Servitude (working title)

It was the summer I turned four. My twin brothers, Charlie, Ben, and I had no idea what that summer would hold for us. Those three months changed our lives forever, and Charlie even after nearly 20 years has never been the same his light brown hair turned dark with dirt and those pale blue eyes glassy as if they weren’t even his. Ben and I hardly ever visit him and when we do he screams at us through the thick grime coated glass. No matter how impenetrable that glass is supposed to be his words always pierce me. Our visits to Charlie always end in him slamming the black receiver onto the hook and snarling his way back to his home, a dingy stone walled room.  
My mom, Cathy, always said she had known there was too much of my father in Charlie. Jeff Plummer was a wealthy man by birth but had always worked himself to the bone to achieve greatness. He and my mother met in 1975 exactly two years before they would marry. Cathy Ann Newport became Mrs. Jeff Plummer an event that would spiral from marital bliss into a life of servitude in less than a year.
I can still smell the wild flowers as the wind flowed serenely through their petals and into the open windows. Charlie and Ben were romping wildly around the house as I sat at the kitchen table drawing pictures of things only I could decipher. Cathy was busily preparing a gourmet meal for the arrival of my father home from work. He was extremely exhausted when he got home and expected peace, order, and a hot meal waiting on the table. Hospitals always gave me the creeps but somehow Jeff thrived on it. He loved the quick paced life of the emergency room.
My brothers were required to quiet down as soon as daddy came home. They knew better than to test him, the purple-blue bruises he left were always vivid reminders of what would happen if we got out of line. I remember once when I was three I took a red crayon and began doodling what I knew were flowers onto the wall of the hallway that lead into my room, I had wanted my friends to see the decorations. Daddy didn’t appreciate my drawings and at first mommy stood in the way of his hand but it didn’t take long for him to overpower her, sending her toppling to the floor. He smacked me hard across the face stinging where fingers met the delicate freckled skin of my cheek. I instantly burst into tears and ran from the room, but my crying only made him angrier. He marched after me like a soldier on a mission to kill the enemy. I quieted ducking into the second floor linen closet stacked with name brand white cloths and bath towels. I sat and hoped he would forget about me, touching my small fingers to my cheek I felt the skin begin to welt and bruise. When I finally did leave the closet he glared at me as I hid petrified behind my mother. He would say in that stern voice that scared me almost as much as his beatings, “Lydia Ann you were a bad girl and you don’t deserve my love,” sending me to bed without any dinner. That night I lay in bed my stomach grumbling with hunger and wondered why my daddy was so mean. I whimpered softly to myself falling into a sleep full of nightmares of daddy hurting me.
Jeff was even harsher with my brothers who were twice as old as me. Ben learned quickly how to stay off the radar of my dads temper. Charlie however, always had welts and bruises covering his body. Most people assumed he was just a clumsy eight year old boy but we knew better. Charlie looked up to my dad; he always wanted to be an anesthesiologist just like daddy. He even walked and talked like him. Charlie cursed and was always getting in trouble at school for fighting. He was my dads little buddy even when daddy beat him. Ben used to come to my rescue when Charlie would push me around. Although, he never had the guts to really stand up to his twin brother.
Ben would sit glasses perched on the bridge of his narrow nose and read for hours in our home library. Sometimes, he would tell stories from the picture books that I liked, his golden eyes lighting up from the excitement, but usually he wanted to be left on his own. I realize now Ben knew how messed up our lives were that’s why he escaped into his books. He could imagine he was anyone anywhere and that helped for a while. Although, soon my daddy took that away too, he used to tell Ben how only sissy boys read and that he should be outside playing manly games with Charlie. He would just sit in the grass refusing to help find bugs to massacre. He took to daydreaming about all the places he had been in his books. He knew even daddy couldn’t take away his daydreams.
I stayed close to my mother’s side whenever I could but she began to change. She never tried to stop the beatings anymore doing dad’s bidding was her main task. Her usually neat brown hair hung loosely at her shoulders, grey sprouting from the roots. Dark bags drooped under her golden flecked green eyes. She always used to tell me how I had her eyes but I knew those weren’t my eyes anymore the life in her eyes had gone.
The beatings got worse, little things set him off now even mommy had bright bruises emanating from her lightly tanned skin. Only Charlie fought back which made daddy so proud. His favorite son would be a strong man. The violence in our house escalated as Charlie even began mimicking the beatings daddy gave us. I had large deep hand prints and now small pale hand prints covering my skin. Charlie’s anger at school began to worsen as well; he was sent home early and suspended on a regular basis. Other kids would run from him, Charlie didn’t have companions anymore only daddy. He never got beat anymore but was always at daddy’s side ready to tattle on either Ben or me for some wrong-doing. His eyes glinted as he watched daddy strike us. Sometimes, Charlie was put in charge of our discipline and he was ruthless.
His anger became more explosive toward his classmates. He would kick and hit but somehow the school never had the proof they needed to finally expel him. One day as the leaves began to turn bright shades of red, orange and yellow Charlie’s temper erupted. A small girl with a pale face and light blonde hair two years older than Charlie was sitting on a swing by herself. Charlie was walking the two blocks from school when he saw her. She looked up and smiled at him, this small gesture of kindness angered him. He fed on the fear he instilled in other children. His glare caused her eyes to momentarily flicker from calm to panic but was soon gone the smile still plastered to her delicate face. Hate flowed through Charlie’s veins as this small girl wouldn’t show any sign of fear. He hated her; he wanted her to runaway in fear as the rest of his victims had. She stood up serenely from the swing and approached Charlie a mischievous grin playing in her eyes.