|
Beaten Boy before/after Tyler H. Ugliest kid I ever saw, pale, zit ridden, like maggots decided to hang out on his face acerbic wit, smarter than all the tests would say I'd hand out work sheets, and he would read them haltingly, as if on purpose, "And then ask the rapist-" "Tyler..." "What? That's what it says 'ask the rapist for feedback'" "That's 'therapist' Tyler." A beaten child. Victim written all over him. He was the little dog, from a cartoon of a big dog and little one, always running beside someone, trying to match their gate, be what they wanted, until they turned on him badly, and he'd find someone else, always a convenient target for pissed off counselors, docking points, restraining him for little provocations, one day he annoyed me, and I snatched a broom from his hands, he went and hid his face in the corner for half an hour, another boy in a man's body, acting like an emotional infant. He gave me a poem once, lied about writing it, but I was still proud that he took the time to read it and copy it out of a book. I took it all the way to Rome and back with me. I pulled it out of my backpack in Pompeii, in the ruins of the Ampitheatre. It went to the beach with me in Turkey, and walked the streets of Istanbul. Still have it today. Somewhere. I dont think Tyler would give a shit, though, or rather, he wouldnt let anybody know if he did. That's just the way he was.
|
