Every day I’d sit in the same spot. They all ignored me or talked over or at me.
I remember one of them heading over to patronise me.
‘Oh, Ricky, you look thirsty.’ My face hadn’t changed all day.
She forced a drink into my mouth. I didn’t really want it, but took the nip of the adult cup anyway. Well, what choice did I have? It was a case of drink it or wear it.
Nothing really changed, day in, day out. I sat in the same boring old place, had the same awful people getting in my face and treating me like dirt.
When I was three weeks old, my mum threw me against the wall and all I was left with was the ability to think, learn stuff and move my arms about five inches. My body hardly works at all, but my head is normal, I think. It’s not good enough to control my body, but it can remember most things.
No one there knew about my brain being OK, they didn’t bother with tests. It had been the same for years. I worked out a blinking system with an old teacher, but she died and that lot never bothered to read any files of mine. I was money to them and that was that.
The people who worked there all claimed to be Christian. That’s rubbish, I listened to a talking Bible once and nowhere did it say treat people with less ability than you with contempt, from what I heard it told people to be nice to others and love thy neighbour. Those people never showed me or the other residents any love or tolerance. Although they were happy to drag us all to the church to meet their friends under the guise of ‘religious commitments’. The boss was happy for them to go and she was there too, making herself look all great wheeling us lot in and letting her friends ‘heal’ us, which basically was a practice that involved a large amount of people touching us. It made me feel dirty to have a lot of people grabbing at me, chanting.
I’ve been hit, starved, left in dirty, wet pads for hours, had food left in my hair for a week after I’ve sneezed when being fed. The worst part was at night, they put me to bed at 8 p.m. every night. I was left with no music, no talking books or TV. I didn’t need much sleep — I did nothing most days but sit waiting for someone to rescue me. I never really went anywhere else. I got pushed around the park sometimes, but not often, only normally when one of the workers needed a fag or to make a lengthy personal phone call. The things I heard discussed! They were all bad people and seemed to be criminals through and through. From passport fraud to selling drugs, I don’t think I went on a walk without hearing about some scam or another. The guy that used to hit me seemed to really believe that he could beat the need to use the toilet out of me. I’d get digs in the ribs and on the top and back of my head, it happened so much I got used to it. The guy didn’t even try to hide it, why would he? No one cared if I was hurt, upset or abused in front of them. It was normal life in that place.
I thought about my mum a lot during the night. It was when I felt most alone. Sometimes I’d wonder if I’d done something wrong, if I was different to all the other babies. Other mums didn’t throw their babies into the wall. Maybe I was a loud crier. She’d probably had enough of me. I got fed up of Ashley, my house mate, screaming sometimes.
Mum’s a beautiful lady. The last time I saw her was a few months ago on my twenty-first birthday, she visited and brought me a big silver tankard with my name on. She talked to me like a person. It was nice, but the lady with her took her away again, she always takes her away. Mum did kiss me when she left, that was nice.
Sometimes I tried to remember and replicate her soft kiss on the side of my face. It was hard, though, as I’d lose concentration easily. But it kept me going at night time – thinking about her.
When there was a new member of staff starting work, the owner, Felicity, used to explain my history to them across the lounge in front of everyone. She really made my mother sound bad and didn’t mind saying that she’d ban her if it was her choice. She kept saying that my mother was sick, that she was the devil incarnate. I used to have a teddy that smelt like Mum, she bought me it. However, it was taken from my room and never returned. I cried for a long time about that. They just thought I had a cold, though. No one cared that I was upset. They never did.
I’ve been on holiday to Morocco with the staff, the owner of the home is from there. Every year we’re all paraded in front of the family and local townsfolk to show them how well she’s done for herself and how kind she is. I got really bad sunburn on one of those holidays. It didn’t stop her dragging us round the town to various family members’ houses every day of the trip and leaving me out in the heat, though. I was sick over myself one day. When I was being pushed back to the van, I was told angrily that I was an embarrassment and that god wouldn’t forgive me. I didn’t care, though, I took it as a little victory. I tried to get them when I could. I wouldn’t have done that in the home, though – they’d have left me covered in it, as they’d left me in my own filth on many an occasion, overnight mostly. When I’d get put to bed I’d hear one say to the other, between the two it took to lift me, that I stank; they’d always choose to leave me till the morning, though.
The residents had to pay for the holiday. I don’t know how much got paid to them every week to look after me, but I know that all the money paid into my bank was saved up, along with the other residents’ money, and used to buy the flights for the trip: ours and the staff’s. While it was being saved up, I was left to wear secondhand clothes and eat the cheapest food going, all in the same stripy Tesco packaging.
There’s so much more, but I’m tired, can we finish tomorrow?
‘That’s more than enough for today, Mr Robinson, thank you,’ the detective said. He stood up to leave. ‘It’s a great bit of kit, that computer, isn’t it?’ he said to my new nurse on the way out.
© Pete Sortwell 2024