I don't like my siblings all that much. First of all, when we were kids, they were always telling me that they were better than me because that's what my mother told them. I don't blame them for hearing it, but I do blame them for believing it. My oldest sister, Carol, was the worst. She did awful things to me. When I was four years old she called me over to the swing and said there was something stuck in the barrel of my cork gun and that her finger was too big to get it out. She got me to stick my little finger in the barrel. Little did I know that she had already cocked it. Then she pulled the trigger. The bolt that slams forward to pop the cork out slammed into the end of my little finger. That bitch. Then there was the time she told me to blow out an alleged hot ash that was in my mother's full ashtray. Ever try to get cigarette ashes out of your eyes? That bitch.
She once made me eat a salt sandwich--heavy on the salt, hold the bread! Then she wouldn't let me have any water. And on the advice of my other sisters, she put my winter coat on me, tied my hands behind my back, and staked me out to a small dead tree in an open field beside our property under the hot sun (it was mid-July). Then she and the rest of my siblings sat under the big shade tree at the edge of our yard and drank kool-aid in front of me for two hours, though it felt like four. They all got up and ran to the house when they saw my mother's car coming down the road. She was coming home from work.
After going in the house, she came back out and hollered for me. I hollered back so she could come help me. When she saw me, she walked out to where I was staked, and the first thing she said was, "What in the hell do you think you're doing out here in your god damned winter coat? Get that coat off for christ sake, it's the middle of summer. What the hell's wrong with your head?" I rolled over to show her that my hands were tied behind my back and that I was tied to the dead tree.
"Who told you you could play with that god damned rope?" she barked. "And now you went and got yourself all tangled up, didn't you? How stupid can you be, boy?"
I finally cracked. "Carol did this to me," I screamed. "And the others helped."
She walked over to me, leaned down and slapped me hard in my face, which created a colorful rainbow around my head because of all the sweat that splattered into the air, which proved to me that there's beauty in even the worst of circumstances if you just open your eyes to it. "If you hadn't gotten your hands all tangled up in that rope, you would have been able to block that slap," she said mockingly. "But you went and got yourself all tangled up, you little dumb ass."
I was crying, and the tears were mixing with all the sweat, making my eyes sting really bad. "No!" I cried. "The others did this to me."
"Why you little son of a bitch," she screamed. "You gonna lay there and accuse your brothers and sisters of something they didn't do when they're not here to stick up for themselves?"
"I'm not lying!" I pleaded.
"Shut up!" she hollered. Then she said, "That's it! You're going to bed without supper right now."
I said, "Well can I have some water first?"
She got a twisted little smile on her face, and said, "I don't think so."
Man was I disappointed to hear that. I then asked her if she would at least untie my hands so that I could pee. I really had to go.
"Nope," she said as she untied the rope from the tree. Then she shoved me from behind all the way to the house like a ******* prisoner, "And you better not pee your pants either, or I'll slap the other side of your face so that both sides match."
I don't know what happened after that. The last thing I remember before passing out was seeing the faces of my siblings pressed against the living room window, all wearing big grins.
There's a family reunion coming up in June, and I'm thinking about not going. If I do go, it will be only for the purpose of lacing the cheesecake I'll bring with lots of ex-lax. Lots of it!