TWO-- MIKE TONY

I was christened Ariana May. I bear Ariana May Peyton in case you do not know my name, but I'd prefer to be called Ariana May. Peyton reminds me of pain. 

This is Ariana May, and this is the story of my life I am telling you. The ones you've just read is nothing compared to others that befell me, if you don't mind being patient going through my story. Hopefully one or two things will catch your fancy in the matter of character adjustments and or hope for survival. 

I am a bookworm, a book lover I mean. I've always been one right from kindergarten. I read so much books I felt I would explode one day if I didn't stop. I didn't stop, and I also did not explode. Instead, they made me smarter. I read mystery books, thrillers and fantasies or general kid books. I read teen fiction too but I stayed away from horror. Mom bought me all of my books. I've got at least seventy books in my bookshelf and mom got them all for me. It was not a problem for her at all.

Sometimes I got lost in reading. I did not usually remember where I was, (except mom and dad were arguing, I usually was on the alert at these times) but most times, I also fell asleep reading into the night. It didn't mean the book was boring, it meant I've read so much I needed to rest. I read to myself because mom was always busy and Cameron, well- never talked to me. 

I loved painting too(Still do though). I think it is hereditary because mom did paint sometimes too, if she wasn't too tired. My painting book is full of animals of the cat family but mostly wolves. 

I love animals. But there's a problem- they did not love me back, at least it is my belief that they don't, because all the pets I've got right from age three up till seven either died or fell so sick they had to be withdrawn from me. 

First, it was my puppy, Beckham. He died mysteriously one morning. Next was Lily my beautiful brown-eyed cat, she died too. My vet doctor said she was poisoned but no one could trace where the poison came from. Last was Batty, my lovely dog. His was the most painful to me.

He was killed on the road by a mad driver. He was with me when it happened, but you see, it's not my fault. There was so little I could do. I was walking on the pedestrian walk with Batty. I bent down and rubbed its fur constantly because it seemed to be afraid of something I did not know. Suddenly, it went off without me, making me lose grip of his latch. He went off running and I only realized what he was running from later-- it was a car driving dangerously down the road. The car hit Batty as he tried to cross to the other side. I screamed. I waited for the mad driver to come out of his vehicle and apologize or carry Batty to an hospital because he was laying in the middle of the road, fighting for his life, but he drove off. Just like that. 

So it is not my fault. Batty left me, he thought that I could not protect him. It's not my fault that he died. Still I blame myself.

So, in total, I've lost three pets. Mom stopped buying me animals after Batty. I mean, I told her to stop buying me animals. Maybe I was not old enough to take care of them. I thought it was my fault that they were dying. I didn't want to be the cause of anyone's death. 

My parents thought it was because of my fetish wish that they died,. I mean, my weird wishes, or maybe I assumed that was their thought. I always spoke to my pets like I did with humans. I always pleaded with them to turn into a huge wolf or leopard or tiger. Mom told me to stop saying that because "Words Are Powerful" but I wanted it. I wanted a huge wolf or leopard or tiger. Not that I didn't like my cat and puppies, I just wanted something huger. I once told Mom I wanted to be a wolf in fact 

"Wolves are wild. Why would you want a wild animal or want to be one?" Mom would ask in her amazement

"Because I love them" 

"I bet you'll run if one appears to you" she retorted and I didn't know what to say to that. I painted many pictures of wolves of different kinds, walruses, foxes, and leopards in my book. It was my daily ritual

Enough of my pets. Let's talk about my household and environment

As a rich kid, I had many friends. And it wasn't only because I was rich, I also was very intelligent (I still am). I wasn't a genius(or maybe I was) but I could almost be called one because I was always at the top of my class. I attended one of the best and most expensive schools in town. And I was the only one who attended that school among the children who lived with us in the estate. All of them attended less expensive schools. So the friends I had at school were different from the ones I had at home. 

There were eight buildings in the estate. So there were eight families, if I counted mine. Each family had at least two kids, except one-an unmarried man who lived alone. I'll tell you about him as we go on, but for now, let's talk about the kids in Kangaroo Estate. All of them liked me because I was not proud, and because I was pretty and lively and smart. They never pointed at my big body or the hairs on my body. Not once. Their parents were the friendliest; they treated every child with love and respect. It was fun being with them. I was the biggest kid but no one ever mentioned it.

The kids were either twelve, thirteen, nine, seven, six, four, three or one. None of them were above thirteen. 

I knew every family because I played with all of them. There were a lot of kids to play with--Lucy, Rihanna, Mac, Gregory, Pamela, Finn, Matt, Montana, Daniel, Susannah, Little Rock etc so I was never bored. 

Most of the kids' parents were always away because of the nature of their jobs. Some were medical doctors, some teachers, some civil engineers and some importers of goods. All of them knew that Cameron beat my mom because who would not hear her screams and the sound of his whipping every afternoon or night? Everyone also knew that he tied her hands and legs and whips her before he had sex with her. I mean, he was lousy. He talked about everything, so loud that everyone could hear. 

Whenever he beat my mom, those parents who were around would come round to settle their arguments by pleading with him to temper justice with mercy, it went on and on like that but he never listened to them. So they turned to threatening him with the cops if he continued whipping her, and whenever he heard that, he'd stop, shooing all of them away from our sitting room where they were gathered as peacemakers. Mike Tony did join them too. Only once because he was not always in his house when dad fought mom. As a matter of fact, he barely was home. Mike Tony was a guy who lived alone in the estate. Cameron didn't like other neighbors barging in the house to come in between his violent fits, so he changed their room. You wonder what I mean? Cameron installed a soundproof space for himself and his wife. The walls of his room were soundproof. He did it so he'd have enough field day on her anytime without intrusion. It was that bad for mom.

Even me would not know sometimes if she was being spanked, raped or  just sleeping peacefully beside her husband in their room, there. It made me angry, so I destroy my wardrobe and cubicle and everything my anger led me to destroy, continuously, in my room. Or I scream. Or punch my bed. Or on really bad occasions, I just lay there, not moving or feeling anything. My class teacher gave a name for it in one of her music classes-'numb', yes I remember. It was one of the songs we had to practise and she had to explain its meaning to us before anything. I do all those things I do because I cannot cry. 

We have to talk about Mike Tony, don't we?

This man, Mike Tony is tall and broad-shouldered but that doesn't even matter. I'm just trying to tell you every damn thing in my story. He loved pets, he even had a large dog that was always chained in his kennel, and he was the only one who didn't think I was weird by loving wolves and leopards. He didn't find it weird but he said, "You can't get one as a pet" and I would say back, "What if it is tamed?" Then, he would shake his head and say, "You're unbelievable". He always said I talked, acted and thought like a grown up and that was true, because mom said so too.  He liked what I liked too and because of this, he bought and read stories about them to me. Stories about werewolves, leopards, cats and cheetahs, and also fantasy novels that involved aliens. I grew up to love them more. 

Mike lived alone but not quietly because he was very open with everyone. He played with all the kids because he was always home in the afternoons but as soon as it turned six or seven in the evening, he'd disappear

 No one knew where he worked or how old he was. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the warmth of his presence. He particularly took an interest in me. He liked me; I knew it even though I was only seven. He liked the other kids too but he had a special likeness for me. I could see it in his eyes everytime he hugged me or played with my cheek. He called me 'pretty' many times, and I never heard him call any other kid that. He bought me candies and chocolates and let me play with his hair. He kissed my cheek and let me lay my head in his arms. He never complained about my weight. He touched my hair all the time , and I could see how much he admired it. 

He did everything my father never did. Mike Tony was especially gentle-spirited. His home was a free and save haven for every child, although no child ever dared get past his front door. I didn't know why, but I knew that their parents were involved. My own parents never stopped me from going into his house. Well, mom did stop me sometimes, if she was at home. She'd call my name and when I answer her call, she'd ask me to sit in my chair in the living room and say nothing more. Then she would turn towards whatever she was doing before and leave me hanging.

"Mom, Mike Tony is reading me a storybook. Can I go back?" I would innocently say since she wasn't sending me on any errands. She would not answer the first time

 That was the routine it followed. I'll never know why mom always acted like she didn't hear the first time

"Mommy?"

And...

"What storybook?" Oh. So she had heard the first time. 

Her voice usually came out soft and friendly and not loud and angry like I  thought it would be, owing to the fact that she refused to answer the first time. Or maybe she did not hear. 

No. It always happened that way. So I'm sure she must have been doing it on purpose. Only I don't know the reason for that. And the silence? You know, parents' silence usually means they are angry or disappointed in you or both. But not my mom's.

"Diary of An Hybrid Girl. It's really interesting" I would smile and wave my hands excitedly, in order to hide my lie. Actually, it was 'Adventures of the Omegas', a book about aliens, and mostly werewolves. Mike knew so much about them and read the books to me

"Okay. After dinner, we'll go shopping. You and me, We will buy you the book at the shops"

"But mommy, who will read it to  me? I want to hear someone read it to me?" I would make puppy eyes to make mom see reason in what I was saying, maybe she'd let me go back to Mike Tony. If I told her the truth about the title of the book, she'd never let me go. She found it disturbing and even more disturbing because Mike fed me with information about them. She thought he would turn me into a wolf or a cheetah one day. Funny, right?

She would sigh and turn to me, holding my shoulders and peering into my chubby face

"I'll try, darling, I'll try. I'll read it to you"

"No mom, you can't read it to me. You know that. You have to rest"

Yes she knew that she couldn't. Not because she could not read(Of course she can read and write well) but mom was always so tired that she couldn't even lift herself from bed most times.

Tired from work at the fashion design store. Tired from the domestic stress she went through everyday. Tired from the tying to the wall and 'heavy spanking' that Cameron did to her virtually every day. Tired from her throaty, painful tears and anxiety that gave her bad headaches.

My aunty said it was called migraine. I didn't like the sound of it, so I tore that part off from my dictionary. One of my teachers saw my torn dictionary and punished me. He didn't understand how much seeing the word 'migraine' or hearing it affected me. I was emotionally attached to my mom, so everything that affected her affected me as well.