The Denial of St. Davey

The Denial of St. Davey

Rainy evenings like this make me reminisce on the times
When our younger cousin became pure entertainment for the
Few of us. I was nine at the time, the oldest of the
Bunch, Sara was eight, Markus was seven-and-a
Half, and Davey, the topic of discussion was five.
Davey, for some peculiar reason, had always hated water.
Since he’d been born, every time his parents tried to
Bathe him, Davey, without fail, would always put up the
Most phenomenal fuss, screaming at the top of his lungs,
Flailing his arms about as if resisting arrest, and kicking and
Biting their arms at any attempt to get near. Eventually it
Got to the point where they would let him go days without
Bathing, and trust me when I say that even at the tender
Age of 6, I can still remember the slightly foul stench of
His mangy self every time he was invited over my parent’s
House. Much worse than water, however, were the thunderstorms
That caused little Davey particular anguish. At the first
Sign of thunder, like a homing beacon, he would immediately
Seek out the most isolated corner of a room, crouch, back
To the wall, cover his face with his shirt, and flagellate his
Chest with a clenched fist, repeatedly, methodically, and
With precision until the storm passed. The first time he did
It in our presence, we looked up in confusion, not quite sure
If we should attempt to console him, or let him remain in
His isolation. We eventually acclimated to his behavior and
Ignored their occurrences. One time, Sara tried to offer him
An apple during one of his episodes. Probably out of frustration of
Davey’s non-responsiveness, she kicked him in the head, making
Him topple over, unconscious for several minutes with a small bloody
Wound at the point of impact. His parents didn’t seem to notice, nor
Care, when they picked him up that day as he chewed his left hand
Fingers bloody and sore. To this day, we have never spoken on the incident.

 — V. Fkaak  ©2014