it go."
"I never should have pushed you off, I'm sorry. I just got so mad when you laughed at me." He stopped walking, trying to stall as much as possible.
"I know, I know," I stopped too. "I'm sorry. It honestly was an accident, it was just a pretty funny one."
He almost smiled, "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'm sorry I got us into this."
Slapping my hand down on his shoulder, "Let's just get this over with."
He opened the garage door for me, motioning me inside first. The garage door led inside the kitchen, to the right was the living room where dad was pacing. Mom was cleaning up the mess after her wasted supper. I felt more sorry for her than I did for us.
There was no sound in the house, yet everyone was moving, moving but not talking. That's how you knew everyone felt disconnected from one another.
"Mom, do you need help cleaning?" Bryan asked, trying to find a plausible excuse to delay facing dad.
"No thank you," She eyed him, knowing his real intent for asking. "you just worry about your punishment."
"Get in here, quit stalling." Dad said.
We both stood straight, just the way he preferred, with our own switch in our hands. He always took so much pride in our spankings, believing completely in corporal punishment as an effective training method. Believe me when I say, he had a strict process for it too.
"Who wants to go first?" He clasped his hands together.
Bryan and I exchanged looks, both of us motioning the other to go first but neither of us having the audacity to step forward.
"Who is going first?" Dad asked again, his impatience clearly showing.
"I will." I said bravely, or stupidly, you can decide.
"Okay, Bryan, step forward."
Bryan looked like a deer in headlights, he immediately looked toward me but there was nothing I could do about it now.
"Dad, why don't you let me go first." I spoke up.
"Are you questioning my decision?" A violent look appeared in his eyes. "Are you?" He barked, causing us both to flinch.
He never gave us a chance to speak during punishments, they mostly consisted of a quick lecture and then a spanking. God forbid if you spoke up during it. Everything said against it was taken as a serious offense by him. Thus, we were spanked for almost every infraction, the severity varied of course, but we were expected to suffer in silence.
Our old man was tough as nails but, despite everything, I really do believe he cares about us. He just had a strange, and specific way to show it.
"N-no sir, I..." I stopped immediately when I realized he was walking toward me. "But I just..."
"But? Did you 'but' me?" He grabbed me by the back of my shirt collar.
"I'm sorry, I won't do it again." I was about to raise my left arm to grab his, but Bryan caught it and returned it to my side.
We were never, ever supposed to raise our hands to him. I did it once, and I suffered for days. Physically and emotionally.
Releasing me, he stayed exactly where he was. "Bryan is going first, if either of you object then you can step inside my room."
Being sent to his room was like signing your own death warrant. He kept too many instruments in there and the thick, wooden door blocked out the sounds. Sounds that you'd want mom to hear so she could rush to your defense. Dad only had a soft spot for her.
"I thought not." He said patronizingly.
He returned to his recliner, motioning Bryan forward. I looked at him; he wanted to obey, especially since he knew stalling would only make it worse, but fear was holding him back.
"D-dad please..." His grip on the switch tightened, giving me anxiety that he would break it.
"It's 'sir' to you right now." He warned. "Come here."
"I d-don't want to..."
"I understand you do not want to but that doesn't matter. I am your father, and you will do as I say!"
I looked at him like he was crazy, but I could tell he was not ready for this punishment. I wasn't either, I just had one two days ago for forgetting to take out the trash and I'm still not completely healed.
"Bryan, if I have to come get you...you're going to regret it." He threatened.
"Yes sir." He said quietly, somehow managing to move his feet forward.
"Drop your pants, and your underwear, and bend over my knee."
I watched as Bryan unbuttoned his pants and then slowly pulled down his underwear before bending over our father's knee. He often struggled which of course frustrated dad that he now automatically restrains the back of Bryan's legs anytime he's in this position, leaving his pale behind on display and completely defenses to the spanking to come.
Dad's hand raised in the air, and then it began. His arm hauled back and slapped with a force so penetrating that Bryan's entire body shook with each blow. He was in tears within minutes, and it didn't take long for his bottom to turn first pink, but then a deeper shade with each series of smacks as dad was holding nothing back. As devastating as it was to watch, I couldn't look away nor could I settle myself down because soon I'll be in the same position.
Gripping the switch in my hand, I was tempted to break it, but I feared that would lead to a harsher instrument. Between the ages of five and eight, dad only used his hand, the ruler or his belt for punishments. After that, he moved on to harsher things like a switch, the paddle and even thin phone or tv cords he found around the house.
Hearing Bryan cry in his helpless position, and not being able to do anything about it, made me feel even more remorseful for him. There was guilt lurking in my heart, even though he was just as much, if not more, the guilty party as I was. Dad landed his twentieth smack, and there was some indication he was finishing as his smacks became slower and slower. Bryan's bottom was a beating red, he even flinched a little when dad let him up to pull up his pants and underwear.
Twenty-five. I would get at least twenty-five. Maybe more depending on how much I squirm and fight. I'll do my best to sit still.
Obviously, for Bryan that must have seemed like hours... But it was over before I was even able to catch my breath and, even though I knew to go over for my turn, I waited for dad to say something.
"Look at me." He demanded, allowing me to get up. "The next time I tell you to do something, there will be no hesitation. Because I will not hesitate to crack that paddle off your behind. Do you understand me?"
"Y-yes sir."
Dad dismissed him back to where I was.
"Charlie. Leave your switch there and come get the first half."
Spankings alone were hard as is but being placed over his knee made me feel like such a little kid. I swear it was even as embarrassing as asking Mr. Kirkwood for the instruments that would be used to deliver my punishments. But I did as he said, quickly so he wouldn't shout at me again, before placing the bottom of my stomach over his right knee. Feeling his stomach extend, I knew he raised his hand, ready to begin, so I pinched my face.
"I packed your lunch, it's on the top shelf in the fridge." Mom said, entering the living room.
"Thank you honey." He responded.
He landed the first one on my left cheek, causing a vibration that traveled through my sides. It was so quick that my mind couldn't process the pain. He rotated between sides with no pauses, keeping the endurance unhindered so the first ounce of pain I'd feel would almost knock the wind out of me.
Dad worked in the mill shop, so his hands were calloused and rough and his physic was muscular. His hand covered each of our backsides. A raging fire quickly overtook. There was nothing to do but cry and cry I did. I tried to block out the pain, distance my mind from the situation at hand, and I managed to do that for most of the punishment, but the heat was building.
"Charlie, do you understand me?" He laid down one much harder than he was, trying to get my attention.
I hadn't heard anything he said, but I was afraid to admit that.
"Y-yes sir." I said, draped over his knee, clenching myself for another expected hit but he instead let me up to my feet.
"You don't put your hands on your brother, no matter what he did. You be the bigger person and walk away."
"Yes sir." I rubbed my hands against my chest, trying to muster some voice in my lungs.
"Stand up straight and speak to me." He demanded.
"Yes sir." I said more clearly.
"Alright, you're going to go first this time." Dad said, standing from the couch and moving to the end of the table.
My shoulders slumped, as did most of my posture, Bryan would now have a longer break between punishments, but I would have only a matter of seconds.
"You know what to do."
He never put us over his knee when using long range instruments, only for the ruler and hairbrush, instead he preferred to have us bend over to leave a much longer lasting pain. In this case, I would have to bend down and grip the ends of the coffee-table.
Sniffling, weeping almost at what is to come, I moved forward and pulled down my pants and boxers again. Handing him the switch, which he took swiftly, I bent over in front of him.
"Dammit!" I said, my eyes opening to see the sun rising.
Again. It happened again. This is the second time my cruel memory woke me, and it was only six. Neither of the boys would be awake, certainly not for another three hours before Cody must leave for school. So, there was no point in getting breakfast started.
"Could cut the grass." I said to myself, sitting up to get dressed. "At least it'll be cool out there."
I couldn't get the imagine out of my head, the feverish aftermath of my punishment as a child. It was replaying over and over in my mind, taunting my self-consciousness as if this were some sick game.
Carefully creeping downstairs, I grabbed the key to the shed and went out to grab the lawn mower. Taking a minute to breathe in the fresh air, hoping it would clear my head, I stared out into the field ahead of me, ready to dedicate my focus into work.
Smack!
I flinched at the sound of contact, watching Bryan's eyes swell up with tears as the sting resurfaced.
"You broke form, that's another half-hour."
After every punishment, no matter how small, we were to stand bare in the corner with our hands on our head. Every punishment came with one, the only thing that changed was the amount of time you had to stand there. So far, in my experience, there was a thirty minute minimum, with time added for infractions. And dad watched us like a hawk.
It wasn't the corner time that angered me, it was standing here on display. I was naked from the waist down and he had no issue enforcing this practice with guests in the home. But I was even embarrassed just having mom see me this way. Even those walking outside were able to see since we were diagonally positioned from the window.
It made me feel so vulnerable, completely defenseless and at the mercy of him. Dad thought of it as efficiency, a solid time to show obedience and reflect on the punishment...but to me it was humiliating. It was just a way to assert his authority, and emphasize my capitulation.
"Keep your knees straight." He barked at Bryan.
He never was good at holding his form; his arms always slouched, his knees would often bend, all of which resulted in another lash from the switch on his bare behind or his legs.
My poor, poor brother. He was often the target in most of these situations. Maybe it was because dad felt the need to be more strict with him as he had been absent from his life for about five years, as his birth mother separated them.
"Woah." I yelped, almost colliding the lawn mower with the large tree sitting in the middle of the yard.
Luckily I was able to stop and turn it before, wait. Wait. That last thought I had...