Childhood torture memories

2 Mar

I walked into my boss’ office to have a little chat. He speaks slowly and carefully – always – and I can’t really ever sit still, so I reached for a pen found on his desk and started chewing on it as I listened to him tell me about all the bits of money we (read: me) need to collect from different escrow accounts.

What are you doing? He asked, annoyed, in his Russian accent.

I don’t know. Sometimes I do this. I’ll give you a shinier new pen to replace this one. That seemed to satisfy him.

When my best-friend/co-worker/son of the boss/my-boss-diagonally, paces around in my office while conducting business calls, I like to untie his sneakers.  When my dad is watching television, I like to walk in front of it very slowly and drop things, forcing me to stand there a little longer as I try to pick them up.

I’ve always been annoying like that (at appropriate times and to those I love), though it rarely ever goes unpunished.

I’m the youngest of three kids and always got the shitty end of the stick when trying to “play with” my siblings. My brother is six and my sister is five years older than me, and they knew to use the age difference to their advantage. Maybe it was my fault for being an obnoxious, never-shut-the-fuck-up high energy kid. Maybe they were just mean. Either way, I generally took it out on my younger cousins, so overall, it never mattered and I always went back for more.

I wanna play, can I play, let me play!

FINE! You wanna play? OK, Here, we’re gonna play magician tricks. We’re gonna tie you to the bed and put this pillow case over your head and then you have to get out of the knot, OK?

Yeah, OK, awesome!

My brother and sister tied me to the post of their bunk beds, shut off the bedroom light and ran downstairs to watch TV. They were 13 and 12 and were in charge of me while my parents went out for a couple of hours alone, which, come to think of it, they barely ever got to do with a mortgage and three monsters to raise in a shitty economy with 1,700% inflation. So this was my siblings’ chance to get rid of me for a couple of hours and do whatever teenagers want to do without their 7 year old annoying sister around. They probably watched MTV.

At first I was excited to try to untie myself. I soon realized they might’ve tied the knot a wee bit too tight, so I called out their names. Nothing. Then I started to panic a little, then I cried a lot, then I pissed my pants  then I’m pretty sure I fell asleep, standing up. They came up to the bedroom and untied me and threatened to beat me up if I told my parents. They never would’ve, but I was a stupid child.

On another happy occasion, my brother and sister decided I needed a little disciplining; I was too young to be using curse words and they were going to let me know. I think I said “shit” and my brother yelled at me, so I said “shit!” in his face again. He dragged cute little me to the bathroom, all prettied up in my favorite lavender pleated skirt, sat me on the toilet and said, “I’m gonna wash your mouth with soap so you can learn to stop saying dirty words!” Either he or my sister held me down while the other stuffed a soap bar in my mouth. They overdid it a little and I puked on my skirt. I was crying and my mother called out my name. They told me to clean up, change, stop crying and tell her nothing was going on, OR ELSE!!! So I did. Stupid, stupid child.

So I’ve had strange displays of affection from my siblings. A little tough love.

A couple of nights ago I walked back to my car after spending a few hours at Trident and found a pretty white flower hanging from the driver’s door handle. I looked around and there was no one. I posted on Facebook, like the attention-whore that I am, something about it not mattering if the flower was from an admirer or a stranger who happened to pick my car: I was still smiling.

My brother commented, of course.

brother: the flower just fell off a tree… u just WANT to see a lover there.

me: when i finally slit my wrists, i’m gonna blame you and all the years of psychological abuse

brother: i’m sorry. i’m a practical person… when i see a midget, i see a midget,not a hobbit from the shire who has to get rid of a ring…

me: you have no imagination and lead an insipid, robotic life. i like hobbits.

brother: what u call an “insipid and robotic life” i call REALITY! oh, btw… your dog is not a “corgi and lab mix”, she’s a MUTT. or should i say… “IT” is a mutt??

me: in my world she is a fairy and i’m a princess.

In my defense, I’ve never thought of myself as a princess or my dog as a fairy (I’m sure I would’ve been beaten – emotionally or physically – if I tried). My brother and I just enjoy mildly offending each other whenever we can. He usually wins, unless I mention his age or hair loss.

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10 Responses to “Childhood torture memories”

  1. The Mercurial Wife March 2, 2010 at 16:05 #

    Awww come for a hug.

    *hugs*

    I remember my older cousins tying up my brother and sister when they were being rowdy. And I was so happy when it happened! I never thought of the consequences then. But now reading your posts, I wonder.

    And the soap bar episode? Whoa that’s taking it a bit far no? Poor child!

    But as you said, it’s tough love… ;p

  2. Night Writer March 2, 2010 at 17:53 #

    haha.. they didn’t break any limbs and i don’t torture my dog… think it all worked out ok. hehe

  3. Martin March 2, 2010 at 21:19 #

    That conversation with your brother is a crack-up

  4. fallingfromprams March 2, 2010 at 23:59 #

    So many of my own childhood memories are echoed in this post. Sadly, I was the oldest that got tied up by my younger siblings who were much bigger than me (3 and 4 years older than siblings. I’m 5’4″ they are 6’3″ and 6′ respectively). The conversation with your bro is made of win.

    • Night Writer March 3, 2010 at 10:35 #

      that is… really sad. lol
      I’m little as well (same height as you), so I got my revenge by talking shit about him to all the girls he was trying to date.

  5. The Mercurial Wife March 3, 2010 at 12:49 #

    I have something for you on my blog! ;p

  6. Tina March 4, 2010 at 01:47 #

    I’m the youngest of three as well. My sisters are 8 and 10 years older than me. They used to lock me in a room and play this one Whitney Houston song that always made me cry. When I was 3.

  7. subject-verb agreement March 4, 2010 at 19:37 #

    sounds like your brother might benefit from a nice punch to the balls 🙂

    • Night Writer March 5, 2010 at 07:57 #

      i think i kneed him in the balls a few times, years back. he hasn’t made any babies with his wife yet, though, so for now i’ll spare him.

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