I am seven, in my worn out cowboy boots and my Lion King t-shirt. Sweat is on my brow as I rush inside from my adventures in the woods beyond. As I rush up the stairs to the kitchen, dreaming of nothing more than a cool drink of water, I fail to notice the lack of noise in the house. Only when I am quenching my thirst do I realize something is wrong. No voices. There are always voices in my house, with eight kids it was hard not to be noisy.
"Where is everyone?" I think to myself, then I notice him. My oldest brother who has always hated me. He gives me his crooked smile and I know the worst is yet to come. "I should run away while I can..." I think to myself. It started with making me dinner that consisted of nothing but a can of chop suey mixed with a can of beer until it finally just was beer. He beats me if I don't eat it all and what chance does a seven year old have against someone ten years older anyhow?
The beer tastes horrible to me, it burns its way down into my gut. I think he doesn't want me to remember. He says I will get into trouble if I tell anyone and I believe him. He thinks I am drunk and can't feel it, he thinks I deserve this, he thinks I don't remember. But I do, wishing I didn't.