Mommy

Did you hear the names they called me today?
Freak, that's what I am.
I can't help it if I'm shy.
Terribly shy.
It's the way I was raised,
I always say.
They laugh.
Who raises their child to be shy?
I reply, My Mommy.
She doesn't like it when I talk.
She yells at me.
I like it when she yells because I know, then,
She notices me.
She knows I'm there.

We look alike, did you know?
I guess I like looking like her.
After all, my Mommy is the prettiest girl alive.
Maybe that's why she has so many friends.
They like to play doctor late at night.
She must like that game a lot.
I can hear her scream and laugh.
But don't tell her I heard!
Because I'm supposed to be asleep.
Be quiet! I tell myself.
And if I'm loud, I don't get dinner.
I eat alone in my room.
Well, apart from you, of course.
I'm always alone.

Mommy says I'm like my Daddy.
I don't know what ass means, but it must be good
Because my Mommy says that's what I am.
And I know I'm special.
I have to be.
That's what all my friends tell me.
They whisper to me when I'm lonely.
But I never see them.
They must be fairies.
Or something like that.

Did you know you're my best friend?
That's right.
But everyone at school says you're not real.
That's not true though because you're standing right in front of me!
Smile for me!
I mean, smile please.
Where are my manners?

Mommy's gone again to the bar.
I bet they have fun things there, like slides and castles and funny people.
They must, because she goes there all the time.
And when she comes home she acts funny.
It's the only time she tells me she loves me.
Then she hugs me but I cry because she squeezes too hard.
She tells me to shut up.
Little boys need to keep their filthy mouths shut!
She yells at me.
Nobody wants to hear us!
When I cry, I get a mark.
On my skin.
It's purple-y then it turns an ugly yellow, like puke.
But then it goes away.
I don't like people to see them because they tell me my Mommy is a bad person.
But I love my marks.
Each mark means my Mommy loves me.
Because she never touches me,
Never acts like I'm alive.
She always pretends she doesn't have a son.
So it's a treat when she hits me.
It hurts, but only for a little.
At least the pain reminds me that she can see me.
Just like I can see you, Benjamin.
But don't tell anyone!
Mommy said it's our little secret.
Shh!