Tommy

Tommy: Five
"What's two plus two?"
 Nothing. He just sits there, drippy eyed and agape mouth. We've removed most of the wall in Tommy's room and replaced it with a large sliding window that leads to the balcony; It's full of his toys littered on the ridged Aztecan tiles. Rattles, dummies, wooden rocking horses and all other manners of distraction. Sandra, my wife, believes that the most basic, natural designs help a child in his formative years and will help him grow up to be a well rounded, sophisticated part of society. Bullshit. She just doesn't want to buy him the expensive toys. A bright sunflower yellow carpet covers Tommy's room. The walls are red. His crib, is tucked right in the corner with Thomas the Tank Engine characters patterned over the sheets. Thomas, Percy, James. They never bothered with the designs, they all look the same.
"What is two plus two, Tommy?"
He replies by swinging himself to the side and grasping at a rattle, suckling at it while in the fetal position.
"Come on Tommy" I say while hoisting him onto my knee and removing his rattle. "What's two plus two?"
He just tries to escape my grasp and claws for the rattle again.

Tommy: Seven
We're visiting Tommy's grandparents. It's a three hour trip. We have been in the car forty minutes and he won't stop crying  .
"What's the matter sweetie?" My wife comforts
"I...." Tommy forces out.
"Yes? Come on!" she beckons. "He's going to speak!"
Tommy pauses for a minute before breaking into tears and smacking his forehead.
"He's doing it again" she reminds.
I turn the car into a service station and strap Tommy's hands down. "Fancy a coffee?" I ask while winding Tommy's window up, muffling his wails.
"Yeah... okay" she replies while looking through the window at Tommy. I pull out a metal flask and pour the coffee into two plastic cups, red and blue.
"Haven't tried this coffee before, heard it was quite good" I remark.
 Tommy's shrieks can be heard from inside the car. I talk a little louder. "Yeah I got it freshly ground in front of me at that new cafe on Parsons street"
 Tommy: Ten

“Honey can you fetch me the salt?” my wife chimes from the kitchen. I put out my cigarette in the ash tray and pause my football game, 2-1.

“Sure” I begrudgingly reply. She is serving stir fry, blended up for Tommy. I just stare at it, munching and squelching the asparagus she feeds to him.

“How was work?” She asks while waving a spoonful of rice and sweetcorn in front of Tommy's face. Tommy grabs the spoon while moaning in a low tone and shoves it into his mouth, spilling half the content as he pushes it past his fat lips. He's quite chubby now. Or is stocky the word? Whatever, he's strong, hard to control.
"Yeah it was fine I guess" I'm not in the mood for talking; too tired.
"Well that's good, Tommy used the toilet again today" I don't care but i reply.
“Good” I say with a mouthful of rice. I avert my eyes from Tommy, I hate the way he eats, it puts me off my food, the smacking constantly. I see the back of his throat every time he opens for a new bite. Lips littered with flecks of soggy white crumbs and lines of chocolate in the corners.
Tommy: Thirteen
"Dad. Give me" Tommy says as he points his stubby fingers to the remote. I ignore him, he does this all the time. "Dad! Give me!" He shouts and moves in front of my field of vision, blocking my view of the d.i.y program.
"No Tommy" I slowly move Tommy away without breaking my visual lock with the television. "Dad! Give me!" he yells with more persistence.
"No Tommy" I sternly repeat, "I'm watching t.v now. Your t.v time is over for today!"
 Tommy, unfazed, just wanders into the corner of the room and rubs the corner of the dresser. I am left in peace for a few minutes before being interrupted again. "Dad! I want it" He screams aggressively, lunging over me, pawing at the remote.

I remember, something snapped inside of me. Something malleable that had been sitting on the conscience for years; it had a temperature, a pulse that warmed and coveted my brain in a way that i didn't notice until it was gone.  It had to happen.
Then she walked in, hands struggling with the weight of neon green bags, a mustard raincoat, and saw me with my hands around his neck, throttling him. His neck was so small, it was like my hands would be able to fit around it twice over. His chunky legs, kicking and writhing as my grip tightens, ram across my body. I remember hearing his croaking pleas beneath his wriggling. I can't forget them.
Tommy: Thirteen
I lost my house. I lost my car. I lost my ashtray, my sofa and my bed. I lost everything. I have a table. I have a brown, wooden table and a chair. The chair is blue. My walls are soft, and white. I've ran out of things to look at. They let me have books. No television though.