Dirty Shorts

My parents never trusted me to stay home alone during summer breaks, they used to leave me at my grandmother’s house from mid-July until the end of August, and I would think “I didn’t want to be with you, anyway.” She was a typical old lady, liked gardening, soap operas and little more. The good thing was she allowed me to leave the house all day even though I was only seven. I met other kids, most were older than me, and we got along. We all knew how to ride a bike, and they let me borrow theirs and take turns jumping over dirt hills. At the end of the day we came back, and, with me being the ‘new kid’ they thought it best to escort me to my grandmother’s house. I didn’t even see her, I only heard “Your shorts!” My grandmother ran out of the garden and slapped me in the legs with each word “THESE-ARE-NEW-CLEAN-SHORTS.” I tried to escape from her but she was too strong. She pulled me up by the arm until I was tip-toeing and struggling to keep balance. I screamed and tried to fight her, but again, she was too strong. Then she slapped my bottom. I think it was five slaps in two seconds, though, as you may imagine, it felt longer than that. The pain was the furthest thing in my mind, I just wished for the other boys not to be there, but they were. I sometimes glanced at them, they were still and silent, unsure of what to do. She released me and ordered me inside. I didn’t look at the boys again. For the rest of that summer, and every summer after that, I stayed in the house night and day. I didn’t like my grandmother’s shows, so I would stay in the guest room playing with toys and often looking out the window. I think that’s when I started liking to be alone. I was always upset but couldn’t explain why. Now I can.