The two men tied dad up, sat him in a chair, and tied him to it. They did the same thing with Tommy’s dad. One of them came over to me, “Nothing personal, kid. We’re just doing what we’ve been paid to do.”
He turned to the other man, “Are we ready?”
He turned back to me, “Go to your room. Cover your head with a pillow, so you can’t hear anything.”
“What are you going to do?” I was scared. I felt like I was going to throw up. The two men had guns. They wore gloves and masks. They were black from head to toe. I had no idea what they looked like, other than mean.
“We’re going to ask a few questions,” the man answered.
The other man commented, “They might not want to answer. And our job’s to make them answer.”
My dad said, “Go to your room, Bobby. And cover your ears, so you can’t hear anything.” He looked at both the strange men, “It’ll be alright.”
It was one of those rare times when dad lied to me. I knew he was lying. He knew I could tell. I went to my room, and covered my years. I tried so hard not to hear anything.
That was twenty years ago. I can still hear the sounds of those men beating on Dad, and Tommy’s Dad. I can still hear the sounds.
I wrote this for Siobhan Muir‘s #ThursThreads, Week 65. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are good reading.