Orphan Survival Stories Index |
"Grab Big Eared Dumbo and bring him over here!" yelled the Spring Park School Bully.
I tried to run but there were just too many hands grabbing for me. By the time the four boys wrestled me to the ground my shirt had been torn away and my mouth was full of dirt.
I screamed and I kicked but nothing I did (could do) seemed to make any difference to the pack of boys who were now pinning me to the ground.
"Piss in his mouth," yelled out one of the boys who was holding me down.
I watched the larger boy start to unbutton his pants. I kicked and (I) twisted back and forth, as hard as I could, until I managed to turn myself up-side down. All at once everyone began to laugh. Seconds later I felt the warm liquid running down the back of my head and neck. All at once everyone let go of me. Each boy stepped back and watched as the larger boy continued to urinate on the back of my head. Slowly I raised my head and I looked into the face of each and every boy standing near me. I gritted my teeth and I swore, under my breath, that one day I would hunt each and everyone of them down and that I would make them pay.
I continued to lay there, motionless until I heard the school bell ring. When I sat up the five boys were walking toward the school building, each still laughing and mocking me.
I picked myself up off the ground and I walked back into the gates of the orphanage where I lived. I sat down in the large azalea bushes and (I no need) looked through the six foot high chain-link fence toward the school building. Within a minute or two, all was quiet and still.
"What am I gonna do?" I asked myself.
My ten year old mind was running around in a never-ending circle of confusion. I could not go to school and I could not tell the orphanage authorities what had happened to my shirt. This had happened to me once before. Mrs. Winters, the head matron, had given me 20 lashes with a green bamboo cane because my shirt had been torn by the same bully. There was nothing that I could do except sit there and hope that a miracle would happen. I sat there hoping if I wished hard enough, the situation would change. I prayed that what had just happened would just disappear into thin air.
As I sat there in the bushes I saw the matron drive out the gates of the orphanage. When she disappeared I made my way through thee bushes to the edge of the boy's dormitory. I opened the back door and I made my way to the clothing room door.
"Please dear God, let the door be unlocked, please," I begged under my breath.
But no such luck. The door was locked, just as it always was. I then made my way around to the two windows in hopes of finding one of them unlocked. Again, no such luck.
Now that the matron was gone I knew that I could take a fast shower and wash the urine off myself.
’But what do I do about the shirt and how do I get back in school without being all late?’ I thought.
There was no way out for me.
My body began to shake and my legs gave way beneath me. I laid down on the checker-board, tile floor and I began to cry as loud as I could. I knew that the time was near for another beating.
What is so bad about this story is not the fact that I was urinated on. I could live with that. We kids from the orphanage had already accepted the fact that that was just the way things were for us orphan kids. We knew that things were never going to get any better. What was so painful was the fact that we had no one to turn to. No one who would try and understand what it was like to be treated in that manner. No one to tell us that things were going to be ok and that things would be better for us one day.
I would sit in school, everyday wondering how the other kids could laugh and smile all the time. What was there to laugh and smile about in life anyway? By the time I left the orphanage I suppose I could smile and laugh all I wanted too, but by that time I did not feel like smiling or laughing anyway.