Chapter 11: Life's No Bowl of Cherries.

 Background

Wilma Rae Downs, a 69 year old mountain recluse, is passed out cold. Jasper, the 13 year old, emotionally disturbed stranger, panics during the horrendously fierce winded hail storm. Frenzied, because of rabidly approaching unforeseen difficulties...

An unimaginable fierce wind of sheeting rain continued to pound the side of Wilma's house. Old rafters shook under the merciless siege of Mother Nature's terror. Deafening sounds of unstoppable golf ball sleet bludgeoned the tin roof. So unbearable and frightening were the unremitting bursts of incorrigible blasted horror, it frightened the boy.

The next unexpected indescribable detonation of thunder sent Jasper cowering in the corner behind the antique two-door pecan wooden wardrobe. He terrifyingly cringed, wedged his head between his crouched legs, grabbed and covered both large ears.

Jasper's young mind snapped. He was no longer 13. The horrific unrelenting sky's explosions were more than he could possibly process. The menacing sounds threw him back to similar markedly unforgettable rainy nights which were attached to abusively demented memories. Too many of these unbearable nights were locked away in the recessed caverns of his unconscious.

The deposited accumulated helpless rage dictated uncontrolled bouts of undiminished interfacing fury. But, how could he change that? When you're only 7 years old, nothing much can be done.

Jasper heard the unwanted footsteps approaching his bedroom door. Delbert Beavers was drunk, again. And since Mrs. Beavers had to work late at the Calsberg Inn, Jasper remained the easy target for his alcoholic ruinous pleasures. The sexual abuse, he could take; he had learned, after repeated episodes, not to clench. It was far less painful that way.

He had also learned how not to scream. But, the cigarette burning, in addition to the single edged razor slicing and the pouring of the grain alcohol onto the open wounds drove him into oblivion. The insufferable trauma, caused by the excruciating torture, would cause his delicate mind to blank out. As a transporting protective psyche mechanism, he simply left his body. He would envision his mother being alive, again.

"Jasper," strikingly beautiful, young 25 year old Ravenna Belton, would call,

"Where are you hiding my little man?"

Jasper loved paying 'hide and seek' with his mother. For no other reason, than to hear the melodic softness enveloped in her tender voice; Jasper relished the tone. He imagined it to be similar to a Persian kitten's voice, if a cat could formulate words.

Jasper would delay answering, so that she would continue to repeat the lyrical resonance.

"Jasper Leo Belton, I know you're in here and I'm not going to stop looking until I find you." Ravenna would act as if she was so concentrated on finding him; but, she too, played the 'can't-find-you' extension hiding game because

Jasper loved it so.

From where little Jasper was hiding, he could see his mother's radiant face. Long strawberry flaxen curls hugged the back of her slender swan neck.Sparkling emerald oval eyes blazed with undaunted devotion for her one and only son.

She, the baby of the family, had gotten pregnant with Jasper barely before her 18th birthday. The insidious details of her conception were never disclosed. She tolerated the continual condescending remarks of how she had disgraced the family.

"What family" Ravenna would often ask herself. 'Not a single one of us even speaks to one another. Who would want to?"

"You should have had an abortion like I told you. Your father will never forgive you as long as he lives. Just remember that!" Mabel Marie Belton would sarcastically sneer.

Ravenna's father, a deliberately dedicated military man, retired from the Marines as a Master Gunnery Sergeant.

"Your father is just too handsome," Ravenna's friends would often tell her.

"Samuel Marshall Belton," Ravenna repeated his name, so many many times aloud, performed as an enchanted ritual, just to see if it could soften his disturbingly offensive crude behavior. It never worked.

"People are not designed to be that cold," she once told her mother.

"He's not cold; he's committed to serving his country." Her mother's patent defensive reply always intended to shame. Afterward, she would abrasively deride Ravenna.

"You know perfectly well he's a good and decent man."

Ravenna didn't know that all.

"Jasper?" Ravenna called again. She raised the tone of her voice to one that included a cheery giggle.

"Here, I am, mama." Jasper would run and jump straightway into her inviting arms.

"I love you so much, honey." She would whisper as she brushed the tips of his red locks out of his eyes.

"Mama says you need a hair cut but I don't think so. I love your hair just how it falls, so natural and baby fine. It glistens like an amber sunset."

Jasper would then slide down, squeezing his mother so tight before he let go.

"Mama, I don't ever want you to leave me. Promise me, you won't. Will you promise?" He refused to move, until she promised.

Taking his two small hands, as she looked directly into his eager eyes of uncertainly; she promised.

"I promise with all of my heart, soul, mind and strength and with all the brain cells that are firing in every human being that has ever lived, does live, and will live on earth." She would lovingly kiss him five times; first on the head, two on either side of the cheek, one on his lips, and the last kiss would be on his right ear where she would murmur once again how he meant the entire world to her, and how, without him, she could not possibly live.

Sometimes, Jasper could hold these imaginary fantasies for longer periods of time than others. Unfortunately, tonight was not one of those times.

Jasper trembled when the monstrous thunder slammed against the 12' x 60' Barlane Mobile Home. Delbert Beavers, single-mindfully decided to stretch his imagination, to include unusually sadistic tactics for this week's episode. The rain beat so hard, it mocked Jasper's inner screams.

Jasper had been reminded repeatedly and reprimanded severely for not being grateful to Delbert and Jeanetta Beavers. He was certainly 'supposed' to be, for this was his uncle and aunt, (half brother on his mother's side), who graciously took him in. Of course, they received and cashed the welfare check each month, which they vehemently denied as the reason why he lived with them.

Another fiercely resounding crack of unexpected thunder split the skies, followed by the most incredible unbelievable bolt of lightning Jasper had ever witnessed. Delbert, excited by the wildly destructive weather, decided this was the night to play the 'other' game.

Before he could proceed, the brown kitchen wall phone rang.

"Don't you move, you little red headed bastard." He stumbled down the hall, falling into the shabby paneled walls, into the kitchen to answer. It was Aunt Jeanetta. She called to say, since the weather was so bad, there was no need for him to come out to get her. The boss said it would be a perfect time to do some extra cleaning. Another hour or so, and the storm, maybe, would have passed.

"You say, it'll at least be another hour or so?" he slurred the question unintelligibly.

Jasper could understand, though. He had learned to interpret his drunken dialect very well.

"I've gotta get away." The young boy shrieked. "I can't stand another night of what he's going to do to me." Terrorized, abusive thoughts flooded his mind.

Jasper did not stop to put on any clothes. In Flintstones' pajamas, no shoes, no coat, he barreled out the back door, not bothering to close it.

His heart pounding so loud, he thought it would blow through the front wall of his chest. The cramped mobile home, he had barely escaped from, was situated on a private lot, deep in the country, far from any main highway. Before he had run 250 feet, he knew had made the wrong decision.

"When Uncle Delbert catches me, he's going to break my legs." Jasper was freezing, but he continued running.

It was no more than 5 minutes when he heard the sound of the Ford F-150 Red truck roaring up behind.

Jasper knew he would never be able to withstand the pain of what his Uncle Delbert was going to do. He cried out in gut instinct agony, raindrops mixed with hail beat his small face,

"Please help me! Dear god, anybody, please help me!"

Delbert jammed the truck in park left it running and started sprinting after Jasper. Jasper prayed that he would fall down and that the truck would, somehow, run over him.

But, it didn't happen. Defeated, he accepted, no one would be coming for him, not a soul

"Why are you doing this to me," he yelled hysterically, as Delbert grabbed the back of his head pulling him down into and through the dirt, rocks and smattering mud.

"You no good two bit son of a bitch! I'm going to kill you."

For one second, Jasper wished he would. Instead, Delbert Beavers kicked and rolled him through the soaked slimy wet weeds on the side of the road until they reached the idling truck.

Jasper cried uncontrollably, as he pleaded for him to stop.

"Stop hell? I'm just getting wound up! What in the hell did you mean making me come out in this awful mess to chase you down? You must have lost what little bit of mind you have left."

Jasper couldn't imagine what the old man was going to do to him. In a flashed moment of hell's torment, he shuddered.

Delbert snatched Jasper up. He lunged him into the cab of the truck, catching his left foot in the door jam. He yanked on it. Jasper fell against 9 bottles of unopened Budweiser. A fifth of Jack Daniels lay in the floorboard. Half of it had been consumed.

Jasper closed his eyes and prayed for mercy.

An opened bag of marijuana, crammed in the bend of the seat, could have easily been smoked. But, no such luck for Jasper. Delbert pulled from the dashboard a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, tapped the bottom until one jutted up. He lit it purposely just to burn the right corner of Jasper's right eyelid.

Jasper wailed like a blistered animal.

"That's just for starters,' he gagged. He landed one unreasonably death-defying elbowed punch in the left side of his neck. Then, he broke one of the unopened beer bottles on the door jam. Jasper winced.

At that precise moment, Jasper heard someone calling his name.

"Jasper. Jasper?" What are you a-doing laying on the floor like that, son? You don't have to be a-scared. Ain't nothing going to hurt you, it's just a bad rainstorm." Wilma had awakened, apparently slid off the bed, and was leaned over Jasper trying to comfort his obvious fears.

Jasper, slowly uncovered his head, dazed and disoriented, looked up at her in total disbelief.