I’m Nine Again - Chapter 1 Day 2

It’s been one whole day. The entire day I’d asked my self whether it was a dream or not. I went to bed as a 25-year-old man, slightly intoxicated on wine. When I woke up in the morning, I was a nine-year-old boy. Not only that, but the year was 2002. I spent the morning trying to wrap my head around the situation I was in, then denying it. A man, who was not my father, but I can only assume was the father of this boy, the body that I had been placed into, had come into the room to yell at me that I wasn’t ready for school yet. That day was nothing special. Apparently, I had no friends which was a bit disappointing, not that there was anything I’d have in common with anyone there anyway. It was easy, basic lessons in English, Math, and History. I’d finished my work much faster than the rest of the class and spent the rest of my time still trying to work out what was going on.

After waiting an hour after school for one of my parents to pick me up a teacher had asked why I hadn’t walked home yet. Apparently even though dropping me off at school in the morning, I would have to walk for a kilometer to get home. If I was still in my other body the walk would be nothing, but for this nine-year-old boy, it was tiring. When I had gotten home, the woman who was there who I later derived was my mother, yelled at me. Asking where I was, did I know the time? How worried about me she was, even though she was half a bottle of wine down. I was sent to my room until dinner time. The room was bare. It had a closet, a bed and a toy chest with a few toys. I took the time to play like a child, pretending that my action figure was a superhero coming to rescue me from this strange world and take me back to my old world.

I had heard my father come home. I took the chance to listen in on what they were talking about. My father berated my mother for her drinking. Asked why she wouldn’t work. She claimed that she spent time looking after me. There was a loud argument and the sound of glass smashing. Then crying. I went back to playing with the toys. Not exactly a response derived from my childlike body, I had done it with a few roommates I had lived within my previous life. A young couple would argue and fight, I would just turn the volume up on my headphones and continue the game I was playing.

Eventually, I was called out for dinner. Dinner was a microwaved meal, with microwaved frozen vegetables. My aunty also lived with us, she was young, I’d say mid-20s. She’d be my age if I was still in my old body. I wonder if I still existed in this timeline. Another me. She was kinder hearted than my parents, but she wouldn’t dare overstep her mark. We all sat in the lounge room watching the newest reality tv show where a bunch of people were shoved into a house for three months and had to live with each other. I, of course, knew how it had ended but I wasn’t going to speak up. I’d only been here for a day and this family was dysfunctional. My alcoholic mother, abusive father and pushover aunt.

After dinner, I was sent to bed. Hoping that this whole day had been a dream, I had found myself quickly asleep only to wake up again in the same body.

***********************************************************

The room I woke up in was dark, but I was able to quickly derive that I was still in the body of a nine-year-old. There was nothing in the room to discern what time it was. Through the window, a dim light had begun to shine through the window.

I could work this to my advantage. I have this childlike body and I’m stuck in the past, but I have the mind of a 25-year-old man from the future. I hope this is still a dream but if it’s not, then I can use my knowledge.

I hopped out of bed and walked out of my room into the hallway. It was dark and quiet, the smell of booze and cigarettes wafted throughout the house. The small kitchen housed a bar fridge on one of the counters. Microwave but no kettle. The pantry was full of junk food and alcohol, the same with the fridge. Empty wine and beer bottles lined the wall at the back of one of the counters. I poured my self a bowl of chocolate cereal and sat in the dark kitchen eating as the sun slowly rose to send rays through the window.

Afterward, I went into the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth. By the time I had finished getting ready for the day, the sun was full poking over the horizon sending light flooding through the house. I had only just finished getting ready when my aunty had walked into my room to see me fiddling with my hair which was light brown, shoulder-length and messy.

“Travis, you’re up early.” She said, “Is there something wrong with your hair?”

“Good morning June,” I said, quickly then correcting myself, “Aunty June. My hair, it’s pretty long.”

“I thought you liked it like that?” she asked.

“I think I’ve changed my mind. Do you think my parents would let me get a haircut?” I asked.

“Hmmm,” she started with hesitation, “Probably not any time soon, you already had a haircut last month.”

I scowled a bit to myself. For a family so liberal with spending money on alcohol and cigarettes why would they be so opposed to paying for a cheap haircut. Unless they really were as dirt poor as I suspect.

“I don’t suppose you would be able to cut my hair then?” I asked.

She smiled to herself for a moment, pondering my question. It must have been out of character for this kid to ask for anything. Or even speak much at all.

“I think I could help you out, but I’ve got to quickly get ready for work so how about this. I’ll cut your hair after school today,” she said with a smile on her face.

She was very pretty. It’s kind of sucked that I had to find my self in the body of a kid who was her nephew. That and I was nine. That was going to be one of the biggest obstacles in my new life, growing a new body. A new network. I’ve started again with literally nothing.

“Okay,” I said walking past her and towards the bathroom.

Her eyes followed me curiously. I grabbed a hairbrush and walked back out into the living room brushing my hair to resemble some baseline level of self-respect.

“Tonight then,” I said.

June took note of the time and quickly started getting ready for work, applying her makeup and straightening her long blonde hair. It wasn’t long before my father woke up. He walked over to my room and hit the door a few times with a closed fist.

“Travis, Get up! Get ready for school.” He called.

“I’m already up!” I called out from the living room.

He walked in to see me watching the TV on low volume with closed captions on. He looked puzzled for a moment and then chuckled to himself.

“So, you’re finally learning,” he said, “Although you probably only got up early so you could watch some shitty cartoons.”

He walked in and grabbed the remote then and looked at the TV screen to see what I was watching. It was the SBS world news. He stood there puzzled for a moment but then changed the channel to a regular morning show and turned the volume up.

“How do I get rid of these stupid fucking words on the screen!?” he asked with anger.

I beckoned for the remote and he handed it to me. I turned off the closed captions then handed him back the remote.

“Smart arse!” he remarked.

He started getting dressed while watching the TV. He laughed at bad jokes, shook his head at clear propaganda, then when the Prime Minister of the time was giving a speech he would shake his head and remark to himself, “What a fuck head.”

Later, he was driving me to school.

“You brushed your hair back,” he said looking at me and not the road.

“Yeah it was messy,” I replied.

“Ha,” he scoffed, “It makes you look like a girl. You’re going to get beat up again.”

“They can try,” I said.

I doubt I’d be able to take on any adults with my size but if another child who has never fought before tries it would be very easy.

“Ha,” he laughed more genuinely this time, “You might be confident but you’re still a weakling.”

This was probably how my father had always talked to this boy. There was no motivation or compliments, just empty insults at the boys’ expense.

“Aunt June is going to cut it for me tonight,” I said.

“Is she now?” he asked.

I didn’t respond, and he didn’t speak anymore for the rest of the car trip which was only a few minutes. He dropped me off at school and left without saying a word.

Dad was right though. It happened at lunchtime. The other boys in the class were making fun of me all day up until that point. I was browsing the contents of my lunch box, a packet of chips and a sugary cereal bar. That’s when the foot came from underneath the lunchbox kicking its contents up at my face and spreading across the area around me. I launched myself backward and stood up in an aggressive stance. In front of me stood three boys, one large one on the left, then two lanky ones but still a bit taller than me. The lanky one in the middle who threw the kick was obviously their little gang leader.

“What are you having for lunch GIRL! I bet he has a Girls lunch!” he said. His friends and a few others around laughed at his joke.

I remained silent and he continued while walking forward to me,

“What’s the matter, are you going to cry like a girl?” he asked

I looked around for a teacher, but these kids were smart enough to start their bullying when there were no teachers around. It was the same as when I was in primary school in my old life, only these kids were a bit more violent.

“Say something girly boy!” the kid yelled now getting in my face.

“I have nothing to say,” I said, “Just leave me alone.”

“You hear that,” he said laughing, “Just leave me alone, he’s having a cry like a girl!” His two friends laughed at his joke.

“You’re not as tough as you think you are kid,” I said, “Just back off or we’re going to have a problem.”

I felt bad about the prospect of getting into a fight with a child, but it was a pretty even playing field, it’s not like I was an adult hitting a child, I was the same size, no, smaller than this kid.

“What do you mean we are going to have a problem!?” he yelled, grabbing my shirt and pulling his face close to mine.

I didn’t wait for the situation to escalate any further. I pulled my head back and then pushed it forward with all the force I could muster and smashed my head into the kids face. He let go of my shirt and stumbled backward, I followed it up with a strong kick to the chest, one I had learned many years ago at the limited Taekwondo that I did as a kid. The kick knocked him back and he landed on his butt and slid a few feet. He sat there holding his chest and face, trying to hold back tears.

“Are you going to cry like a girl!” I said.

I don’t know why I even said it. In the heat of the moment and probably filled with a fair amount of anger I lashed out verbally. It was the wrong thing to do and I regrated it instantly, but there were more pressing things to worry about. The other lanky kid came charging at me with his fist in the air. It was a horrific way to try and start a fight, but he was a kid after all. When he got close enough I stepped out of the way and kicked his legs out from under him. His own momentum flipped him as he tripped, landing on his back.

“Just go away, guys! It’s not worth embarrassing your selves,” I said but the bigger kid was slowly walking up to me.

When he got to me he stood over me.

“How dare you kick my friends.” He said.

His voice was still childish and unbroken but still held a level of scary deepness for his age. I almost didn’t see him raise his fist and pulled my arms up to block my face just in time. His large fist came crashing down and powering through my defense hitting me right across the side of the face throwing me to the ground. Unrelenting, he followed up with a kick to the stomach which took the wind out of me. I rolled over and quickly jumped back out of the way from another kick. He was strong. I was going to have to use his own size against him. I gathered the energy to stand up and ran at him with my fist out. He was getting ready to just push me right back off him when at the last minute I dropped my fist and launched my self up into the air. I raised my knees up and made contact with his chest, the momentum of the speed I was running at pushing him backward with my body as a human cannonball. He started to tip backward and we both went crashing into the ground.

I sat there on top of him gathering my senses and then stood up using his face to support one of my feet as I stood off him. By now the lanky kid, the leader of the group was helping his other friend up. They both helped their big friend up with tears in their eyes they started to walk away.
for visiting.

“We’re telling on you!?” they yelled as they walked off.

They were telling the truth. A few moments later they came back with a teacher and before long I was in the principal’s office, eating the packet of chips that they had kicked out of my hands earlier.

“Why did you do it,” he asked sternly.

“Because they were bullying me. I didn’t have a choice,” I said.

“You could have run away and found a teacher,” he replied.

“One of them had me by the shirt, I couldn’t run,” I responded still eating my chips as he was talking to me.

“Can you not eat while I’m talking to you, it’s very disrespectful.” He scowled. I continued eating anyway.

“So, he had you by the shirt, you didn’t have to beat him up,” he continued.

“He was going to hit me, I had to defend myself,” I’d had this conversation many times before. When I was a kid in my other life teachers would act exactly the same whenever a bully victim would fight back. They would always blame the victim.

“You don’t know he was going to hit you,” the principal said.

“He was in my face, he had my shirt. I’m not going to wait until I get punched in the face until I try and defend myself,” I said.

The man shook his head and looked down at his paper.

“Well, I’ve had to contact your parents. You’re going to be suspended for tomorrow, you’re going to have to think about what you’ve done all day.”

“Tch, figures,” I said.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“I said that figures!” I responded with more anger, “Those kids have been bullying me for ages,” I lied. It probably wasn’t a lie; those kids probably have been bullying this boy for many years now. “The teachers have never done anything to help me. I’ll get picked on, pushed around and you guys will turn a blind eye. You guys are useless.”

“Watch your tone Travis!” he said angrily.

“No, I won’t watch my tone. You guys are useless. I get picked on all the time and you do nothing. As an adult who has a duty of care over me, you have failed that duty of care. The only reason I had to fight back is that you guys are useless. If there was a teacher on yard duty watching over the kids as we ate our lunch then this whole situation would never have happened but for some reason and I don’t know what reason, you decided to let kids that you know pick on each other, kids that you know hit each other. You decided to abandon your duty of care and have no teachers supervising us!”

“That’s it, Travis!” The principal snapped, “Get out, go home. I’ve called your parents and they can deal with you when you get home!” His yelling made the veins pop out from the side of his head. I stood up and walked towards the door. Before leaving I turned back to him.

“Don’t get angry at me because you’re bad at your job,” I said coldly, “Have a hard look in the mirror and ask your self whether you are really doing the best you could to take care of all of the students here.”

He started yelling again but I didn’t stay around long enough to hear what he was saying. I picked up my bag from the outside of the door and started walking home.

My mother was standing at the front door when I got home. I wanted to go inside but she just stood there blocking the way.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” she said, “beating up those other kids, I bet it made you feel strong.” She said in a scolding tone.

“They were picking on me,” I told her.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she said.

“They kicked my lunch box,” I continued.

“I SAID I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT!” She yelled.

She picked me up by the back of my school bag and threw me inside and slammed the door behind her. It was at that moment I felt incredibly powerless. This weak and frail, alcoholic woman with a cigarette in one hand was able to lift me up and throw me across a room with the other hand. I hit the ground hard pushed myself back up onto my feet. She must have treated the boy like this all the time. Manhandling him and throwing him around like he was a football.

“I didn’t raise you to be a bully!” She yelled, “To go around beating up other kids!” She took a long drag from her cigarette and continued, “Go to your room, and don’t come out until dinner time!”

The hours passed. I had nothing to do in that room. There were toys, but I didn’t feel like playing as a little kid. There was no computer, no paper to write or draw on. I just lay there on my bed eventually drifting off to sleep. I woke up to the sound of my parents yelling. They were fighting about me. I didn’t care to try and overhear what they were saying this time. I just lay in my bed until I was eventually called for dinner.

As we sat there in the lounge room watching TV and eating another microwave meal for dinner June came home. After greeting everyone she fished around through some of the shopping bags she was carrying and pulled out a small toiletry bag.

“Hey Travis!” she said, “I got some clippers and scissors, so I can give you that haircut after dinner if you’d like.

I could tell she was excited by the prospect. My mother dropped her fork onto her plate loudly and turned to June.

“What do you mean you’re going to give him a haircut!? She asked angrily.

My father chimed in, “June is giving him a hair cut tonight.” He said.

“This is the first I’m hearing of this!” my mother said again in anger.

“He didn’t want to have his long hair anymore,” June said a little less excited and more deflated.

“Well I’m his mother and you didn’t ask me if you could cut his hair!” she said, “Is this your way of saying that I’m a bad mother!” she yelled. She put her plate on the couch beside her and stood up to face June.

“No, April, I just-.” June tried to say.

It was the first time I had heard my mother’s name, but it would make sense that the people who raised my mother would name their kids after the names of the months. It doesn’t require much creativity.

“You just what!” she yelled, “Thought that you’re a better mother than I am!?

“Hey Mum, calm down!” I said in a very scared and high-pitched voice. I stood up from the couch as well.

“Don’t tell me to calm down you little bully!” she scolded.

“I asked her to cut my hair. It’s not her fault! I asked her to do it!” I said raising my voice.

I didn’t see it coming. I felt it before I could see it. It was an incredibly sharp pain across my cheek. My mother had quickly raised her hand swung it down on at me with an open palm at full force, slapping me across the face so hard that it threw me to the ground. It really hurt. The pain was 10 times as much as the pain from the punch that the big kid had thrown at me earlier. I really struggled to pull myself back on my feet this time. The pain was just so intense. I’d never been hit that hard before in my life.

I turned around to face her with tears welling in my eyes. It had been a long time since I had cried because I was in pain. I can’t even remember crying because of pain. I wasn’t crying but the tears had welled there and stood strong. I raised my had to my cheek to rub it and then pulled my hand back down. There was blood on my hands. She had slapped me so hard that it had drawn blood. I stared back at her seeing nothing but a monster staring back at me. Her normally brown eyes seemed to grow red staring back at me. Her teeth were sharp and bared in my direction as she towered over me.

I wanted to kill her. I wanted to grab her face and smash it into the window behind the couch. I wanted to smash her face over and over again into that window. I wanted to step all over her, smashing her beneath my feet. I wanted to punch her in the face. I wanted to punch her and keep punching her until she stopped breathing. She had probably done this to the boy before as well. I wanted her to know what this pain felt like.

That’s when she let out a blood-curdling scream. My father had grabbed her hair and ripped her backward, throwing her against the couch and towering over her. He raised his hands as she screamed and slapped her across the face as hard as he could. She screamed at the pain.

“HE WANT’S TO HAVE HIS HAIR CUT SO LET HIM GET HIS HAIR CUT!” he yelled. “Stop being such a bitch all of the time!”

He raised his hand again and hit her again, “How does that feel huh!?” he asked as she screamed in pain once again. He raised his hand and once more hit her hard.

“You don’t like that do you!?” he yelled. He waited a few moments, “HUH!? YOU DON’T LIKE IT DO YOU!” he yelled.

He turned to June who had some tears falling across her face and beckoned her out of the room.

“Go on, go and cut the little girls’ hair,” he said before turning back to my mother.

June knelt to my level and rubbed my cheek, “It’s okay Travis,” she said. She went to wipe away my tears, but they had gone. There were no tears anymore.

“You’re a strong boy for not crying,” she said, “You’re a really strong boy. Come on let’s go cut this long hair of yours.”

She was crying but trying to hold back her tears as well. I turned to my father who was still towering over my mothers’ pathetic small body. I left the room with June. Now I wanted to kill my father as well.