A Life With Father

Life With Father

JoeBill heard the crunch of leaves on the sidewalk before the person
reached the door. He expected no one, and no one ever came to this
place. JoeBill didn't move. More precisely, he was immobilized by
fear.

He inhaled deeply, then held his breath. If he didn't move, if he
didn't breathe, then no one would know he was there. The crunching of
leaves as the stranger left was a relief, and JoeBill exhaled loudly.
The noise of the exhalation startled him.

He put his finger to his lips.

Shh.

He gently kissed his own fingertip, and then smiled thinly.

Daddy, I won't talk to strangers. I promise.

JoeBill's smile faded. He put his finger in his mouth and bit hard.
Then he turned his head and spat a mixture of blood and saliva on the
little mirror there. He saw his face, his receding hair, and
reflexively ran his hand over his head - his fingers crawling like a
pale spider.

Slowly, he brought his finger to the blood on the mirror and wrote on
it.

Daddy, I'll be good.

JoeBill walked to the bathroom and washed his hands. He hummed "There's
Power in the Blood", an old Baptist hymn his daddy sang to him as he
whipped him with his strop.

He bent down and swished water in his mouth and spat the remaining
blood then straightened up and looked in the mirror. To his recurring
satisfaction, the splintered glass reflected only Picasso like pieces
of his face. An eye here, an ear there.

As he walked across the dank, musty house into his father's bedroom,
JoeBill hesitated in the doorway. He stared at the body of his father,
which had been there for so many years the stench had
disappeared.

He put his hand inside his pocket and pulled out a dark stained folding
knife. There was a quiet 'thunk' as he opened the blade. He walked over
to his father's body and plunged the knife through the bones, into the
mite-infested mattress repeatedly while he spoke in a whisper.

"Nighty night. Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite."