October 27
Rob was sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing only his underpants. His legs were covered in blood from cuts all over them; he had bruises and scrapes all over his chest. Instinctively, he covered his groin area with his hands and arms, which were wounded similarly to his legs. “I had to take off my clothes,” he said, “’cause they were itching the cuts.”
“And all those bruises?” she asked.
“Dad,” he spat. “Just when the others were almost gone, too.”
“That’s terrible,” she gasped. “And he cut you, too…”
“Yeah,” Rob said. “He’s gone nuts. I haven’t even done anything, I did everything he asked. He said if I was better at school, I’d know what I did. What did I do wrong, Jeanne?” She stared at him, not comprehending. “Every other time he gets mad like this, he tells me anyone could see what I did to make him mad, and that if I was too stupid figure it out, I don’t deserve to be told… But Mom always says I didn’t do anything, and nobody ever tells me, and I’ve been afraid to ask. Can you tell me? What did I do this time, Jeanne?”
She froze. What did he do wrong? Nothing. It was obvious that his father wasn’t looking for him to do anything right. Just for Rob to do anything. Anything could be used against Rob, even things he was supposed to do. She knew Rob was smarter than he did at school– she had been incensed that he’d been the only one to get a perfect score on the first test they ever took together– but it was like he made an effort to be wrong. That had always puzzled her, but now it made sense: doing good had provoked rage, and all that was left was doing bad. But now even that was wrong.
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