The Sanctuary – Chapter 4

 

‘George’
Edwin Wallace

Intro…

When I interviewed George I was expecting a history of a warrior based on his success in the martial arts arena. Curt had shown me some films of George in action; he had the heart of a lion and the stealth of a snake.  Instead, George told me his childhood was a long, painful nightmare. He was always smaller than the other kids and he was introverted.  He knew he was a disappointment to his parents, particularly to his father. He denied ever being abused by his family; however, there may have been a form of neglect and disconnect. This is the story he told me.

George’s Story

My father was a banker and my mother was an English professor. They never wanted for money. Part of my problem was my older brother, Jerry, who was big, good looking and an extrovert, he probably was also a little dumb. Jerry never mistreated me; it was just too much to live up to his image. Jerry excelled at everything that didn’t take a lot of intellect.

I brought home almost all A’s on my report card. Once I ended up with a B and mother said “Oh, my God, what happened?” If Jerry had ever brought home a B there would have been a celebration. They were always proud of Jerry no matter what he did. There were many parts of my life that were crappy but the worst part was being bullied day after day.

Beauford the Terrorist

Beauford was frequently the ring leader and he wanted to be called by his nickname Boo. He wasn’t the only one who bullied me, just the main one. I had a bicycle. Beauford and his henchmen poked holes in the tires, scratched the paint, and generally wrecked it until finally, I gave up riding it. My mother said I should take better care of my property. I received several beatings and threats of beatings, on a weekly basis from Beauford and his bunch. It was useless to carry money or anything of value.

Beauford and his five member gang shook me down daily for money or anything I had that they might want. It didn’t take long for me to expect to give in and get it over. This started in the third grade. I couldn’t even carry a textbook home with me because they would destroy it, so I had to do all my work at school.

One particularly embarrassing time was when they held me down and took my pants away one afternoon right after being let out of school. They set my pants on fire, with my belt and the contents of my pockets, while I watched helplessly. Then they taped a white gym towel on me for a diaper. I had no choice but to go home that way. This added to the terrible rage I felt and an embarrassment too deep to contemplate. That’s when I acquired the name from Beauford’s gang of Baby George.

I had received a very expensive pocket knife from my Uncle John. I liked Uncle John and the knife was a prize possession. One day I forgot to take it out of my pocket and leave it home. I noticed it when I was almost at school. When school was out as I headed for home I knew they would shake me down, so I put the knife in the side of my shoe. That didn’t work–it fell out and they found it. His boys held me down while Beauford took a rock and smashed it into tiny pieces in front of me. It was one more form of agony inflicted on me.

Was Suicide an Option?

I thought of suicide often. I just didn’t know exactly how to do it or have the courage to do it. I prayed for my death, sometimes for their death, and if all else failed, quick and blessed unconsciousness. Sometimes I couldn’t sleep and at other times sleep was all I could do.

In the eighth grade I reached a point where I just didn’t care anymore. The final straw came when Eleanor beat the crap out of me. She was in high school, lived two blocks from me, and was older and a lot bigger. She beat me terribly and I ended up needing medical attention. Even the police were called, but nothing came of it. While I healed I just felt like I was crazy. I found a measure of relief in that I just no longer cared. The fear of death and pain was gone. Strange as it may seem, it lifted a weight off my shoulders and for the first time I felt some freedom and lost a certain sense of dread.

The Change

I took weight lifting, boxing and martial arts and gained ten pounds. It helped some, but what helped the most was realizing I could not make myself care about consequences. I could fight better, but not really great. I carried a brass bar about four inches long and one inch in diameter. It is remarkable how hard you can hit with that in your hand –particularly with surprise on your side.

I hurt a few of them, but sometimes they still ganged up and beat the hell out of me. Sometimes I had enough of a start for home that none of them caught me. I had no friends. Even if someone might have wanted to be friends they would have been afraid to be seen with me. They continued to call me Baby George.

The Plan

Then things changed. I had a plan! I knew where Beauford’s locker was and how to get into it. He kept his sodas in there. I bought a liquid laxative, poured out one-fourth of the soda, filled it with laxative and screwed the cap back on. I loaded his coke on Tuesday and he was there until Wednesday at lunch. He didn’t attend school for the rest of the week. After that, I randomly loaded various kids’ drinks, one or two times a month. But that was not enough. I had to have a hundred times that much revenge! I lived for revenge, it was my salvation. Actually, revenge isn’t a strong enough word, it was more than that and it gave me power.

Leveling the Eleanor Playing Field

And now for Eleanor. I needed a plan. This was more difficult because she went to a different school, ten blocks from my school. I had been experimenting in the garage with different chemicals which would cause blistering and by testing it on my arm I found the right combination. I had also accumulated some capsules which contained calcium.

My timing and my stealth had to be good. I left school early one Friday and ran to her high school. Finally, I was able to get into the girls locker room and steal her tennis shoes.

I imagined myself as a mad scientist on Saturday. I dumped the calcium and filled three capsules with my toxic brew and glue. I pulled out the left innersole and put a tiny dab of glue on each toxic capsule, and then I placed them in her shoe at the widest part of the foot. Before I replaced the inner sole I drilled several small holes over where the capsules resided.

I did the same with three capsules filled with the glue mixture in the right shoe.

On Saturday evening I went to the school, but it was locked-up.

On Sunday forenoon my luck was better. The whole school was unlocked due to various work being done. I had no problem getting into the girls locker room and replacing Eleanor’s shoes.

I couldn’t sleep much with all the anticipation! I even rolled on the floor in convulsions of laughter. I had to wait several days to get my satisfaction about Eleanor.

Finally, on the following weekend I walked past her house and two neighbor ladies were talking. “Did you hear about that poor girl of Pamela’s?” one asked. The other lady said “Well I heard that she was in gym last Monday playing volleyball and she collapsed screaming in pain. They took her to the nurse and removed her left shoe and her whole foot was puffed up and the bottom looked like it was burned. I heard that within an hour her foot was twice the size it should be. They took her to urgent care and when they tried to take her right shoe off she screamed in pain. They finally cut it off. They think she will be out of school most of this month. Someone said that there was a lot of work going on there with contractors replacing the flooring and some carpeting in the office, they must have spilled some chemicals and she stepped in it. It was just horrible. They are still talking to the contractors and investigating the accident.”

About ten days later I walked past her house and Eleanor was hobbling around on the porch. I said “Hi, Eleanor, you want to fight, you big stupid cow?” I followed up with “My dear, you have such big feet! Bad things happen to ugly, fat-assed, miserable bitches!” She had tears in her eyes, didn’t say a word and feebly hobbled into the house. Mission accomplished.  I could check one off my list.

Evening the Score

I had small bits of entertainment with Beauford and his right hand pal, Albert, by gluing their bike tires to the concrete at school. I urinated in one guy’s water bottle that he kept in his locker. None of this was remotely adequate to even the score for the years of severe abuse and degradation. But, I was enjoying the revenge and I was also getting a real sense of power. I was going to make their worst nightmare look like a party.

The power of inspiration spurred by desperation is mind boggling. I was starting to form a plan to deal with Beauford.  I thought he might spook easy, so I started visiting stores that sold spooky things to get ideas. Sometimes I bought a few things. Finally, the big idea came.

Beauford had a puppy about nine months old but quite small. He called him Rebel and he really loved that dog. He talked endlessly about the dog. My plan went into action. First, I begged my Uncle John and Aunt May to let me have a dog and keep it at their house. Finally, they talked about it and figured out how it could be cared for when I wasn’t there. Fortunately, they indulged me in every way.

Rebel

Then my plan really went into action. I stole Rebel and set him up at my uncle’s place, and then set the scene. I taped Rebel when he was hungry and whining; I also took several pictures of him. One day when my parents were gone I got the grill out and took the grates out of the inside. I had made a wax replica of Rebel and I even glued bits of fake hair to it. I placed my model of Rebel in the grill. I found a long wide belt in the neighbor’s garbage and I practiced using it like a whip. I kept a metal baseball bat in reserve, just in case.

At zero hour I had the tape recorder ready, drenched the wax dog with lighter fluid, had a lighter handy, and called Beauford. I asked him if he wanted his dog back. It was almost dark, which was essential to my plan.

Beauford came into my backyard demanding at the top of his lungs that I give his dog back. I lit the wax dog and clicked on the tape recorder. The flames leaped up about ten feet high. Beauford made a lunge for the grill. I cracked him hard in the butt with the belt, and after a couple of tries he ran out of the yard screaming for his mother. I doused what was left of the wax dog with water and dumped it in the neighbor’s garbage.

A bored looking cop eventually showed up and asked to go in the back yard for a look around. He looked over the grill and looked in it, then asked me if I knew anything about a lost dog. I assured him I didn’t have any dog and he was welcome to look around. I told him that a kid was here yelling about a lost dog. He left grumbling about the stupid damn calls they had to go out on. He did comment that I was a polite young man and thanked me for being helpful.

I heard in school that Beauford had been taken to ER in an incoherent and incontinent state and he didn’t show up in school until a week later. When he saw me he gave me a wide berth. He truly had a broken spirit. Mission accomplished and I had won over the devil. I realized then, there would never be enough to make up for the past terrorism.

New Entertainment, New Ideas

I tried pranks on Beauford after that, but the joy was gone. It was no fun beating up on that useless piece of crap. A few times I put small harmless, but exotic snakes I had bought in his “slaves” lockers. I did have one minor little pleasure. I overheard one of his buddies talking about me and he called me a snake. He looked up and looked a little scared, not knowing if I had overheard him and what evil I might bestow upon him. That gave me an idea. I had a little gadget that when I pushed the button it sounded like a rattlesnake. When I was behind one of them I would push the button and watch them nut-up, then they would quickly try to compose themselves and act like it really didn’t bother them. Oh, well, it was a pleasant pastime for a few weeks.

The Beginning of a Warrior

I was eventually sent to a private school, which was much better.  Looking back, I now know I was severely depressed and traumatized, but also turning into something of a warrior. I started to have a few friends and my grades were perfect.

I regularly saw my uncle who was a physician and my mother’s brother. He was a great guy and liked me, so I went with John and his wife May to their cabin on weekends. John frequently took me to a shooting range where I became an expert marksman with both the pistol and rifle.  This made me feel good. They had no children, so I helped fill the gap.

He even let me take friends along. My parents never seemed to mind having me absent.

I learned to swim, water ski and best of all, ride horseback. When I grew up I wanted to be a doctor and own a stable. When I started college I saw less of May and John, but I always felt welcome whenever I saw them. I finally started coming out of the depression.

In my third year of college I started going out with Ellie and I was smitten. We spent all our free time together and fortunately, she was a bookworm like me.  It went well for almost two years and then one day she abruptly ended it. I never found out why. I was devastated, but life dragged on. I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t return my calls or see me. I still wonder sometimes what changed.

Med School

When I went to medical school I had several friends; however, there was very little time to spend with anyone, so often my social life was no more than discussing our courses and instructors with each other. It was a good time and I felt confident of the work I was doing.

I saw a few women off and on through medical school, but no one special and I rarely had time for much of a social life. Shortly after I received my medical license I met Phyllis and life was good. She was always there for me and she also came from a good family in Philadelphia. It wasn’t a wildly romantic relationship, but it felt solid and rewarding. I thought we belonged together. Maybe it was because I was sure my family would approve of her. After about a year of going together I had an offer from a hospital in Sacramento. We talked it over and decided to get married and take the offer in Sacramento.

Marriage and the Life of a Neurosurgeon

As a neurosurgeon I was much in demand and the money flowed in. After five years in Sacramento, my father died of a heart attack and two years later my mother died of an aneurism. I inherited one and two-tenths of a million dollars. We were wealthy and had a large income.  I wondered how Gerald would piss away his share of the money. He was a car salesman with a feast and famine kind of existence.

Phyllis liked to spend and spend she did. She wanted to buy a second home at Lake Tahoe, so we did. She made Imelda Marcos look like a piker in the shoe department. Phyllis didn’t work, but had experience and education in accounting. She took over the medical billing and all bookkeeping duties for my practice. Most of the time she was a joy to go home to. She dressed well and took care of our social life until the last two or three years of our marriage.

The Addiction of Phyllis

Phyllis would often go to our home at Lake Tahoe and stay from one to three weeks. At the time I had no idea she was there to gamble around the clock. She would come back looking dragged out and sleep for a few days. I didn’t think much about it because I was working a lot of hours at the hospital and my office.

It did bother me that the accounting was not her primary focus. A clerk with no accounting experience had to handle most of the financial affairs. Then Phyllis would come in like a whirling dervish and try to set everything right and sometimes humiliate the clerk who was doing her work for her.

In our seventh year of marriage all hell broke loose.  One day an IRS agent showed up at the office. She said why have you not responded to our letters? I was baffled and no help to her at all. I went home and we had a hell of a fight and Phyllis said she had already contacted an attorney in San Francisco to start divorce proceedings. She also informed me that six months ago she had had an abortion.

The next morning I found out my accounts were all frozen and the IRS was planning on arresting me for tax fraud. I went to the office and just sat there. I talked to my nurse Linda and whined about the whole story, she said “Wait a minute, I have an idea but first I have to make a telephone call.” When she was done she said “I think I have an idea that might work for you.”

Introduced to The Sanctuary

She told me about The Sanctuary and I made excuses–I can’t leave my practice, what about my home. I thought maybe if I talked to Phyllis again we could straighten this out. Linda was blunt. “Everything you own is locked down by the IRS and if you stay here by tomorrow they will have you in jail.” It finally soaked through and I said “OK, but how do I get there?” Nothing felt real; it reminded me of the old days when I went through hell in grade school.

Linda took me to The Sanctuary, introduced me to Curt, and then I was the new resident. The staff immediately contacted the Wilson Attorney group who started contact with the IRS and my wife’s divorce attorney. I had nothing–no money, no hope and just the clothes I was wearing. If they had told me I was like a horse with a broken leg and the only answer to my misery was to shoot me, I would have agreed with them.

Unfortunately, on many issues the IRS was right. The taxes were not paid and I had no cash or equity left. What cash there had been the IRS had and Phyllis had the rest. She had withdrawn all the cash she could, plus finished off the credit cards so there was nothing left. When it started to look like the IRS was going to accept picking the bones of my life for a final payment, I felt a great relief and soon didn’t care where it went from there. I just didn’t want to go to jail.

My Part

In hindsight, I now see how naïve I was with Phyllis. She was always the boss, she made the decisions. I allowed her to abuse me and others in many ways. I probably never had a relationship with a woman where I felt their equal except the first one with Ellie and that ended badly.

I may have become too comfortable with accepting the role of being a victim. I can’t say I feel sorry that Phyllis is in prison, she deserved it. I think there was a part of me that always knew Phyllis was ruthless and manipulative and had severe psychological problems. But, somehow it just seemed easier to go along with her. I believe it was just plain laziness on my part. I have learned to get along with women while living here.

After some months at the Sanctuary I really started feeling at home for the first time in my life. I spend a lot of time working in the stable and really enjoy the horses. I work as a consultant one day a week in town at the hospital and volunteer teaching martial arts one day a week. It actually is a wonderful life. I have the most unbelievable friends, such as Susan, Lettie and several others. I have absolutely no desire to leave this place.

 

Tagged books, Edwin Wallace, fiction, short story, The Sanctuary