The lights were turned off, and I was hiding under my desk with a flashlight, doing my homework. I was writing my name when the first vase hit against the other side of my bedroom wall. I cringed. I always cringed. You think I would have been used to it by now. That after 15 years of living with all the fighting, I wouldn't be surprised or frightened by it all. But I still was. Then the yelling started. She yelled so much at us. She yelled about everything. This time it was Raymond's work that had kept him over for another twenty minutes. I tried to ignore the fighting, but my stomach started hurting. I wondered again for the millionth time if I was getting an ulcer. If I didn't have one already.
"Next time you better tell them that you have to be off, NOW!" My mother's voice boomed with the wail of a banshee.
I couldn't hear my brother's reply. The next thing I heard was the sound of the wooden meter stick mother used as a paddle. I counted four whacks before I heard it splinter apart.
"You're going to pay me for that you no-good irresponsible brat! Do you hear me?" Mother said. Silence. She screamed it again even louder at him. Silence still.
In the back of my mind, the only place I'm not afraid, I wondered calmly if she had finally killed him yet. The thought scared me, but I'm still not sure which part scared me the most: the calm, almost cold detachment with which I thought it, or the fact that I knew it was merely a matter of time before she did. Then I would be the only child, and get all the abuse--I mean attention--to myself.
"Jonny," she bellowed.
I scrambled out from under my desk and ran into the living room. She stood over Raymond, and kicked him in the ribs once to see if he was awake. The splintered yellow wood of the meter stick lay over my brother like a bouquet of funeral flowers. The pieces of the pink vase were spread out against the wall, except for the one piece embedded into the wall by the force she had thrown it with.
Mother’s long, straight black hair was messed all over her face from the frenzy of beating Raymond. She was a stout woman with a rosy face and piercing eyes that could have made the devil feel uncomfortable. Her mouth was in the same harsh scowl it always had. She was shorter than Raymond, barely taller than me. Around her neck was a crucifix, although I think she wore it more for sadistic than religious reasons.
"Yes, momma," I said meekly.
"Clean up this mess right now, and haul your good-for-nothing brother into his bed. And be quiet about it. One peep out of you and I'll give you what I gave him," She said.
I nodded silently and grabbed my brother. Dragging him over through the doorway I took extra time to get past the door without bumping it. Unfortunately for me, mother noticed.
"Now you get your butt moving and get Raymond into bed. Don't you dare doddle anymore or I'll put the fear of God Almighty into you with the rod," She said.
I gulped, hard. I remember the old rod she had. It had been a mop handle, but now it was one of her weapons of choice for disciplining us with. 'Spare the rod and spoil the child,' she always said. She almost seemed to sing it as she beat us with that sinister rod of hers. I dragged Raymond over and quietly slung him into his bed. Then I silently snuck back into the living room to clean up that mess.
She was standing in the middle of the room, waiting for me. In her hand was a tree limb and I stopped, paralyzed by fear.
"Now don't you stand there, you come into this room and take your medicine like a man," she said.
"But I didn't do anything," I protested.
"That's an extra ten lashes for sassing me, boy."
"But--"
"That's fifteen. Unless you want to try for twenty, I suggest you get your butt over here on the double."
I slumped my shoulders. Just like always, there was no way to reason with her, and no way out.
None I would take, at any rate. I fearfully approached her and closed my eyes, muscles wound tightly, bracing for impact. And then it started. The first one was to my ribs to knock the air out of me. Her way of making sure you couldn't hold yourself together. Every beating, every nasty word seemed to be carefully and perfectly constructed to tear us apart. I lost count of the hits after seventeen. I knew she would never stick to what she said. She never did. Eventually, I was blessed with the same loss of consciousness as
Raymond.
The next day on the way home from school with Raymond, we ran into one of his friends, Mike.
Mike was dressed all in black and was one of the rebellious kind of teens who loved freedom more than food.
"Hey, Raymond," Mike said.
"Hi Mike," Raymond replied.
"Where'd you get that nasty bruise?" Mike asked, pointing to the nice new bruise on his forehead.  Another symbol of our mother's love.
"From the dragon queen, where else?" Raymond asked. I almost dropped dead from shock. Mother would have killed us both if we told anybody. How could Raymond be so stupid? I thought to myself.
"Man, you need to check out of that roach motel," Mike said. "Hey, I was going to ask you anyways, would you like to come spend the night with me?"
For just a brief moment, so brief that if I had blinked, I would have missed it, there flashed a ray of hope into Raymond's eyes, but he turned, looking at me and sighed deeply.
"I'd love to Mike, but I can't. I have some business to take care of at home tonight. There's something really important I have to do," Raymond said.
"Are you sure, man?" Mike asked.
Raymond nodded. I looked at my watch. We were five minutes behind. Mother was going to have a fit. I told Raymond and we said a hurried goodbye to Mike as we ran off to try to make up for lost time. All night long, Raymond was quiet and did exactly what the 'dragon queen' demanded of him, so he managed to escape with only two beatings before bedtime.
We went to bed, and Raymond actually hugged me. He never did that, and worriedly I wondered why. He was never one who was good with emotions, except anger, but he had such great examples of how to express that from mother.
It was a couple of minutes after midnight when I woke up. I don't know what startled me wide awake. I lay there for a moment, when I heard the sound of something falling in Raymond's room. I snuck over as quietly and quickly as I could. I found him on the floor. Blood was everywhere. In his hand was a crimson stained piece of paper. He looked up at me, and I could tell by the glazed look in his eyes that he was almost gone.
"Jonny," he said to me. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Jonny, I'm sorry, but I couldn't stay any longer. It hurts too much. I can't take it and I couldn't leave without taking care of you. Take this note and give it to the cops when they come. They'll protect you for me."
Tears streamed down my cheeks. "Raymond, why couldn't you have gone to Mike's and called the cops? Why? Why did you do this?"
"I'm sorry, Jonny, but this is too much for me to bear, and I can't go carrying this burden with me forever. There can not be a worse hell than the one I'm leaving behind," Raymond said.
I took the note and shoved it in a pocket of my shorts. I held his hand, letting what was left of his lifeblood pouring from his wrists slide down my arms. As I watched him slip away from me forever, I knew he was right. There could be no worse hell, no worse punishment, than what we had already gone through together and what I was going through right now.  He was too far gone for anybody to come in time to save him, and he was too precious to let slip away alone. The cops could wait until tomorrow. I fell asleep still holding onto him, wishing that the rising sun could chase away this nightmare.