Tommy’s stomach rumbled as he perched precariously on the narrow brick wall that separated him from the dumpsters behind McDonald’s. He had not eaten today, but as he helped his sister Kristin scramble up to sit beside him, he was no longer sure that he wanted to. “I hate this” he said as Kristin twisted herself around to a more stable position. His heart pounded in his chest as he surveyed the scene. Cars drifted by on the street just fifty yards from where he sat, and he was glad of only one thing: the evening was dark and the lights behind the restaurant remained unlit. He breathed as deep as he could in the warm night, but he felt the light rasp of his airway not quite expanding enough, and he hoped that tonight would not see another asthma attack. His father had decided the entire thing was just an act and refused to buy his medication; it was now three weeks since he had run out.
“I know,” Kristin replied. She was 8 years old, 3 years Tommy’s junior, but what made him sad was that he knew his father had at least a few dollars he could have spent to just go inside for cheap hamburgers. They don’t even need to have ketchup, Tommy thought. His stomach growled again and his sister looked at him through her thick glasses. “Wow, you must be really hungry Tommy,” she whispered. “I don’t feel it” he lied as he peered into the darkness of the dumpsters below, hoping to catch a glimpse of something edible; to himself he added, I’m like Mr. Spock.
“I’m really hungry,” Kristin said as she gripped her brother’s arm, “I feel kind of sick”. Tommy sighed and looked at Kristin once more. “I know” he said, and in that moment he was resigned to carry out his father’s orders. He didn’t know if it was really true that places like McDonald’s threw perfectly good food in the dumpsters, still wrapped, but a friend of his father’s had told him so this afternoon and now here Tommy sat. He wasn’t particularly eager to find out, but neither did he wish to incur his father’s wrath; and besides, his sisters were both hungry. He didn’t mind going without food for a couple of days-it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done so many times before-but he hated the thought of his eight and three year old sisters going hungry.
“What the fuck is taking so long?!” came a harsh voice from below. Tommy turned and caught his father’s glare peering out the window of the old black van they lived in. His father’s eyes bulged like they always did when he was angry or irritated, which was pretty much most of the time as far as Tommy could tell. His general feeling was that whatever else was true in the world, his father hated him and was never pleased no matter what he did. Someday he will be.
“Just a second, I’m trying to see if there’s anything here!” Tommy hissed back. “Just grab a couple of bags and throw them over here you stupid little bastard.” Tommy choked back tears as the anger in his father’s voice rose again. “I will! God, just give me a chance!” he whispered back as his eyes struggled to pull tears back into their ducts. “Hurry up and stop your goddamn cryin’ you fucking pussy,” his father barked through clenched teeth. “Glen, just let him do it!” he heard his mother snap from inside the car. He couldn’t see her, but he imagined that somehow she was sticking up for him, though that could never end well. He turned back to face the dumpsters as he heard his father again behind him, “Shut the fuck up, Helen. You saddled me with this worthless kid, I’ll fucking deal with him.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, Tommy thought, is that all you know how to say?
He turned to Kristin and whispered softly, “I’ll jump into this one and find a couple of bags. I’ll pass them up to you and you can throw them down to dad.” Kristin shook her head gently and pulled her left hand’s fingers with her right. With a quick whisper of “1, 2, 3” Tommy leapt from the wall and landed softly in the dumpster below. It was warm inside and smelled unexpectedly good as the aroma of hamburgers, chicken mcnuggets and French fries permeated his nostrils. He quickly rifled through the clear plastic bags in search of the scent’s source, but the combination of papers, bags and wet napkins made it impossible to tell in the darkness.
“Where’s your fucking stupid brother?” he heard his father snarl over the wall. “He’s looking!” Kristin whispered back. The slight whine in her voice coupled with trembling lips revealed fear and upset building within her. “Tell the dumb son-of-a-bitch to throw the bags here right now!” his voice was no longer an angry whisper but the furious roar of a man about to explode. Tommy shifted in the dumpster and began to feel for warmth in the hopes that whatever he found would at least be fairly fresh. In a moment he found a bag that was nearly hot, with a fair amount of steam built up inside. His heart leapt a little as he felt that maybe some luck would be had tonight after all. Quickly he tossed the bag to his sister, but as she struggled to keep balance she let the bag fall to the ground outside the dumpster yet still inside the high brick walls. Tommy’s heart sank, then swelled with anger, and he heard his father’s voice, in smaller form, bubble within him: “why did you drop the fucking bag!?” he hissed. Kristin’s eyes overflowed with tears in an instant as she sobbed “I thought I was going to fall!”
Tommy cursed and searched around some more. He found another bag, not quite as warm but still enough that it probably held some edible food. Carefully this time he handed this to his sister, whose tears continued to flow as she hiccoughed there on her perch. She clutched it tightly and swung it over the wall, where it dropped to the ground as Tommy climbed out of the dumpster to retrieve the other bag. “About goddamn time” their father cursed; Tommy could hear the van’s door open and close as his father approached the other side of the wall. “Get your ass down here” he called to Kristin. “But Tommy’s not up yet” she protested. “Fuck him; he can get out on his own.”
Tears welled again in Tommy’s eyes as he watched Kristin disappear over the wall, lifted down by their father. He fell on the ground next to the dumpster and began to sob as he heard the van door open and close again, and the engine roaring to life a second later. His chest thumped and his eyes raged with tears as he heard the van drive across the parking lot with the tires squealing. His breath was short again and he realized he was on the verge of having another asthma attack. His mind reeled and he begged someone, anyone, to just explain why his father hated him so much. What did I do? Am I too ugly? Am I too stupid? Why am I not good enough?
The sound of his mother’s voice screaming broke Tommy’s attention as the sound of squealing brakes echoed across the parking lot. “Glen you stop this fucking car right now!” “Bitch get your goddamn hands off my steering wheel!” his father screamed even louder. Tommy’s heart pounded and he sucked in all the air he could muster as he thought “It doesn’t hurt. Be like Mr. Spock, don’t feel it”. Quickly he grabbed the still-warm bag; with strength that came from somewhere unidentifiable to Tommy, he threw it up and over the wall. A hot and angry feeling rose within him as he quickly scrambled up the side of the dumpster and leapt to the stone wall. He cried out as the sharp edge of the brick scraped across his chest and peeled back a few layers of skin. But he did not stop as his forward momentum carried him across the wall where he tumbled uncontrolled to the ground and landed face first in the garbage bag he had just thrown over.
He leapt to his feet, wheezing as his lungs sucked for air and tears danced at the edge of his eyelids, unsure of whether to proceed or withdraw. His eyes found the van some hundred yards or so away; it rocked slightly and curses echoed through the windows as his parents fought like rabid animals inside. He could hear his sisters’ screaming “Stop! Stop hitting her!” Tommy breathed and reached for the bag at his feet, swung it over his shoulder and ran across the parking lot as fast as he could. His breath grew shorter with every step, but he persisted until at last he reached the side door of the van, pulled hard on the handle and rolled it backward along its track. The rocking stopped and Tommy peered inside.
From just behind the front seats all the way to the back was a gigantic, oversized bed. Of course it consisted of two mattresses because one would be too small, but this was where his family slept and ate, when they had food to eat, of course. The bed rested atop a foundation of plastic milk crates loaded with various junk, though several of them would occasionally contain stores of dried or canned foods. Lately though, the crates had been empty. Tommy’s heart fell as he saw a bruise swelling on his mother’s face, and Kristin’s eyes were swollen with tears while little Stella, wearing only a pair of oversized pink underwear, looked on with the most puzzling sort of anger imaginable: the fury of a toddler.
Tommy wheezed as he flung the bag into the van and Kristin rolled it beside the other. With a bit of struggle he clambered onto the bed inside, where he tried to catch his breath. “You barely ran fifty yards you pussy” his father said with an angry glare. Something happened then, inside Tommy, as he heard the words “fuck you” erupt from his mouth as if by their own volition. The surprise of these words was minimized as another shock found it’s way to Tommy’s face; his father’s fist collided with his nose, sending blood and tears into a coagulated mess that poured onto the bed. His father’s voice boomed with fury, “No, fuck you, you filthy little queer”. “I am not a queer!” Tommy screamed back as he tried to catch the blood that issued from his nose. There was no holding it in this time, and Tommy sobbed as he screamed “I hate you!”
His mother climbed quickly out of her seat and onto the van’s bed, shoving Glen as she screamed “get your goddamn hands off of him!” Tommy could hear his father’s fists hitting his mother’s ribs, abdomen and thighs as she kicked and flailed her way into the back of the van. She wrapped one arm around Tommy’s chest and towed him backward as quickly as she could while Glen screamed and cursed with every word he could come up with. “Filthy faggot little bastard!” “Piece of shit nothing!” “You’re worthless you little son of a bitch!” “I wish you were never born!” “You fucking queer.”
The van’s tires screached as Tommy’s father raced out of the parking lot. The vehicle squealed around a corner, sending Stella tumbling against the sidewall while Kristin sobbed and held on for dear life. Tommy’s mother held him tight against her as she fumbled for a loose article of clothing to hold against his nose as he sobbed and racked uncontrollably. His father continued to rage: “You’re weak and pathetic you little bastard. You don’t know what tough is!” “Fucking faggot” “Goddamn queer worthless son.”
As the words echoed over and again, Tommy’s tears began to dry and his sobs became shallower. Breath slowly returned to his lungs and he pulled himself away from his mother’s arms, moving to the furthest corner from his father. “I’m not like you” he thought. “I’m better than you.” And as his sisters began to dig through the dumpster bags, which produced innumerable well-wrapped and clean hamburgers of various types, he felt a hateful shame and embarrassment descend upon him. His eyes wanted to cry but he would not let them. I’m like Mr. Spock, he thought. His chest wanted to explode, but he held it back and denied it. I’m like Mr. Spock. Each new layer that came upon him—first shame, then sorrow, humiliation then disgrace, and each of these he pushed away—I will not feel these, he thought.
I will not feel these. I am better than this.