Esra Cetin (16)
In This Game
Hunger was a feeling he was accustomed to.
The bruises he found didn’t bother him as much anymore, and neither did the cigarette burns or now-scabbing scrapes that spanned across his torso and thighs.
This game isn’t easy for him.
-
The first time he heard the “m” word, he was four.
“You’re so useless! You’re a useless, pathetic, mistake!” his mother, Marlene, had bellowed at him, her arm raised high above her head. He’d ran before Marlene’s hand had the chance to make contact with his face. He never understood why his mother would call him a mistake.
His four-year-old mind didn’t register the true meaning.
Mama was just mad in the moment, he’d thought. She’ll be okie dokie later!
-
Wiping away the sweat that had gathered on his forehead, Evan traipsed over to the monkey bars where a few of his classmates were gathered.
“Hey, Evan!”
Evan flushed as he heard his classmate Ana calling out to him, her hand patting the soft rubber ground next to her. He jumped when he sat, the rubber hot in places where the sun was hitting it.
“Do you wanna popsicle? It’s hot,” Ana asked, shoving a wrapped popsicle into Evan’s hands before he could reply. He watched Ana’s eyes trail over his neck, her gaze hesitating. Staring down, Evan’s heart skipped a beat when he saw that the collar of his shirt was low enough to expose a series of burns and scrapes on his collarbones. Immediately adjusting himself, he went about unwrapping his popsicle, but he still felt Ana’s eyes on him.
For a few minutes, Evan remained silent, listening to his classmates’ conversation. He hummed in satisfaction as he ate the cool, savory treat. His attention was drawn away and back to his classmates when they began to talk about their parents. Evan felt his stomach churn with something he couldn’t quite place as his classmates gushed over how wonderful their parents were and how much they loved them.
“What about you, Evan?”
“Huh?”
“Your parents. What do you like about your parents?”
Hesitating, Evan glanced over to where his teachers were, hoping for one of them to call out that recess was over. No such luck.
“Uh...Marlene is nice,” Evan mumbled, sticking his melting popsicle into his mouth.
His classmates looked between each other with equally puzzled looks.
“Marlene?” Ana asked, clearly confused. “Who's that?”
Evan remained silent, his blue-stained lips stitched shut. A streak of blue ran down his hand as his popsicle wilted in the heat, much like his own heart.
Just as Ana opened her mouth again, the teacher called for the students to come back inside, and Evan let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.
His heart filled with dread when he spotted Ana talking to one of the teachers, her little fingers pointing to him. The teacher locked eyes with him and instantly beckoned him over. Evan scurried away back to his classroom, praying to every deity that would listen that he could go home without anyone trying to get his mother in trouble.
-
Marlene is smart in this game. She knows not to leave marks where curious eyes would see. Evan was thankful for each day he finished school without a teacher noticing his bruises or burns. He knows that if Marlene gets in trouble, it’s his fault.
Everything is his fault.
-
Reality was hard for Evan to accept. His normal included Marlene.
She’s a little rough around the edges, and she’s a little mean, but she loves me. She loves me, Evan would say to himself.
He didn’t want to see the purple and blue bruises that littered his body. But it’s normal.
He didn’t want to hear Marlene screaming and shouting at him every night for things he couldn’t control. But it’s normal.
He didn’t want to feel the tip of her cigarette burning patches of skin on his body. But it’s normal.
It was a chilly night in November after Evan had cried himself to sleep, a thin sheet covering his shivering body. His heart cried out for the affection he was being denied.
In his dreams, Evan was in bliss. The bruises were replaced with kisses. The screaming was replaced with praise. The burns were replaced with stickers.
His life was anything but that dream.
-
Evan held his face in his hands, his hair falling in front. It was his shield. His weapon, though? Nothing. In this game, he was helpless. Marlene was the boss he could never defeat. In this game, Marlene’s weapons were the words that thoughtlessly slipped out of her mouth, the ignited tips of cigarettes, and her rough, callused hands.
When Evan came home from school that day, he was greeted by a furious Marlene and forced to watch as she threw things across the room and yelled despicable things to his face. In the corner of his eye, through the broken kitchen window, Evan saw his neighbor, Mrs. Rodgers, step out of her house, her phone pressed to her ear. Evan’s attention was quickly drawn back to Marlene as her rampage continued.
This game wasn’t easy for him, and he didn’t suspect it ever would be. Not even when he spotted the police car that stopped in front of his house.
Esra Cetin is 16 years old and attends Methuen High School in Methuen, Massachusetts. Writing has been a passion of his since he was a child. He also loves to draw (both traditionally and digitally) and play video games. He can often be found in a fuzzy blanket on colder days, watching Netflix (probably on a Netflix binge. We've all been guilty!).
In This Game
Hunger was a feeling he was accustomed to.
The bruises he found didn’t bother him as much anymore, and neither did the cigarette burns or now-scabbing scrapes that spanned across his torso and thighs.
This game isn’t easy for him.
-
The first time he heard the “m” word, he was four.
“You’re so useless! You’re a useless, pathetic, mistake!” his mother, Marlene, had bellowed at him, her arm raised high above her head. He’d ran before Marlene’s hand had the chance to make contact with his face. He never understood why his mother would call him a mistake.
His four-year-old mind didn’t register the true meaning.
Mama was just mad in the moment, he’d thought. She’ll be okie dokie later!
-
Wiping away the sweat that had gathered on his forehead, Evan traipsed over to the monkey bars where a few of his classmates were gathered.
“Hey, Evan!”
Evan flushed as he heard his classmate Ana calling out to him, her hand patting the soft rubber ground next to her. He jumped when he sat, the rubber hot in places where the sun was hitting it.
“Do you wanna popsicle? It’s hot,” Ana asked, shoving a wrapped popsicle into Evan’s hands before he could reply. He watched Ana’s eyes trail over his neck, her gaze hesitating. Staring down, Evan’s heart skipped a beat when he saw that the collar of his shirt was low enough to expose a series of burns and scrapes on his collarbones. Immediately adjusting himself, he went about unwrapping his popsicle, but he still felt Ana’s eyes on him.
For a few minutes, Evan remained silent, listening to his classmates’ conversation. He hummed in satisfaction as he ate the cool, savory treat. His attention was drawn away and back to his classmates when they began to talk about their parents. Evan felt his stomach churn with something he couldn’t quite place as his classmates gushed over how wonderful their parents were and how much they loved them.
“What about you, Evan?”
“Huh?”
“Your parents. What do you like about your parents?”
Hesitating, Evan glanced over to where his teachers were, hoping for one of them to call out that recess was over. No such luck.
“Uh...Marlene is nice,” Evan mumbled, sticking his melting popsicle into his mouth.
His classmates looked between each other with equally puzzled looks.
“Marlene?” Ana asked, clearly confused. “Who's that?”
Evan remained silent, his blue-stained lips stitched shut. A streak of blue ran down his hand as his popsicle wilted in the heat, much like his own heart.
Just as Ana opened her mouth again, the teacher called for the students to come back inside, and Evan let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.
His heart filled with dread when he spotted Ana talking to one of the teachers, her little fingers pointing to him. The teacher locked eyes with him and instantly beckoned him over. Evan scurried away back to his classroom, praying to every deity that would listen that he could go home without anyone trying to get his mother in trouble.
-
Marlene is smart in this game. She knows not to leave marks where curious eyes would see. Evan was thankful for each day he finished school without a teacher noticing his bruises or burns. He knows that if Marlene gets in trouble, it’s his fault.
Everything is his fault.
-
Reality was hard for Evan to accept. His normal included Marlene.
She’s a little rough around the edges, and she’s a little mean, but she loves me. She loves me, Evan would say to himself.
He didn’t want to see the purple and blue bruises that littered his body. But it’s normal.
He didn’t want to hear Marlene screaming and shouting at him every night for things he couldn’t control. But it’s normal.
He didn’t want to feel the tip of her cigarette burning patches of skin on his body. But it’s normal.
It was a chilly night in November after Evan had cried himself to sleep, a thin sheet covering his shivering body. His heart cried out for the affection he was being denied.
In his dreams, Evan was in bliss. The bruises were replaced with kisses. The screaming was replaced with praise. The burns were replaced with stickers.
His life was anything but that dream.
-
Evan held his face in his hands, his hair falling in front. It was his shield. His weapon, though? Nothing. In this game, he was helpless. Marlene was the boss he could never defeat. In this game, Marlene’s weapons were the words that thoughtlessly slipped out of her mouth, the ignited tips of cigarettes, and her rough, callused hands.
When Evan came home from school that day, he was greeted by a furious Marlene and forced to watch as she threw things across the room and yelled despicable things to his face. In the corner of his eye, through the broken kitchen window, Evan saw his neighbor, Mrs. Rodgers, step out of her house, her phone pressed to her ear. Evan’s attention was quickly drawn back to Marlene as her rampage continued.
This game wasn’t easy for him, and he didn’t suspect it ever would be. Not even when he spotted the police car that stopped in front of his house.
Esra Cetin is 16 years old and attends Methuen High School in Methuen, Massachusetts. Writing has been a passion of his since he was a child. He also loves to draw (both traditionally and digitally) and play video games. He can often be found in a fuzzy blanket on colder days, watching Netflix (probably on a Netflix binge. We've all been guilty!).