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Tuesday, March 26, 2002
12:05 AM

The first death I ever witnessed was in the spring. I was five years old.

After school, the bus dropped me off at the bottom of the hill, as usual. I was in no hurry to get home. Why should I have been? When you're young, the only reasons you have to be in a hurry are if you're expecting something, and I wasn't. Which is a good thing, because if I had been my life may have taken a different course.

I was halfway up the hill when I heard the squealing tires on the road behind me. Before I could even turn around, I heard a wet thud followed immediately by a yelp of pain. When I did look down to the road below me, what I saw didn't register at first. A yellow Volkswagon at a standstill in the middle of the road. Something lying on the ground a few feet from the front fender.

A woman got out of the car, and approached the still form. She bent down, appearing to examine it. Curious, I began to walk back down the hill, and as I approached closer I could see that it was a dog lying in the road. The woman reached out, touching it, and the dog visibly twitched. Jerking her hand back quickly, the woman rocked back on her heels, and shakily stood up. Hurriedly she got back into her car, and drove away.

The dog began to whine. It was a strained whine, as though it hadn't the energy to commit to such an action. And it was that whine that drew me ever closer. I'd never heard anything like it, and was curiouser still. As I drew closer, I could see the animal attempting to drag itself to the side of the road. It was rolled halfway onto its right side, and only it's front legs were moving. With each tug of its paws a hoarse yelp would emit from it's throat, giving a constant rise and fall to the whining.

Reaching the bottom of the hill, I stopped at the near edge of the road. I took a long, hard look in each direction, and bolted across. I made it. No cars came screaming out of the distance. It was still empty and quiet save for the dog and it's pain.

I walked around in front of the dog, and took in full effect of the damage caused by woman in her yellow car. It's rear legs were twisted at an ugly angle, the hips scraped and bleeding. The fur on the side of it's head was matted in a dark red tangle. Part of the lip hung away from the jaw unnaturally, and blood dripped from both the mouth and nose. It raised it's head to look at me, tongue lolling out. I bent down to get closer, and held out my hand. With great effort, the dog inched forward, head straining to reach as far as it could, and licked my hand.

I was horrified. Enraged. Saddened. All at once emotions never felt before surged to the surface. And just when I though I would break into tears, the flood subsided. A single thought remained in my head. This dog had disobeyed, and was being punished. I'd been told time and time again not to go near the road. This dog had broken that rule, and was suffering accordingly. And it came to me that it was not my place to interfere.

Slowly, I withdrew my hand. Desperately the dog tried to reach me one last time with it's tongue. Failing, it laid its head down on its paws, eyelids drooping. I watched its eyes close. I watched as it shuddered, gave one last choking breath, and was still.

There was no sorrow for the dog, but deep in my gut was a growing fear. I too had broken the rules to come and witness this. Was the same fate awaiting me? Would I suffer, as had this dog?

After looking long and hard in each direction, I bolted back across the road. I didn't stop running until I got home.

And I didn't tell anyone what I had seen.

Later that night my father came into my room. His face was stern and fearsome. Sitting down next to me on the bed, he looked into my eyes and asked "Did you cross the highway today?" I was instantly racked by guilt. What was I to say? I knew I shouldn't lie, but I couldn't be punished. Not like that.

So I did lie. He then asked me again, and once more I lied. The look on his face at that moment is one I'll never forget. He knew what he had to do, and I had no idea what was coming. "Come here," he said quietly. I obeyed, wondering if that was to be the end of it. Had he believed me?

Grabbing me firmly, but gently, he bent me over his knee. As it became clear what was happening, I struggled weakly. I knew there was no fighting him, he was much stronger than I, and I would never escape. But I fought for time. Time to think. The first thing that came to mind was to plead. "Please, daddy, no. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" And just like that I was caught. If I admitted my guilt, something horrible would happen, and if I didn't, something horrible would happen. But still fresh in my mind was the awful bleeding face of that dog, and I chose uncertainty over certainty.

So I said, "I don't know."

With one swift motion, he removed my pants. Reaching behind him, he produced a wooden spoon. It must've been with him the whole time, and it was my responses that were going to justify its use. But still I held to my ground.

The pain from the first strike was like a shock through my body. A sickening slap of wood against flesh. I couldn't respond, the pain was so surprisingly intense. The second was even worse. The already tender skin of my backside being struck by the harsh edges of the spoon was too painful, and I cried out.

"Do you know why I'm doing this?" I couldn't think of an answer, only the suffering. So I just shook my head, tears streaming down my cheeks, as much from humiliation as the pain. "I know you went across the road today. I saw you. I'm doing this because you lied to me." With that another strike was delivered.

I began to scream. Again the spoon struck. And it was then that I broke. The pain was too great, all thoughts of future punishment being driven from my mind, and all that remained was the knowledge that I had the ability to end this pain. Here and now.

"I'm sorry that I lied. I promise I won't do it again. I promise, daddy." It came out choked, saliva and tears muffling my voice, but it was a confession nonetheless.

"Do you mean it?"

I did. I meant it with my soul, for that was the only thing which would end the beatings, and so strong was the pain that even the thought of death couldn't compare. In truth, it had been forgotten. My affirmation came out as a sob, but it was enough. His hands lifted me from his knee and laid me on the floor. He stood, and looking down at me with wet eyes, nodded, turned, and left the room.

Alone at last, I allowed the emotions to wash over me. Half-naked I lay there, tears and mucus streaming down my cheeks, and contemplated what had happened. I had done a wrong, been caught, and lied. After being caught in the lie, I was beaten, and it had broken me. The ugliness of my weakness stared me in the face. The pain had been more than I could take.

Strangely, after my eyes had dried, and the pain subsided, there was only one thought which remained. It was not of the punishment I had somehow avoided for breaking the rules, nor was it of the pain I had suffered for denying the instance. The thought that came to me was profane with curiosity.

What if I had never been caught to begin with?

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